Deirdre Partridge is trying to get her husband and three teenage sons out the door, so Fred can take them to high school. They kiss one another goodbye, and their youngest son feels the need to make a comment.
“Get a room, you two,” Corin yelled, laughing hysterically at his supposed joke. Both brothers socked him. “Ouch! Baby Brother abuse!”
“Shut it, Cor,” they said in unison.
Closing the door, Deirdre Partridge leaned against it. Finally, all three boys in high school. Aiden was a senior, Burl a junior and Corin a freshman. Her boys were evenly spaced, almost exactly two years apart, but Aiden had a late September birthday, which held him back a year. No end of bother for him, especially since he and his brothers were avid golfers, and the younger two were also on the team.
“Not even seven o’clock,” Deirdre sighed. “Just once, I’d like them to get out of the house without me.”
She poured another cup of coffee and turned on her computer. The elderly tower warmed to life. It might be old, and a little surly, but she loved it. It had long been a friend and companion to her, keeping the boys entertained, helping with research papers, or providing her with hours of Netflix viewing. She could do that on the TV as well, but no one wanted to watch what she did, and they didn’t respect her right to watch what she wanted. There was always a reason to interrupt, regardless of how much she was enjoying a film.
Keys rattled in the front door and Fred came back in, grumbling. “Let me tell you, those bastards have no respect!”
“The students?” She knew the parking lot was often very chaotic.
“The parents! It took me five minutes to pull away from the curb. I realize they’re in a hurry, but so am I. I sat there like an idiot with my blinker going. Not a soul would let me in. And those teachers have no clue how to direct traffic. Someone in a yellow SUV nearly ran Coach Bullock down. Never saw that asshole move so fast!” He chuckled as he poured himself some coffee. “So, what’s on your docket today?”
“I think I’m going to write a book,” she said, not looking at him.
“That’s fantastic! You need a project to occupy you.”
“Now that they’re all in high school, self-sufficient, I want to do something for me,” she continued. “So, I’m going to write literature. Really serious stuff, dealing with social issues. I want to write the next To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“My wife writing the Great American Novel, huh?” he sounded skeptical.
“What? I know that tone. You don’t think I can.”
“No, it’s not that. Honey, you’ve never written a book, let alone a serious one, in your life.”
“I’ll learn. I’ve been reading books and watching videos. I love to write, I simply never put my mind to it. I just have to try. Harper Lee had very little experience when she wrote that book.”
“I know. I know…. Well, if that’s what you want to do, I support you.” He kissed her forehead. “I don’t have to be at work for three hours.” He raised his eyebrows with an inviting tilt of his head. “House to ourselves. We can make as much noise as we want!”
“Talked me into it.”
“Let me just turn—”
“Leave it on.” Grabbing her hand, he tugged her to the bedroom.
Later, as they lay side by side, he curled his fingers in her hair. “How is it still so good, even though we’re old folks.”
“We’re not old folks. Well, you are,” she teased. He was two years older than she. “We’ve had a lot of practice.”
“You should write a steamy romance novel. You could use what we just did. Make everyone jealous.”
Deirdre laughed. “I told you, I want to write something serious.”
“A good sex life is very serious.” He gave her a hand up and they went for a shower.
After they bathed, he got dressed for work. He was an assistant manager at a large department store chain. “Before I forget, they’re sending me on another setup next week. I got the call when I was at the school.”
“Really? Another one? Where?”
Fred closed his eyes, thinking. “Somewhere in Minnesota.”
“Thank God it’s mid-August. You’d freeze up there in the winter. Got your lunch?”
“Yeah. You’ll be okay, with the drop off, when I’m gone?”
“I’m up anyway. Doesn’t make any difference. I hate it, but I’m not as polite as you. I don’t wait to be let in, I make a hole.”
© 2018 Dellani Oakes