Forty-One
The evening air was crisp. There was still a hint of blue in the sky to the west, a taste of the long days of summer to come. Guthrie and Jacquie walked around the corner from the pub to where Jacquie had parked her car. Neither one spoke, but walked, head down, along the pavement, the yellow glow from the street lamps accentuating the dark nooks and crannies of the shop doorways. Jacquie wasn't wearing a coat, just a sweater; she folded her arms and hunched her shoulders in an attempt to retain some of the warmth they had left in the bar.
When they reached her car, she dug around in her purse to find the keys. Pointing the fob at the car, the lights flashed as the doors unlocked. She turned to Guthrie.
"Thanks for the invite, Tom. I enjoyed the company."
"Thank you, Jacquie.
