“Where the hell did you come from,” I ask in retort and no, I’m not nice in my tone of voice. “I was looking for you and saw you driving a different car. Why do you have another car,” he’s asking questions and I don’t have answers, at least not for him.You are in control, don’t give anything away. He doesn’t deserve it. “I have things I need to take care of and this,” I gesture to my car,” is a bit more noticeable than I’d like for some things.” “What are you taking care of,” he asks and now I’m tired of questions. “Why the hell is that any of your business,” I counter and put him back a peg or two,” I fail to see as to what I choose to do, where and when is any of your business.” “You’re my son, that makes what happens to you my business,” my Father is coming back swinging, bad move. “Okay so where were you for nine years when shit was happening,” I ask stopping all forward conversation.*yawn* Are we home yet?Kind of dealing with something right now.What the hell is this shit? What. The table had a position of prominence in front of the large, wood-burning fireplace and an unobstructed view of the lighted skyline of Tucson in the valley below. A string quartet was playing a selection of what Rockie recognized as show tunes, and two candles were burning on their table. It was all more romantic than she had expected, but she was thrilled by the obvious effort that JR had put into the arrangements for them. He held out a chair for her, and she obediently took her seat.Once he had joined her by taking his seat, she leaned over and whispered, “If you want to get lucky tonight, all you have to say is one word…”“What?” he asked.She winked and said, “That word will do.”He laughed, and she giggled. The waiter handed them each a menu. JR ordered a half pitcher of Margaritas, specifying that the tequila must be Maestro Dobel, and requested that some of their famous guacamole be served with the tortilla chips as an appetizer.Silently reviewing her menu, Rockie considered.
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