Warning: Original story. There may be sex. There could be violence. There will be foul language. But, most threatening of all, there will be a rebuplican.

Feedback: is welcome and appreciated and replied to almost always p.phair@comcast.net

Disclaimer: This is not the usual. This is completely…

## Unexpected

by phair

### Chapter 1

Samuel sat staring at his desktop. His cell phone was still clutched in his hand. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead. The pit in the bottom of his stomach seemed to be trying to inch its way closer to his mouth.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered to his empty office.

“Sam,” the gentle voice of his office manager called from the other room. “Hey Sam, lets get moving. We've got a gazillion talking points to review. Tomorrow you got that tour of the harbor islands and…, Sam? Hey Sam, reality is calling, you who…,”

“She's pregnant,” he muttered when Heather walked into his office.

The tall, lean, and perfectly put together Heather blinked and shook her head in disbelief, “Who's pregnant? Your sister, please say it's your sister.”

Samuel tried to form words to respond but nothing came out. His mouth refused to cooperate.

“Oh no! Don't tell me it's that chick you picked up last night!”

“It's been a couple of months and I didn't just pick her up,” Samuel blurted out his defense. “We were introduced at the July Fourth party in Dover . We've seen each other ever week since. It's not like a one night stand or something sleazy like that.”

Heather's reply was clipped and pointedly direct, “And, it's not like you're happily married and settled down and ready to raise children. For Cripes sake Sam, you're a conservative Republican in a Democrat state! You're supposed to be different. You're supposed to have some morals about you. Your supposed to stand for something!”

Sam hung his head. Heather was right. He based his career on the character failures of others. Sam climbed his way up the political ladder with charm and a flawless reputation. Set against a sea of hard edged and dubious politicians, Sam presented himself as a noble knight for a generation starved of a strong and manly image to look up to as a role model.

“Crap,” Samuel muttered without looking up at his associate and friend. “I wonder if Heather will still be my friend now, after this kind of a screw up,” he thought as he chanced a glance at the clearly angry woman.

“Okay, let's just relax and look at our options,” Heather was saying aloud the calming thoughts inside her own head. “I know some folks. Folks with resources. Ample financial resources. We'll give this girl money and she can go away and get an abortion.”

Samuel was truly horrified. “No, we won't! We're not actually going to do anything. I'm going to do…,”

“What Sam? What are you going to do?” Heather stood with her hands on her hips.

“I'm going to do the right thing.”

Heather laughed.

“What's so funny?” Sam was indignant.

“You don't think getting married is going to fix anything do you? She probably doesn't even want to keep the kid. Get a grip, Sam. This ain't the fifties.”

Sam stood and frowned at Heather. Maybe he was wrong about this woman he worked with for the last four years. Maybe she was not his friend at all. It seemed she was not thinking about him at all when he needed her to think only about him. He was in personal crisis and she was strictly worried about managing a professional liability. Apparently, she was only worried about her job.

“I need to go talk to her. I'll see you tomorrow,” Sam said as he grabbed his keys.

“Tell her to do the really right thing, Sam,” Heather advised to his retreating back.

* * *

Sam grimaced as he pulled up the parking brake of his Ford truck. It was too loose. He needed a brake job and he needed it soon. He just needed fifteen hundred dollars in his checking account first. He was a long way from having that amount of cash in his personal account. Each step he was about to take up the stone walkway to white duplex with black shutters would put him another step further away from financial security. A cartoon image appeared in his head of his bare feet crashing through the floor boards of his truck to stop for a red light.

“I wanted to be Abe Lincoln and now I'd be lucky to be fuckin' Fred Flintstone,” he grumbled and climbed out of the truck.

He forced himself to walk slowly. He wanted to run for the door and pound away like a lunatic until she answered but he could not allow himself to give into his panic. There was always somebody with a cell phone camera ready to snap a picture. John Q Public was always watching for an ‘event' to digitally capture and send viral.

Sam could not afford that kind of publicity. He was at the beginning of a promising political career. It was shaping up to be a massive success. His run for the state senate was on a shoe string budget with only volunteers manning his campaign office in the garage of his home. Yet, he won in a landslide. His message of person responsibility and accountability at every level of government resonated with voters.

