Page 36 of Thornhill Road

I found him in his recliner in front of the television, the volume turned down low.

The first couple of visits, I’d pulled a chair into the room from the kitchen so I could sit while I charted after his physical exam. I noticed this time the chair was already there. This made me smile, and I sat my bag on it before I went to stand beside his recliner.

“How are you feeling today?”

He shifted his attention away from the TV and told me, “Like shit. Not much different than yesterday.”

“Okay. How about we defineshit,” I suggested, half teasing, half serious.

We talked for a few minutes before I got on with his exam. When we were done, we went over his prescriptions, and I made note of a couple refills I’d need to call in soon. A fresh wave of exhaustion hit me when I sat down with my tablet, and I hummed softly as I charted, so as to keep myself awake.

“My Mary-Kate used to hum while she worked,” said Ed.

My head jerked up, and I stopped humming.

That was the first personal information he’d given me without prompting.

Mary-Kate.

Another puzzle piece clicked into place.

“Your wife?” I asked, opening the door in case he felt like talking.

He frowned down at his lap and muttered, “Yeah.”

Aware memories of his wife were obviously painful, I treaded lightly.

“How long has it been since you heard her hum?”

“Twenty years, now.”

'All in—twenty years. Makes me more Stallion than anything else.'

It felt like cheating, extracting information from Ed to piece together the incomplete picture of what happened between father and son that kept Mustang out on the driveway rather theinside, on the chair I occupied. Even more so because Ed didn’t know I knew his son.

“Miss it,” said Ed, pulling me from my thoughts. “Wouldn’t mind if you kept goin’.”

I didn’t even know what I’d been humming before. It was simply one of my tricks for when I got too tired. Yet, something told me it didn’t matter what I hummed, he’d find some sort of comfort in it anyway—so, I started up again while I finished his chart.

I didn’t ask anymore questions, and Ed didn’t volunteer anymore information for the remainder of our visit. When it was time for me to go, I promised I’d see him in a couple days and reminded him to call me should he need to see me sooner.

I let myself out, locking up as I went, then got in my car and pointed it toward home.

I lived in a two bedroom, one and a half bath townhouse I’d purchased a couple years before. It was a bit of a fixer upper I hadn’t yet done much to fix, but the price had been right. It was possible I might have had a new fridge or an upgraded stove if I hadn’t spent over a thousand dollars on a new pair of jeans and a killer pair of red-sole Louboutin heeled sandals—the straps adorned with silver spikes—but I had my priorities. I didn’t want a new stove for my birthday.

Auto-pilot got me home, my head in a fog as I drove. Then, for the second time that day, I turned down a familiar street, and I saw that blue Harley—Mustang leaned up against it. He was parked by the curb, since my driveway was only big enough to accommodate my single car garage.

Safe to say, I hadn’t gotten that ten-minute nap after all.

He came. He actually came.

Mustang was staring down at his phone until he heard me as I approached. I saw him pocket it before I lost sight of him as I pulled into my garage. By the time I got out of my car, he waswalking toward me with a sack of groceries dangling from his inked fingers.

“Hope you’re not a vegan or some shit.”

The tired laugh that bubbled out of me couldn’t be helped.

“No. Not a vegan. What’s in the bag?”

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