Page 89 of Red Marked

“He’s looking good for it. Maybe we should hang out here for a little while to see if he comes home,” Flint suggests.

“Why not?”

He tips his seat back an inch and folds his arms.

We sit in silence for a while.

The afternoon drags on. A male jogs past with a dog. A delivery van stops three houses down and leaves again a few minutes later. It’s a quiet neighborhood, so not much happens.

“Is it tough being back here and not being able to see your family?”

“So hard.” My eyes prick. “To think I have parents and a brother not ten minutes from here.” I shake my head. “Where my parents are concerned, they’re not getting any younger. As for my kid brother, he’s fourteen years younger than me.”

“Wow!”

“I felt like his second mother. Koda was a complete surprise. My mother started feeling sick and thought she had contracted something.” I smile. “Turned out she was pregnant.” I laugh softly.

Flint smiles as well.

“My father cried when they told me. I was so happy.” My heart warms thinking about it. It also aches.

“Koda was your parents’ surprise baby.”

“Their miracle. That’s what my mother called him.” I turn my head. “He had only just started high school when I left. At that in-between age where he wasn’t quite a teenager but not really a boy anymore either.” I bite my lip. “I’ve missed out on so much. I doubt I would even recognize him anymore.” I’m battling not to cry, so I stop talking.

Flint doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful.

“What about you?” I ask, after a while. “Any brothers or sisters?”

He shakes his head. “Just me.”

“I saw that fishing picture on your dresser,” I tell him. “Is that you and your dad?”

He nods. “Yep.”

“You look like him.”

“So I’ve been told.” He smiles.

After a full minute goes by, I add, “And your mother? Where is she?”

I noticed he didn’t have a single picture of her, which was kind of weird.

He reaches up and adjusts the mirror, then puts his hand back on the wheel. His thumb finds the seam in the leather and works at it. His eyes are on the house across the street.

“She’s dead.” His voice is flat. “She died when I was really young. I don’t remember her.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say in a small voice.

“It’s fine.” His thumb keeps moving. “My dad’s always been there. He did everything he could to make up for it. He was there for every game, every flight test, every school event. He worked nights so he could be home during the day. I never wanted for anything.”

“It still had to be hard.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Not really. I’m fine. I turned out okay.”

I feel like there’s more there, but I leave it alone.

He starts the engine.