But here he was, not a year later, standing on the doorstep of his future. He did not know if his political future could withstand the weight of an out of wedlock pregnancy. He didn't know if his head could stand the burden of an instant family. All he knew for sure was, he had to see her. He had to see her right now. Samuel Washington Lincoln Allerton knocked on the door to his future.

* * *

“Haven't you done enough!”

Sam rolled his eyes before gritting his request through tightly clenched teeth. “I would like to speak with Rachael, please.”

The stout woman with spiked, bleached blonde hair stood blocking the entry way. “I think you have done more than enough. You should leave.”

“I would like to speak to Rachael, please,” Samuel repeated and clenched his fists.

“You always do what you like, don't you? You like to tell people how to live, so you become a Nazi representative in the state house. You like to bully poor people so you block appropriations for social services, you like to…,”

Sam interrupted the stream of consciousness and stated a little louder than the first two times, “I'd like to speak to Rachael, please.”

The woman in the doorway hiked up her droopy sweat pants and continued her well thought out speech, “You are so used to getting your way. Having your needs met. Watching the world bow and scrape for your every beck and call. Well, not anymore. I'm taking a stand! You won't get away with abusing my friend. Forcing her to do your bidding…,”

“Forcing? Lady, you've got some nerve!” Sam lost his grip and shouted. “I didn't force her. I, we were dating. We're in a relationship. We are consenting adults.”

“Consenting?” The woman shrieked and shoved her glasses back into place with her middle finger. “Women can't consent on a man's playing field. Woman have been programmed to obey. Women must conform or be punished. All forms of heterosexual activity at tantamount to rape.”

“You are a screwball, Karla!” Sam screamed.

“Fascist!”

“Fathead!”

“Predator!”

“Deviant!”

“Coward!”

The word stopped Sam cold. He tried to calm himself with a deep breath. He was shaken to the core. His hand trembled as he lifted it to loosen his tie.

The woman smirked at him. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“I would like to speak to Rachael, please.”

A voice called from the upstairs, “Karla, is that Sam?”

Karla's shoulders sagged a little, “Yes.”

“Sam, come on up,” the last word was cut off by a gagging noise.

Sam didn't wait for Karla to invite him in. He hurried passed the woman and bounded up the stairs. The bathroom door was slightly ajar. He could see Rachael on her knees in front of the toilet.

“Oh, babe,” Sam whispered as he pushed the door open.

Rachael glanced up at him. It was a brief look before heaves overtook her body again. She gasped and wretched and gasped some more. Sam hurried over and put his cool palm against her forehead. She almost melted into his hold. Sam squatted next to her and let her shift her weight against him. He could feel every gag and every shudder tear through her body. Never in his life had he felt more guilty.

“I'm so sorry,” he hushed against her sweaty hair.

“I'm okay,” Rachael choked but managed to snag some toilet paper and wipe her mouth.

The two of them stood slowly. Each leaning into the other. Sam was startled when Rachael pulled away to flush the toilet. He was not ready to let her go.

“Just let me brush my teeth,” her voice was thick.

Sam nodded but didn't leave the room. He stood behind her and watched. She seemed so frail hanging over the sink. Her body trembled with her efforts. Sam wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and take her home with him.

“Okay, I need to lay down. I feel kind of crummy,” Rachael said after she hung her toothbrush back up.

Sam nodded and followed her. Rachael walked down the long hall to her bedroom. She didn't so much get into bed as she crawled under the covers. Sam climbed in behind her.

“Can't you leave her alone for a minute?” Karla's voice held an accusation of something worse.

Sam stiffened but Rachael answered first. “Karla, could you give us some time to talk. Thank you for helping me out this morning. You're a good friend but Sam and I need to work some things out.”

Karla was reluctant to leave but agreed with a stipulation, “If you need anything, just scream. I have mace and 911 on speed dial.”

Rachael chuckled, “Thanks but I don't think it will come to that. Good to know I have back up though.”

Sam waited for the stocky woman to leave closing the door behind her. “She's a piece of work.”

“She's been hurt. She doesn't want people she cares about to be hurt. You two should make an effort to talk to each other instead of at each other,” Rachael advised.

