our distance, to keep the existence of our race secret.
With a kick, I started the bike and eased from the parking lot. Riding was almost as freeing as shifting and going for a run. Almost. I opened the throttle and let go for a while.
*****
My stomach let me know when I needed a break. I pulled over at a little diner and parked the bike in a nearly empty lot. The exhaust the kitchen was kicking out held the lingering scents of breakfast sausage. I grinned and idly scratched my stomach in anticipation. Breakfast food was one thing the mess hall just never got right, and I hoped the diner would still serve it, even if it was past lunch.
The waitress greeted me with a smile as I walked in.
“Sit anywhere you’d like, hun.”
I headed toward a booth at the front by the wall of windows. After tossing my jacket on the bench seat and setting the helmet on the table, I slid in and watched the traffic pass the place by until the waitress came over.
“Coffee?” she asked as she handed over the menu. She had a pot of regular in the other hand.
“Still serving breakfast?”
“For you, sure,” she said in a friendly, flirtatious way universal to most waitresses.
“Then coffee sounds great.”
She turned over the cup already on the table and filled it. Then, before she could walk away, I ordered the hearty man’s breakfast. If Jim would have seen what was all included, he would have been in heaven. With that thought, I realized how much I missed my brother.
As much as I wanted to avoid the pressure of returning home, I knew I wouldn’t keep riding aimlessly. I sighed. Getting home would only take a day if I pushed through the night.
The waitress came with my food after a few minutes. Two plates. Oh, yeah.
I dug in, eating the sausage first. I didn’t pay any attention to the car that pulled in; I was already planning what I’d do when I got home. First, the job Jim had mentioned. The more time I spent away from the house the better, once the families arrived. Knowing my mom, she’d be sending families with daughters. I wasn’t opposed to meeting women. I was opposed to false hope or shallow interludes. We were meant to Mate for life, not date aimlessly.
It wasn’t until a young woman and two boys were halfway across the parking lot that I looked up from my food. When she caught my attention, I froze. Everything inside me died and was reborn in the aftermath of the swift intangible pull I felt.
She was looking straight at me with her light baby blues. Her long, brown hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her sun-kissed skin and full lips made swallowing difficult. She was beautiful. She was perfect. She was...starting to look a little embarrassed.
I realized I was staring while holding my fork halfway to my mouth. Nice one, I thought as I finished the bite and reached for my coffee. But, I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
She continued walking toward the diner, maintaining eye contact until she passed the window. Anticipation for the first whiff of her scent had me tense.
The bell above the door rang, and a breeze swept in with them. I inhaled slowly and frowned. The bitter tang of fear coated the air. I couldn’t smell anything else.
I listened to the waitress tell the girl to sit anywhere. She walked past on the way to a booth at the far back of the place. It wasn’t just her fear, but that of the little boys holding her hands. They both looked close to the same age. Maybe four years. What could four-year-olds fear so much?
She stood to the side to let the children slide into the booth then sat down next to them. One of the boys had dark hair and a tan complexion like her. The other boy was blonde and paler, but had her eyes.
I hoped she would look at me, but she stared down at the placemat on the table. Her breathing grew light and her blinks slowed. Taking another sip of coffee, I studied her, noting what I’d first missed. Dark smudges under her eyes, a pale ring around her lips, and the underlying sickly tint to her olive skin told me she was not only afraid, but exhausted to the point of collapse.
She didn’t seem to notice when the waitress approached the table.