Finding Solace

That thought mixed with the pouring rain has really put a damper on my day.

Sundays are supposed to be lazy, but I’m not used to sitting around. I only bought supplies to fix the issues out back, so by four o’clock, I’m going stir-crazy. Standing abruptly, I accidentally scare my mom in the process when I storm through the living room. She jumps, her book flying from her hands. “What are you doing?” she asks, holding her chest over her heart.

“I’m going for a ride.”

Turning behind her, she looks out the window, then turns back. “It’s pouring out there.”

“I’m used to riding in all kinds of weather.”

“I don’t want you getting sick, Jason.”

“I won’t. I just need to burn off some of this energy. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing.”

She’s staring at me with concern written through the soft lines of her face. “You can relax here, son.”

My shoulders drop some of the burden they were holding. “I know. I’m just going for a ride.” After working all those years for my last boss, hanging around and watching, I should have gotten used to being still. Patient. But not here. My mind is active and on alert as though I’m still on someone’s payroll. I don’t feel like I’m home. Not like I used to. I need something to alleviate the restlessness in my veins. I need out. Fresh air. A new view.

“Okay. Will you be home for dinner?”

“I’m not sure. Don’t wait for me. I can always make a sandwich when I get back.”

“All right.” She’s done trying to talk me out of it, and I appreciate the space she’s giving me. Kicking her feet on the coffee table, she opens her book again. “Be careful. Those curves get dangerous when wet.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I always worry,” she replies.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Her eyes return to her book. “Just be safe.”

I slip on my leather jacket and tighten the laces on my black shoes before leaving. The loud muffler of my Harley is a musical masterpiece, owning the chorus of the road while I ride.

The thing about small towns, though, is they’re small. There aren’t a lot of places to get away from it all unless you find a cranny down by the river to hide inside. Or you own property that doesn’t back up to the main roads. No, privacy isn’t a specialty of small towns, so I decide it’s time to stop hiding and make my presence known. With my chest puffed out and my emotional armor in place, I drive straight to the Noelle farm.

I even rev the engine when I drive up the muddy driveway as if to prove some point I’ve already forgotten.

She always loved rainy days, so I shouldn’t be surprised to find her outside. The bike is stopped before I take a good long look at her sitting on that front porch.

Delilah Rae Noelle looks younger than her years. Always did, but damn, if seeing her now doesn’t make a million memories come back as if they were yesterday.

Her hair is twisted on top of her head, but that blond still shines. She moves to the railing, leaning against it as if she sees me every damn day. Even from here, I can see that sparkle in her blue eyes, an expectation I always hoped I could fulfill when she looked at me. I would have done anything for her.

Except the one time I didn’t think twice, never thought of her or how my choices would affect us. I was selfish, but I’ve learned a lot since then. I’m curious whether she still smells of vanilla, or if she’s changed to her usual summer scent. I run my fingers through my hair, hoping to tame what must look a mess from the rain and riding, and take a deep breath.

When she smiles and waves at me as though we’re old friends, I cut the engine and swing my leg off the bike. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my wet leather jacket, I start walking. With only four steps dividing us, I grab the railing. It needs a good paint job, and it’s unstable. I add it to my mental list of tasks to take care of, though I know good and well that taking care of her is no longer my job.

Four years is a long damn time not to see the beauty who stands before me. Not even knowing why I’m here, I say, “Hi,” to see where it leads.

She rocks back on her bare feet and smiles so wide the rain has trouble hiding her sunshine. “What took you so long?”

“I got here as fast as I could.” I take another step up, and she turns as if I’m welcome on that rickety old porch of hers. “With a few minor detours along the way.”