“Hey, I’m finally on my way,” I tell my husband as I start my car and back out of the parking space. He is not amused.
“I know. I’m sorry. My last patient was late and then just as I was walking out the door, I got an emergency call. I thought I’d never get that woman off the phone. Her emergencies are never actual emergencies. Drives me crazy.”
Ned spends about the next five minutes or so going into detail over an especially aggravating settlement he has been negotiating for more than a month.
“Well, I’m glad it’s finally been resolved. You must be relieved. Do you want me to stop and get some champagne?” I laugh.
He tells me he’s already bought some, as I pull onto the ramp for the interstate. “Oh great,” I groan. “There must have been an accident. Traffic is almost at a standstill. Damn, I’ll never get home.”
Ned suggests I get off at the next exit, which is Highway 109. There is a dirt road, he says, that will take me to Long Pine Road, where our small farm is located.
“Ok, I’ll call you when I make it to the exit,” I say, and hang up.
To read the rest of this short story, see my new Short Fiction page at my website here: Phlegethon