Full Moon, Part 2 of 2

A #SaturdayScenes from near the middle of my #RiverNovel . I placed an X to represent an element of the story that I haven't yet discovered. Any suggestions?
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The door opens to his key, and he walks in. I had wandered a few slow steps away, intending to wait outside to avoid seeming nosey, but he says, "Come on," in a voice that does not leave room for objection or hesitation.

I hurry to keep up, through a dark vestibule, past a walk-in cooler, to a large bright moonlit room that was apparently the kitchen years ago. He walks directly to the other end of the room to a wall of cupboards. He opens one cupboard door, and removes something. The shadows are too long for me to see what he has until he turns and walks back toward me and past a window. He has X  Again, I am determined to not sound nosey or slow-witted, so I follow him silently as he leaves the building and locks the door behind us.

"Here." As I take it/them, my mind races to try to figure out what's going on, but my thoughts scramble like popping corn in a sealed pan.

As we leave the dense tree canopy and get to a clearing, I sneak a look at my X. They are ceramic with vertical lines like tree bark. On the top is the bump of a tree branch with an animal on it. The tail clues me in to recognizing it as probably a squirrel.

The road ahead of us brightens as car lights come up behind us. He dashes into the woods, and stands in a moonshadow behind a large tree trunk, his back to the road. I crouch down behind a bush. He almost disappears as his dark clothing blends with the tree in the moving shadow. I feel conspicuous in my Spring-colored clothes from my work day.

The car passes and pulls over. The windows are rolled down, and Tom Petty is singing "Free Falling." My chest spasms as I hear the line, "He's a bad boy." I almost let out the burst of a laugh, but just catch bubbling sounds in my free hand.

"Give me that map. I'll find it."

Paper crinkling.

"And I'm free,
I'm free falling..."

Then the car takes off down the hill. When its red glow is gone, we follow it out of the park.

When we get to his truck, he unlocks it, lays out the X along the back seat and says, "Oh. I almost forgot." He rummages under the passenger seat, and pulls out a box of paperclips, and a handful of pens, "These came in today, and I thought you could use some."

"They came in today? From where?"

"From Central Supply. I ordered them for the office, plus extras."
I don't like the way that they feel in my hands, but I must be polite about accepting the thoughtfulness and gift. "Thank you."

"It's OK. It's nothing." Then he takes me by the shoulders and plants his mouth on mine in a quick but stimulating kiss. As he lets go of me, one hand drifts down my side and rests for a moment below my hip bone. His eyes turn toward his truck, and then he takes off.

I take a shower to wash the evening off, and help me start sorting out what happened, and what to do about it. What is there to do about it? I am an accomplice in theft. Petty theft. But really, who's going to prosecute someone for stealing things that aren't worth much? What difference do some X that were left behind, and some cheap office supplies make? But theft is theft. They could make an example out of us. But I could say that I was going to turn him in as soon as I figured out who to report it too. I focus my mind on this story as I fall asleep.
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#SaturdayScenes is a Google+ community giving authors constructive feedback every week on work in development. You can ask to join us. Click on the link below and then click the red Ask to Join button.
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You can find links to all of the scenes that I've posted by going to http://WeaverGrace.com

Photo credits:
Ukraine dnepr at krementchug by Lutz Fischer-Lamprecht. Licensed by Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike 3.0 Unported. Modified by Grace Buchanan.

Squirrel On Tree by Jon Sullivan . Public Domain image. Modified by Grace Buchanan.
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2014-12-06
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