IV.

By the time the butlers caught up, we were already on board and burning wheels east. Close, but the cigar was ours on this one. I knuckled sweat off my brow. A few miles later the night sky grew a little brighter for both of us.

Looking over, I saw Leslie’s cheeks streaked with tears, catching moonlight through the passing trees. “You gonna be okay, miss?”

I managed to get the wine between me and the steering wheel. God knows I needed it at this point.

“Yes, I think so.” She was looking out the passenger window. A pause stretched the air. Another thick bead of tears strolled down to the soft crest of her jawline.

“You could say that I never got used to their diet.” A sharp, sobbing laugh escaped her. “I’m, …what do you call it? Vegetarian? I knew that I was different, they were wrong, I couldn’t…” She did the best she could to dry her eyes with the luck that bad catering had given her.

Easing up on the gas, I lit a smoke and passed it over. The cigarette jittered between her lips as she managed a shaky drag. “So they kicked you from crib to curb, decided to make you the next meal when you threatened hardball. Hats off, legs. That’s a lot of cabbage to pass on for the high road.”

Her head slumped forward. “Drake, it’s my turn to be sorry. I can’t pay you. Nothing worked out.” She rolled over and I felt her cheek dampen my shoulder. The ice melted. I took in a mouthful of merlot before parking the Buick.

The moon gave us a black and white photo op: classy stuff. She eclipsed the glow with her lips, and I shifted to lock them.

People can be the worst thing about a sunny day. They make the same mistake twice on purpose and call it tradition. They go from graveyard to cradle, using the scalp of the next generation as nothing more than a whetstone to sharpen the errors of their ways. To justify them.

But sometimes, on a broken night jagged with raw emotions, a Buick streaked with the dirt of a thousand miles gone by can stop in its tracks, and a five o’ clock shadow can polish the ivory neck of a child gone right. A simple thing, really, and all it takes to make things work in a world that does its best to roll the dice on our side of the table.

We just have to notice when they hit. And celebrate when they do.