2:00 AM, Saturday morning.
We decided to leave at this hour to beat the Memorial Day weekend traffic. So far, pretty good. Only a few drunks spotted weaving back and forth, breaking at awkward moments. But, that was back in the city. Now on this desolate road paved seaside, we are the only cars viewable for miles. Although the moon glows a bright sky on the water visible in quick glimpses through thick forest, the absence of streetlights spans a darkened path ahead for miles. Brights are necessary.
40 miles to go.
I glance in the rearview mirror. He’s still there. The body of his car camouflaged by the night, he’s only headlights to me now.
Thirty minutes later, gravel crackles beneath the Jeep’s tires, and the Honda follows in sound and light, but is still lingering in darkened sight. We ascend for a few minutes then catch the quick turn into the driveway with the ease of familiarity.
Nate accelerates, slipping into the spot beside me, having been a watchful eye behind for the entire trip. I remain seated, rolling down the window for a well-traveled welcome kiss.
Ignition off. Sigh of relief. Emerging from the Jeep, my legs loosen their stiff driving stance and are chilled by the early morning breeze. I hear Nate saunter up the front porch, and recognize the snug slamming of the screen door. As his footsteps retreat into the foyer, I wait those few minutes needed for him to check out the house and lighten it to waking.
Bagged down with weekend belongings, I look for his all-clear signal. His blinking of his childhood bedroom’s light.
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