“I'm not here to talk to her,” Sam clarified. “I'm here for you.”

“Thanks,” Rachael cuddled up to him.

“What are you going to do?” Sam blurted out the words.

“What?”

“Well, about this,” he couldn't bring himself to say the word baby. “What are you doing about it?”

“Me?” Rachael eased away from Sam and looked into his eyes.

Sam opened the top button of his shirt in an effort to relieve the smothering feeling cramping his lungs. “I just mean…you know…it's your body. What are you gonna do about it?”

He knew it sounded bad. It didn't come out like that when he practiced in his car on the ride over. Usually, he was an eloquent speaker. He was able to charm and sway his audience like no orator in the last decade. It was something that came naturally to him. But, not today. He realized by the look on Rachael's face he'd blown the most important speech of his life.

“You'd better leave.”

“Wait, I mean, we, or you, or…,”

“Sam, go,” Rachael pointed to the bedroom door as thunder cracked.

“That was really dramatic,” Sam observed quietly.

Rachael frowned. “Don't try your cute routine on me. I'm not in the mood. Just go. Go now!”

Rachael ended any further conversation by rolling over in the bed. She pulled the comforter up over her head with a humph. Sam was left staring at her back.

“Leave Sam. Don't make me call Karla in here.”

Sam hopped off the bed and headed for the door without a backward glance.

Chapter 2

The truck choked then sputtered to a stop. Sam was able to steer the powerless, gliding truck the last few feet to the curb. Shifting to park lurched the silent vehicle to a halt. The sound of rain pounding on the steel and glass seemed like thunder to Sam's ears. Then thunder cracked with a flash of lightning across the night sky.

“Fuck,” Sam mumbled.

He took a deep breath. Looking out the windshield, Sam recognized the road he had stalled out on. It was years since he was last driven down this street. It was on the day of his mother's funeral. The line of cars drove past the home she grew up in on the way to her final resting place; the cemetery on the hill over the ocean at the end of town.

Sam felt the clenching in his belly just like he had felt that day. His sister, sobbing, sat to his left. His father, silent, sat on his right. Directly across from them in the back of the undertaker's limousine, sat his mother's father. Old Thom's eyes were red rimmed. He wiped at his nearly constantly dripping nose. Any conversation the old man began was abruptly ended with one word answers from Sam's father. After the casket was lowered into the grave, Thom caught a ride with another family member and Sam never saw him again. Sam never saw any member of his mother's family again.

Now all these years later, in the heat of nor'easter, under a pitch black sky, Sam could clearly see the porch light burning bright at his grandfather's house.

“Hello, I'm Sam Allerton, your State Senator and your long lost grandson. May I come in because I don't know where else to go tonight?” Sam practiced his introduction as he got out of his truck into the fierce storm.

His knock was answered by a muffled voice behind the door. Wind whistled and howled in an impromptu chorus. Sam could not stop his teeth from chattering. His clothes were soak through after a walk of less than three hundred feet. Once the door swung open, Sam was surrounded by radiating warmth from within. It reminded him of running home from school and into his mother's kitchen.

“Sammy, what'cha doin' out on a night like this? Get yourself in here before you get the chilblains,” the old man prattled and pulled Sam into the living room.

“You, you remember me?” Sam was startled by the familiar welcome.

Old Thom chuckled. “You're in the paper most days. You're some kind of politician or something important, ain't you? ‘Course I recognize you. Besides, you look just like your mother.”

Sam swallowed hard in a dry throat. Nobody discussed his mother. It was the number one topic his father forbid. There were many topics his father would not allow but his first wife and mother of two of his children was the primary taboo.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” Sam tried to refocus his thoughts with the matter at hand. “My truck broke down. I don't have triple A or anybody to call. I don't, I don't even have money for a cab on me. And, I don't know what I'm gonna do about anything. I don't know what I'm gonna do about everything.”

Sam's head dipped in an effort to silence his rambling. His shoulders slumped; defeated. He sensed more than felt his grandfather's arm encircle his shoulders. The old man guided him across the room to a rag tag couch. Sam either tripped or was pushed down to the cushions.

