Unwilling to go into the house, on the chance that I’d run into Aaron, I buckled up and hit the road. My mother would have dinner on – probably roast beef or spaghetti. Either way, I was ravenous and would be welcomed for a meal with the family. I hit speed dial on my cell phone and told my mother that I was coming for dinner. It was always acceptable. I flipped the phone closed and scooted over the back roads. The car handled like a dream. I sped toward my parents’ house, elated to have a decent car once again. At the intersection of my parents’ street, my phone jingled its lofty tune. The number displayed belonged to Marcus. I wondered if he were checking on my whereabouts. Unwilling to listen to his nagging, I ignored the call and let it go to voice mail. The house smelled of roast veggies and beef done to perfection. My father slid the salad bowl onto the table with a glance at me. My mother set the serving platter, loaded with succulent fare, between the four place settings.
