Footprints in the Snow

I had seen that Reg3’s feet were regular sized and I didn’t have to check out the soles of his boots. I did find the footprints in the new-fallen snow the next morning, both on the deck in front and leading up to and inside the porch in back. The size of Tony’s feet; sole prints to match the pattern of Tony’s boots. But I’d already seen what I needed to see to be sure of Tony now.

Still, I was a bit surprised Monday afternoon as I drove the Forester down the driveway—hopeful but until then not completely sure—to find Tony waiting at the bottom of the driveway. He was all bundled up in his forest-green coat and beside him, on the ground, was a pack of camping gear.

He raised his hand as I reached the bottom of the driveway, and I stopped and rolled down my window.

“I want you to drive me up to D.C.,” he said. I didn’t hear much in the way of request in his voice. The commanding tone aroused and exhilarated me.

“Where in D.C.?” I asked, my voice full of hope.

“You said you have a house and that you roomed guys from your gym sometimes. We can go there.”