“Sit. I'll put on the kettle. Ain't got no booze. I'm a drunk from way back. Took the cure when you mother got sick. Couldn't do it when she was healthy but managed to stick with it since. Ah,” Thom waved his hand as if wiping away the memories, “never mind that now. Do you want instant coffee or tea? I think I have a tea bag somewhere.”

“Nothing. No, I'm good. I'm sorry to barge in on you. I just,” Sam stuttered a little, “I just, got into some trouble. And, I was just driving around. My truck broke down. I don't have anybody to call…,”

“Sammy, you don't need no reason to drop by. You're family. You're always welcome wherever I'm welcome,” Thom reassured. “Let me set the kettle to boil. You look like you're cold.”

Sam wiped some of the rain off his face with his bare hand. “Maybe a towel?”

“Rightie!”

The old man toddled off deeper into the darkened house. Sam looked around the living room. It was much as he remembered it to be; old furniture haphazardly strewn about the room, framed faces from his memories hanging on the walls.

“Here we go,” Thom happily announced as he shuffled back into the room. “I got some pajama bottoms and a undershirt you can borrow. And, this here towel ain't never been used. Still smells like the cedar chest. Go ahead, sniff it.”

Sam accepted the bundle of items with a nod.

Thom shook his head a little grimly. “I ain't got no extra beds. You don't want to sleep with me. I leak a little at night. Damn prostrate, can't get to the toilet fast enough.”

“Prostrate?” Wondered what the old man was jabbering about.

“You can sack out on the couch, my boy. I'll get you an afghan. Then we'll have a cup of joe and you can tell me your troubles.”

Sam watched the old man waddle off to the the kitchen. Against all reason, Sam felt comfortable in the dirty house watching his aged and most likely dementing grandfather puttering around the cluttered kitchen. Clanging pans and muttered curses aside, Sam felt a sense of peace claim him with the scent of cedar filling his nose. He stared at the towel in his hands and remembered a Saturday spent shopping instead of playing baseball with his friends.

“Mom bought Grampa this towel for her very last Christmas ever,” Sam muttered but Thom missed the revelation.

* * *

Sam smacked his lips and gave a satisfied snort as his dreams started to drift away. He was scrunched up on his Grandfather's beat up sofa and barely covered by a ragged afghan but he was quite comfortable. His long talk with the old man helped him work out some of his anxiety. It made him feel a renewed sense of confidence. He knew he could salvage his future. Sam was certain everything would be okay.

“You son of a bitch!”

The angry shout was coupled with two strong hands grabbing Sam by the borrowed undershirt. He was dragged off the sofa and punched. His knees buckled but the grip on his undershirt would not let him collapse.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing here? You a fuckin' pervert or something?”

Sam barely recovered enough to lift his face before the next blow to his bleeding mouth was delivered. He whimpered as his head snapped back and forth from the force of the strike. On instinct, he grasped the wrist holding him up. He was instantly tossed backward to the couch. Sam cringed but managed to blink up at his assailant.

The woman towering over him was furious. Her long black hair seemed to be caught in a self generated gale force wind. Her eyes were so deeply blue they could have been black. The taught muscles in her jaw radiated down her leather jacketed shoulders to tightly clenched fist. Her biker chaps and boots creaked when she leaned forward and took hold of Sam again. She pulled him to his feet and cocked her fist back to land another blow.

“Coyote, stop smackin' up family. Ain't no way to treat relations,” Thom muttered as he shuffled to the kitchen with a stifled yawn and a discrete ass scratch.

“Huh,” the woman's hold lessened slightly as her elbow dipped a bit.

Thom nodded in Sam's direction. “He's your cousin. You don't need to be kissin' but I don't want you killin' him either.”

The woman released her grip but kept an eye on Sam. “What do you mean cousin, Gramp?”

The kettle clanged onto the stove's burner. A click followed with the hiss of gas but no sound of the flame popping to life. The unnatural odor of natural gas began to waft from the kitchen into the living room. The impossing woman gave a heavy sigh and pointed directly at Sam.

“Stay!” She commanded before turning on her boot heel and heading to the kitchen. “Gramp, you have to have the matches in your hand before you turn on the burner. You're gonna blow up the whole house doin' it this way.”

