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“How are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m good,” he replies, facing me. “Really.”
“Your mother?”
“She’s moved on. Her world continues without my father. She has her routine, her friends. She doesn’t even know I’m not there.”
“I guess it’s true what they say for some: you can’t go home.”
“I am home. Home is this. Home is Rose.” Thunder glances to where Rose is sitting with some of the other women, laughing loudly. Her head is thrown back, her hair in a tight ponytail. She notices Thunder and blows him a kiss. Thunder repeats, “Rose is home.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Who the Hell Is She?
HAMMER
That’s the biggest moving truck I’ve ever seen come to town. The old Bell Blue cottage, as it’s called, has been completely renovated. I know this because Risk was the contractor for the job. It’s far from a cottage. It’s a two-level, three-bedroom home with a solarium especially added on by the new owner. A high-end reno, according to Risk. The owner spared no expense in getting what they wanted and never once squawked about the cost. Risk says Francesca Deleigh was the easiest client he ever had to work with.
I’m not a snoop, but it’s hard to ignore since the back of the compound aligns with the road to the only house within walking distance, and that house happens to be Bell Blue cottage. When a bright blue Mazda CX-50 drives into the lane and parks next to the moving truck, I’m curious to see the new owners.
“Getting a glimpse of the rich and famous?” Risk teases. His lips form a sly grin.
“To be honest, yeah.”
A woman exits the driver-side door, and even if I can’t see her up close, I know she’s a looker. A long blonde mass of waves cascades down her back, a headband keeping it off her face. She’s toned and fit. Not a skinny nothing, but a woman who takes care of her body.
What’s noteworthy is that no one else exits the car. “Where’s her family?” I ask. There’s something about her movements. The way she reaches out to touch the newly painted railing on her porch, the way her eyes follow the birds in flight, and how she drops her bag next to the rocking chair and takes a seat, like this is where she’s meant to be.
“No family. Just her.”
“Who the hell is she?” I ask, not expecting an answer.
“Just a woman,” Risk replies.
No way in hell is Francesca Deleigh “just a woman.” This I know because I’ve seen and been with plenty of women, but never have I felt so compelled to get to know all there is to know about any of them like I do about this one.
Risk walks away, leaving me to enjoy the view of a simple woman rocking on her porch.
Songs and Artists
“Chemical,” Post Malone
“Eyes Closed,” Ed Sheeran
“Die for You,” The Weeknd
“Jaded,” Miley Cyrus
“Trustfall,” P!NK
“What a Night,” Flo Rida
“Summer Baby,” Jonas Brothers
“Never Ending Song,” Conan Gray
“Landslide,” Dixie Chicks
“I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” Aerosmith
“Breathe,” Faith Hill
“One Thing at a Time,” Morgan Wallen
“Look What God Gave Her,” Thomas Rhett
“Pretty Lady,” Lighthouse
