And that’s just before dessert is even served.
It’s getting close to eleven when Fish comes up and whispers, “Think we can sneak out yet?”
“I’m right behind you,” I tell him, glancing around and noticing everyone appears to be distracted. We set our glasses down on the nearest table and head toward the door.
“Going somewhere?” Coop asks, appearing out of nowhere just before we reach freedom.
Fish fakes a yawn. “I’m beat, bossman. Ready to hit the hay.”
Coop rolls his eyes. “Really? Aren’t you the one who says KISS ain’t got nothing on your partying every night?”
My best friend, my wingman, tries to feign innocence and quickly points at me. “His idea!”
I turn and punch him in the arm, hard enough he’ll probably feel it for a bit. “Thanks, man,” I grumble, turning to my crew chief with big, innocent eyes.
Coop just shakes his head. “We’re about to all head out. No reason to sneak off,” he replies with a smirk. “Say your farewells and meet us at the SUVs. We’ll all ride back together.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Fish replies, heading over to shake hands with those remaining. I do the same, happy when we’re finally heading for the door.
The guys are all hyped up as we make our way back to the track. We’re one of the few hauler and motorhomes left in the lot, so it’s easy to find which site is ours. “You coming over to our place for a beer?” Chief asks me as we all start to file out.
“Are ya kidding? Why would he come hang with us when he has a beautiful lady waitin’ in his own motorhome?” Fish asks with a solid slap to the back of Chief’s head.
“Knock it off, knuckleheads. I’m going in to get some sleep. Today’s been a long day,” I state as I stretch my arms over my head.
“Sure, he’s going to sleep,” Cookie sings, thrusting his hips forward and pumping his arms back in that total juvenile way.
Holding up my middle finger, I turn away from their snickering and dirty jokes and go to my own motorhome. I pull out the key, and as quietly as I can, slip inside. It’s dark, with the exception of the soft glow of the television screen where a Netflix show has ended. Something catches out of the corner of my eye and I turn to the seating area. There, curled up on the small couch is Lena and Oliver.
She’s sleeping on her side with my son nestled in her arms, and I swear, something happens in my chest. My heart starts to pound and it’s a little hard to breathe. The sight of them together, so peaceful, sends my mind into dangerous territory once more. I start to entertain all sorts of ideas of a life together—the three of us.
A life I suddenly want more than anything in the world.
I notice her camera sitting on the little dining room table and pick it up. I’ve used her old Nikon before, but never without her tutelage. It takes me a few seconds to remember how it works as I turn the small dial on top. It makes a noise, but fortunately, doesn’t wake up my subjects. I find the flash and attach it like I’ve seen Lena do many times. I may not know anything about cameras or lighting, but I know enough that no photo will turn out in the darkness without the flash.
Lifting the camera to my face, it takes me a few seconds to find my subjects in the small rectangular viewfinder, but when I do, I press the button. The flash is bright and the shutter louder than I’ve probably ever heard it as it takes the photo. When it doesn’t wake Lena, I prepare for a second picture.
This time, I crouch down and use the zoom. I can see the softness in her face, the way she slowly breathes in and out. The same goes for Oliver, who’s passed out cold in the crook of her arm, his mouth gaping open in total slumber. With a smile on my lips, I position them in the middle of the viewfinder and press the shutter a second time.
Unfortunately, this time my luck runs out. Lena’s eyes open, a sleepy, unfocused gaze, and after a few seconds, they lock on mine. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, carefully turning off the camera and replacing it on the table.
Lena watches my movements but doesn’t reply right away. She glances down and sees Oliver tucked against her side, sawing logs. She lifts the arm he’s not using as a pillow and says, “He’s only been out for about an hour,” she whispers back.
“I’ll put him down in the portable crib,” I reply, carefully lifting him from his sleeping position and bring him up to my chest. Oliver wiggles, but settles back down right away.
I take him into the back room of the motorhome, the one I’ve been using as my bedroom. It’s not huge, by any means, but large enough to fit a full-sized bed, a small dresser, and the portable crib. I tried to get Lena to sleep there, but she flat out refused, telling me she’d be perfectly fine in the bunk. Not that it’s a normal bunk. This one is missing the top bunk and has enough room for a dresser at the opposite side of the space. There’s a bifold door that gives it privacy from the rest of the living space.
I place a kiss on Oliver’s soft head before lying him down. He acts as if he’s going to holler but ends up drifting back to sleep. A quick glance at my watch tells me I have about two more hours before
