NRI Mom With Stepson
As the sound of the chainsaw died, I looked around the small clearing. It was churned up mud and struggling grass. The mud was from my tractor, which I used for skidding the logs into piles. That wouldn’t matter soon, because there would soon be houses growing here. The topsoil would be hauled away and sand put in its place. Near my foot were a bunch of morel mushrooms. I bent and picked a dozen, sliding them into my pocket. Morels were rare and valuable, about 40 dollars a pound. As I began loading equipment into my truck, I thought about how good morels would taste in the pasta premavera tonight. Morels were the best tasting mushrooms on earth. But Morels only grew near Mother’s Day, not a happy occasion around our house. How was my ex-bitch doing, anyway? She lived in Los Angeles now. The last I’d heard, she was dating a doctor. As I pulled out of the clearing, I took the morels out of my pocket and laid them on the seat beside me. “Mothers’ day, what a fucking. Part Three:The following Sunday had been poor weather-wise. Overnight rain and heavy winds had caused flooding in many areas and I had been woken early to help recover a couple of buses that managed to get themselves into trouble. I was glad to be finished and headed home along Brighton seafront. It was still windy, but the rain had stopped. The roads were quiet, thankfully, and very few people were about.I saw the girl in the distance; she was walking at a fast pace. She was about five feet four and slim by the look of her and wearing jeans and a beige anorak. She was heading for the junction I intended turning into. She briefly looked back and increased her pace. A mirror check told me she was probably going to catch the bus in the distance. The stop I knew was just past the junction.I wanted to see what she looked like and estimated we would reach the junction at the same time. I got there just ahead of her and was looking at her as I turned. I didn’t see the large floodwater and.
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