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That was his ace in the hole. Mark had been threatening to tell Ellen about the incident, and that was what had kept Henry in line for so long. But now that Ellen knew, and that she wasn’t mad about it, Henry had some room to maneuver. He asked, ‘What is going on? You look like shit.’ ‘You remember that waitress from the Starlight Café?’ Mark looked at him wildly, ‘You remember how I told you about the chef from Alessandro’s?’ ‘Yeah,’ Henry frowned and felt a draft across his feet. He hugged his bare chest and sat down on the couch, his gray sweats warm and comfortable. ‘The waitress I was fucking is the one who died a little while back,’ Mark told him, ‘She was killed right after we talked that morning.’ ‘You mean the morning you threatened me and then proceeded to fuck your prize student for an hour in your office?’ Henry clarified. ‘Henry,’ Mark sat down, his voice breaking, ‘The chef, Emma… Oh my God, Henry.’ ‘What?’ ‘She’s dead,’ Mark whispered, ‘Someone cut her fucking head. Suddenly a big gust of wind slams into the side of the truck sending it sliding sideways on the icy road. Trying to right the truck he steers it in the direction of the skid only to have the trailer slide into the bar ditch and hang up the truck bringing it to a sudden stop. ‘Damn’ he thinks ‘half a mile more and I’d of been home.’ Knowing he was this close to home he decides to brave the storm and walk the last half mile home, leaving the truck where it sits until the weather breaks. Reaching around into the sleeper he pulls out his heavy coat and gloves and prepares for his walk home. God be willing his sweet wife wouldn’t have to spend another Christmas alone. He finds it hard to see in the storms swirling forces, as the wind bites at his exposed skin. He’s beginning to think it a fool hardy adventure to try and walk home when he sees the light in the window of his home, just like times before his wife had left a light on for him. Her way of saying just incase you make it home.
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