There’s just something about driving west on 40 on a Sunday evening, staring into the sunset. Particularly when the woman you love says "Let's take the backroads home" because you know you're thinking the same thing. That bright yellow-orange ball... Continue Reading →
If I could have formed words they would have had to traverse the landscape of a dried out, raspy voice too choked on disbelief to make any sense. All this time I'd put between us. The crushing heartache I felt for years after we parted. My struggle to forgive myself, and her, for all our transgressions and missteps. I'd worked so hard to get over it. And now...now I was drowning in a thunderstorm of overwhelming uncertainty. I had a child. With her. Lighting flashed close, snapping me back from my sea of panic to our table in the airport.
The woman and I stared at one another. I assumed she was equally surprised. Her smile showed first. It wasn’t a happy smile, or even a smirk. Maybe it wasn’t a smile at all. Her lips parted as the corners of her mouth moved upward. A jingle came from my phone to let me know that my wife had sent a text message. It scared me half to death and I nearly dropped it to the floor. With a death grip on my phone I glanced back up. She was still there.