Chapter Twenty-Five

Gabriel

 

 

Roscoe had been getting on my nerves ever since I’d shoveled the snow off the sidewalk earlier in the afternoon.  He couldn’t resist rolling around in the large piles of snow that took me almost three hours to shovel. Three hours of hard intensive labor – for me at least – was ruined within a few seconds as he pounced around the snow like a lunatic.

“Roscoe, get out of the snow,” I muttered. “Or I’ll have to do this all over again.”

As usual, he completely ignored me.

I heard my dad’s truck pull up the driveway and I waved at my parents as they made their way towards me. My mother stepped out of the truck with a large casserole in her hands. She never comes over without food and I’m eternally grateful for that.

“It looks like you could use a hand there,” Dad said.

“I sure could. Roscoe is trying to undo all of my hard work. Want to babysit Roscoe for the weekend?” I joked.

They both shook their heads.

“We did our dog duty while you were in Florida,” Mom said.

“Would you mind doing it a few more days? I’m thinking about heading back down to Florida one last time.”

My parents exchanged looks and didn’t say one word or try to talk me out of it.

“Of course we’ll watch him,” Mom said. “The house seems lonely without the big brute.”

She followed me up on the porch and handed over the dish for me to take inside.

“To what do I owe this lovely casserole?” I asked as we made our way to the kitchen.

“Oh, I thought you might be hungry,” she replied with a giggle.

“I’m always hungry. Thank you. You shouldn’t go to all this trouble for me.”

“I know, honey, but you’ll always be my baby no matter how old you are, so I am allowed.”

“She’s never going to stop, is she?” I asked Dad.

“Nope,” he replied with a grin.

“Oh, hush.” My mother shrugged. “I’ll gladly stop when you find a lovely woman who can cook as well as I do.”

Dad and I exchanged glances over her head and I sighed.

“Well, that almost sounded promising until you mentioned, ‘cook as well as I do.’ You know that would be impossible to find.”

Dad burst out laughing and shook his head.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll give pointers one day to a special lady. She might even share her favorite recipes if asked nicely.”

“Oh, speaking of nice ladies,” Mom said and turned to me. “I visited with Jenny yesterday. Her daughter, Theresa is in town.”

Oh boy.

“You remember Theresa, don't you?”

Of course, I remembered her. Mom had tried to fix me up with her forever. We were in the same high school, and both our mothers were on the PTA.

Theresa was a beautiful girl, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a laugh that forced you to join in. She was a vibrant and uncomplicated person, who was easy to talk to, but we had established that neither of were interested in becoming more than friends.

She had a busy career, and I had mine. My mother never quite understood why I never asked her out, because in her eyes she was the perfect girl for me.

Theresa was great, but she wasn’t Lynette. I didn't dare say that to Mom, because she did better research than the FBI. She’d probably find Lynette’s number and call her.

I shuddered at the thought and before I was able to stop myself, my thoughts traveled back to Tampa. I still saw her face clearly in my mind, heard her voice, her laugh, her moans as I kissed her neck.

It had been more than three weeks since I returned to Maine, and even though I had spent most of that time deliberating whether I made the right choice, it haunted me every day.

I wondered what she was doing, how she was coping by herself. I tried not to worry, but no matter how hard I argued with myself that was exactly what she wanted, the more I worried.

I couldn't help it.

She could never give me a clear answer as to what she wanted, and I couldn't live my life wondering whether she was going to be there in the morning when I woke up. I wished I could get clarity with the situation once and for all.

“Son?”

I glanced up and looked at Dad.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Sorry, I was just thinking of something.”

“Does that something have a name?”

“Management reports,” I pointed out.

Mom chuckled. “She sounds absolutely charming,” she said.

“She’s high-maintenance.”

“Oh, honey. You work too hard.”

“I’m fine, Mom, and I mean it this time. I’m doing well.”

“We just want you to be happy. That’s all we ask. One little thing.”

“I am. Roscoe give me lots of kisses every morning.”

Mom smiled at my reassurance, but as I looked at Dad, I knew he saw right through me and wasn't fooled by my facade.

They stayed for a short while. When they left, the house was eerily quiet again. Except for Roscoe who was barking like crazy at something he saw out the kitchen window.

“Roscoe, what is it?” I muttered and glanced over at him. “A squirrel?”

I stood to look out the window too. The headlights of a car flashed while driving past the house and I frowned. My house wasn’t on a road that had much traffic. In fact, the only reason to drive down the street my house was on was to visit me.

Windsor was a rather spread out town and my closest neighbor was a mile away. It was peaceful, and lonely at times. Especially when the only people who came to visit me were my parents.

I had turned into a hermit after all, but I preferred it that way.

I found it odd that a car would be driving along my road, and hoped that it was someone who was lost, so I could direct them the hell out of here.