“Ahh, you kids with the safety ssshhmafety talk. It always works okay for me like this,” Thom defended.

The woman chuckled as she shut the gas off, “Humor me, will you?”

The old man let out a belly laugh. He stretched up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Red flushed from the the point of impact to the rest of the woman's face as her smile spread.

“Good morning, Gramp.”

“Mornin' Coyote!” The old man chirped before he turned to make his way into the living room. He dropped heavily into the overstuffed chair across from the couch. “So, my boy, I see you were playing with your cousin already but I don't think you've been formally introduced.”

Sam sat brooding and dabbing his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. “No, she didn't get to say hello before she started pounding my face into a bloody pulp.”

“Fuck you too, you sissy,” Coyote called casually from the kitchen.

“She be your cousin, Coyote Nightmoon. She's my boy's girl…,” Gramp began to explain.

Coyote interrupted. “I'm one of your son's many girls and boys.”

“Don't be bitter. It's unattractive,” the old man admonished. “But, you ain't lying. Jackson is a dog. No two ways around that. He's got half dozen kids I've met and at least four other's Coyote's found in her travels.”

“Black Jack gets around and then some,” Coyote stated evenly as she entered the living room with a coffee mug.

Sam watched the old man take the mug and sip.

“Blah, you used that micro-ray, didn't you?” Thom grimmaced at the taste.

Coyote grinned before glaring at Sam. “So, who's the wimp?”

“He's my girl's boy, Sam.”

Coyote extended her hand in greeting as their grandfather continued the introduction.

“Samuel Allerton.”

Coyote's hand dropped to her side. Her lip drew back into a sneer. Sam swallowed hard when her saw the anger return to her blue black eyes.

“The fucking homophobe Senate Sam Allerton? Are you fucking kidding me? My cousin is GLAAD's number one enemy? That's just perfect!” Coyote fumed.

“I wouldn't say number one but I'm in the top ten,” Sam grinned.

“I ought to…,” Coyote hissed and took a menacing step toward the couch.

“No fighting!” Thom shouted. “I don't want the furniture to get all chipped up.”

Coyote frowned but stopped her advance. “I'm getting out of here. Give me a call, Gramp, when the breeder heads back to his ivory tower.”

“Don't rush out on my account,” Sam taunted.

“Knock it off both of you before I feel the need to fake a heart attack for some undivided attention,” Thom warned.

Coyote shook her head, “Don't try to get cute, Gramp.”

“Okay, then I be sure to take a tumble. God knows, what will happen to my hip.”

Sam raised his eyebrows with concern, “That's not funny, Grandpa.”

Thom set his coffee mug down and glared at both of his adult grandchildren. “I ain't tryin' to be funny. I'm makin' a solemn promise. If either of you bolt before I get my breakfast and some good brewed coffee into me, I'll be sprawled on the floor scream I can't get up. It's a guarantee.”

“Grandpa, don't be talking nonsense,” Sam's reprimand was interrupted by Coyote.

“He ain't screwin' with us. He's done it before.”

“Just the once,” Thom clarified.

“Once was enough. Fractured his pelvis trying to chase me when I peeled out of here that first day.”

“You was gonna run off and I wouldn't know how to get in touch with you. I had to do something. Runnin' after you was better than my other plan,” Thom explained.

“Which was?” Sam asked.

“He was gonna call the cops and say I stole the bike out of his driveway,” Coyote answered and stalked across the room to plop down on the couch next to Sam. “Okay Gramp, you win. I'll brew the coffee and pussy boy here will make you something to eat. Then are we free to go?”

Thom smiled. “Depends on how close to lunch time it is. You might need to make me a sandwich before you head back on your way.”

“He drives a hard bargain,” Coyote grumbled as she turned to Sam. “Truce in Gramp's house, okay?”

Sam nodded agreement.

“But,” Coyote hissed her promise, “if I catch you on the street outside or anyplace else, I'm gonna beat you so bad your cock'll fall off.”

