“Count on it,” Andrew said, feeling acceptance from his father for the very first time. At least he was trying.

He watched as his parents walked up to the house arm-in-arm. The party had been good. This whole day had been pretty awesome. He stretched and rubbed his stomach. It had been a long time since he’d eaten so much junk food, but it had been totally worth it.

He headed to the house. Dad had stopped to get his duffel bag out of the truck. They walked inside at the same time, and Dad headed straight to the bedroom.

Mom stopped at the telephone table where the light on the circa 1990 answering machine flashed. She pressed the button to play it. “Hey honey, pick up the phone. Where are you? You’re probably in the barn with those horses. I just wanted to let you know we’re headed home. I wanted to surprise you and make it home for the party, but the weather’s slowing us down. I’m glad Andrew’s home for a visit. About time. See you tonight.”

If Mom hadn’t been standing right there, Andrew would’ve rewound that tape to listen to that message again. Dad sounded genuinely happy to see him. He was astonished at how much satisfaction that gave him.

“See? We both love you,” she said, as if reading his mind

“Thanks. That was really nice to hear.” He was suddenly buoyed with energy. “I might go for a drive and try to unwind. Do you mind?”

“Not at all, but I don’t know where you’ll go. It’s after midnight. There’s nothing open around here.”

He knew that good and well. “Just a quiet drive.”

“Watch out for deer.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Happy thoughts and sweet dreams when you do turn in. I’m going to bed right now.” She went down the hall and closed her bedroom door behind her.

He stood there for a minute, then headed outside to his rental car and eased out of the driveway. The roads back to town were dark. There were no streetlights; only the occasional yard light near someone’s house shone through the darkness.

Pressing the button to open the convertible top, he found the night sounds soothing. At the stop sign, the territorial hoots of owls, probably nesting high in the huge pin oak trees here, echoed through the leafless winter woods. It was an eerie, solemn sound that made him suddenly feel very alone.

On Main Street, at least the road was amply lit with the new decorative street lamps, even though everything was closed. You’d think by now someone would have opened a restaurant or pub that stayed open late.