10 - Going home...

Wolf was suddenly over her. “I found you,” he said. “Why? Why are you out here? You missed the entire thing.”

With a jolt, she realized how long she had been sitting there. Hours. How long had they sang? Or how long had she sat in her despair before she heard them?

“We were disgustingly late to begin with,” Wolf said, helping her stand, voice somewhat distant, Fran being deep in her mind. “And then you disappeared. I bounced the eight off the table and hit another—best shot of the game, of course. Too bad you missed it…”

She wasn’t able to pay any attention, his words lost on her. Already, her calculating mind was working, so there is at least one man, one woman. I wonder if I know these people—nobody I know sings. Oh, except James. I’ll ask him (already her heart burned impatiently until morning—hurting more once she realized she’d have to wait until Monday). Whoever they are, must be professional singers. No, more than that. They hung around the casino somewhere—no, the sound came from…west, towards the sea. That’s it. Mermaids! No, don’t be stupid. They don’t exist.

She woke suddenly from her stupor, burning to collect more information helpful to the subject. “What time is it?” she asked, unaware he was in the middle of a sentence until hers left her mouth.

He growled softly, deep in his throat. He did that when irritated, often, perhaps thinking she couldn’t hear. She could alright. He made good use of the fact female’s hearing was often better. “AS I was saying,” he went on, “Kat was there too, you see. Not a bad shot for somebody so young. Gorgeous too. Almost won the game. I beat her, of course. She almost had it. But I’ll always be better.” He huffed. “NOW I’ll answer your question,” he said haughtily. “It’s two in the morning. It generally is. Why?”

“Let’s go home,” she said, her mind’s whirring decelerating with the wait to her question, slowly realizing how tired she was, or must be. She hadn’t drunk anything this time.

“On it.” He twirled the keys around his finger, striding to the red sports car in the lot.

She followed, as she always did, then stopped. “Is that one ours?”

“Why are you asking silly questions?” he purred. “Why does that matter anyway? Trust me to know my own car from everybody else’s.”

Remembering he did keep meticulous track of his stuff, she hopped into the front seat of the car, through the door which he held open for her. She settled in the seat, and wondered. “Has that gadget always been there?” She pointed to the cooling knob.

“Yes,” he said, glancing down as he started the engine. “I always took care of the temp. You always complained but didn’t do anything yourself.”

“Oh right.” She settled into the black seat, made of some soft material. She didn’t remember it being so soft, but whatever, she somehow managed to fall asleep on the hazardous ride home. It’s a wonder, really, how Wolf never crashed a single car.