James
Michael reaches under the dash and pulls out a box of tissues, then a rucksack, slinging it over his shoulder. “Why d’you reckon women cry when they’re happy?”
“Beats me.”
We both get out of the car, standing to lean against it. Eyes creasing, Michael is holding in a smile, the tissue box cradled in one hand.
Bound to want ‘em soon…
Charlotte and her mother are flooding tears, babbling incoherently at each other. Up and down the street, curious faces are swinging their way.
Jade…
My Jade…
Finally finding your dreams…
The two women pause, I think to grab air. Charlotte looks my way, swiping the back of her hand under her nose and Michael waves the tissues at her. She nods as he walks across, offering the box. Her mother’s eyes…
Green…
So familiar…
… follow him, then ret