Chapter 3

Sam grimaced pulling up his damp pants. They remained clammy from the soaking last evening. His shoes were likely to be soggier. Nothing fully air dried as close to the ocean as his grandfather's house stood. Still, Sam felt better than he did yesterday. Having slept well and eaten a filling breakfast, restored some of his usual confidence. Even though his lip was swollen from Coyote's well aimed punch, Sam was able to devour the French toast sticks with sticky maple syrup like it was his last meal.

The finality of the thought lodged in his brain. Sam's career was likely over. His romance with the first really descent woman he'd met in years was swirling down in a death spiral. And, the idea of a child which he had not ever truly entertained but which had now taken root in his heart was probably not going to materialize into a living, breathing baby. It was that singular reality which hurt the most. He shook off the lingering bleak emotion and exited the bathroom intent on rebuilding whatever remained of his lifestyle as best as he could.

“Finally finish playing with yourself?” Coyote hissed as she pushed past him in the hallway.

“All you had to do was knock,” Sam defended. “Didn't know you were in such a hurry.”

Coyote hooted before slamming the bathroom door behind her, “Right, only rich, republican, government drones need to use the shitter after breakfast. Fascist!”

Sam's grandfather snorted a laugh drawing Sam's attention to the living room. In the light of day, a gray rainy day at that, the room looked quite bleak. The furniture was old and ragged. The carpet was a filthy mess and reeked of aged grime. Windows rattled in their panes with each gust of rain laden wind. Still, the old man paid no heed to the obvious unkempt surrounds. Thom trudged to the front door in just his droopy boxer shorts and a tank top undershirt to retrieve his morning paper.

“Thanks for lending me the couch, Grandpa. I should be heading out,” Sam stated with an awkward shuffle of his feet.

Thom gave him a nod before to the living room. His shuffle showed his advancing years and perhaps the early signs of a neorological disease. Perhaps, a Parkinson's Syndrome or such. The old man settled into an oversized upolsctered chair which seemed so swallow him whole.

“What'cha gonna do, boy?”

Sam shrugged, “I'll fiddle around with the truck and see if I can get it moving. There's a service station just back a mile or so. The walk will do me good, I suppose. No cell service this far out on the peninsula.”

“I mean, what'cha gonna do about your life. How are you gonna handle your girl and the baby?”

“She made it pretty clear she's not interested in being ‘my girl,' I think. And, the baby? I don't think she wants it,” Sam blurted unable to hide the hurt behind the words. “I mean, it's her choice, right?”

“Oh ho ho, now that you're the one in the jam you start clinging to Roe v Wade, Hip-fuckin'-crit!” Coyote snorted as she shoved Sam out of her way. She dropped onto the coach before launching the remainder of her venom. “It's all well fuckin' fine to tell the rest of us scum what to do and how to friggin' do it as long as you don't get stuck playing by the same cranked out rules. Rich boy don't got to play by no fuckin' rules his daddy's lawyer can break, right? So, what'll you do, creep? You just gonna toss this poor girl fifty bucks for a quickie fuckin' abortion? Is she even old enough to get one on her own or are you gonna pretend to be her daddy? Not that you haven't already been playin' her sugardaddy.”

“What?” Sam's pitch hitched up an octave or two. “Old enough? Abortion? Fifty bucks? What are you talking about? I know you're suppose to be speaking English but you talk like drunken sailor.”

“Fuck you, shit face!”

Sam frowned, “This is not any of your concern anyway. You have no right interrupting the conversation I was having with my Grandfather.”

Coyote pulled a face of feigned shock, “Is your personal, important man talk too mature for my delicate feminine ears? Oh, I'm so sorry Mister Sir, please forgive my rude menstruating existence in MY OWN HOME while you continue your discussion with OUR GRANDFATHER!” Coyote sat up and hurled a dusty sofa pillow at Sam nailing him in the gut. “Fuck you, dick wad! This is my house too and I get to say anything I want in it. I can even tell an elected official to drag his scrawny, pompous, self righteous ass out of here! What'cha gonna do? Call your storm trooper Staties?”

“Lighten up a little, girl,” old Thom tried to get a word in edgewise.

Sam dumped the pillow on the floor and made a grab for his shoes. He could hear the ensuing argument erupt between his grandfather and newly found cousin. He didn't bother to try to process the words. None of what they said made any difference in what he needed to deal with. Nothing they said or did could change what was happening in his life. Only he could change his life. For better or worse, Sam Allerton was on his own. Of course, being on his own was nothing new.

Without a word of goodbye, Sam headed for the front door. He didn't linger to put on his shoes. He carried them as he crossed the cold, rain soaked grass. His toes numbed before he reached the sandy and gravelly shoulder of the road. He followed the road into the small town instead of back out to the service station. There was somebody else he needed to see on this patch of land jutting out into the fierce currents of the frigid Atlantic waters.

Sam was almost to Cemetery Hill when he heard the choking coughs of a motor cycle slowing near him. He stepped closer to the grass at the soft shoulder of the road allowing the driver ample room to navigate around him on the narrow road. The bike did not pass him. Instead, it slowed to a crawl along side of him and kept pace. Sam glanced to his left and frowned. The biker was Coyote. Her visorless helmet was perched on her head unsecured by the dangling chin strap.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going? There's nothing out here to help you. The gas station is back over the line in RichBitch Town,” she called to him over the puttering gasps of the bike's engine.

“Leave me alone,” Sam shook his head with the words. “It isn't your road. It is a public street. Anybody gets to walk on it. That includes fascist, republican nazis like me.”

Coyote stopped chugging along next to Sam. He stayed his course and headed up the winding road of Cemetery Hill. He shifted his attention to focus on the cracked and broken tarred path. Little had changed in the two decades since he was last here. The rotting old oak tree next to the weather sign still stood but seemed smaller to Sam.

He let his feet find the way. If he thought about where to go, he knew he'd get lost. Sam knew his heart would remember the way so he let his feet just move. He was breathless when he crested the top of the hill. The stone marker looked even larger than his memory of it. A boxy square of gray stone with letters etched deeply into the rough surface; Marlo Allerton. There was no maiden name, no dates, no loving tributes for the woman laid to rest beneath the granite slab. Just her name. It looked lonely and abandoned and forgotten. Sam felt his eyes moisten at the sight.

“Dude, what the Hell? It is fuckin' freezin' up here. Let's go before your dick freezes to your balls and I have to thaw you out with a blow dryer,” Coyote shouted above the whistling wind.

Sam glared at her but held his tongue. He stepped closer to his mother's headstone and rested the palm of his hand on the rough cut rock.

“Look, I'm sorry. Okay?” Coyote actually sounded contrite. “Let me drive you back to the house. I got your truck running. No charge or nothing. You've got a bad fly wheel, is all. Figure out a way to leave it with me for a couple of days this week and I can put a new one in for you. Okay? Other than that, it's in pretty good shape under the hood. The body's a mess but it'll run you a few thousand more miles before the scrap heap.”

“I don't care,” Sam muttered then knelt in the water soaked grass.

Coyote stepped up next to him. Her voice was soft as she leaned over his shoulder and spoke, “It's just a grave, man. She ain't there. She's long gone. You can't hide from your life up here. Come on, let me give you a ride back to the house.”

“Your mom alive?”

“Naw, she died a couple of years ago.”

“You were all grown by then, right?” Sam didn't wait for her answer, “I was nine. Just turned nine three days before. She'd been real sick for the whole school year. I thought, I thought we'd be able to spend the summer together down here with grandpa. I worked so hard to hurry the year along so we could get one last summer down here. But…,”

“She was too sick,” Coyote finished for him. “She couldn't suffer any longer. Her body needed to get away from all that pain. She wasn't leaving you, Sammy. She didn't have no choice in it. It happened to her. She lived as long as she could. She didn't want to leave you behind.”

“But, she did anyway,” Sam took a deep breath to pull his emotions back into check. “We didn't ever get to have a summer again. None of us. Dad shipped me off to a camp no more than a week after we buried her. Jess got sent to a different camp. Then there were boarding schools and summer vacation camps and au pairs to watch us at the house for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and spring break.”

“Dude, you're a grown man now. Let it go. Your Dad did the best he could. At least, he stuck around and you knew who he was.” Coyote said with a hint of envy.

“Yep, I did know who he was,” Sam nodded in agreement as he stood up. “He was the man I could never please. And, he's the man I'm going to let down once again.”

Continued

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