Mel's Hole Washington Novels & Stories

“It’s just I thought with your little hobby you would have figured that one out already.” Mel looked momentarily shocked then narrowed her eyes at him. “I only knew what people talked about…” she hesitated then added, “and what I could see from my window. It’s not like I was following you or breaking into your house.” “Sounds like there is a yet missing in that last part,” Trent teased. She started to turn pink. “You’re never going to let me forget that are you?” “What and miss out of the fun? I don’t think so, but to answer your question I’m from Oregon, born and raised.”

She blinks a few times, shrugs like she’s trying to shake off a bad omen, and slides in beside me. “Where to?” I ask, hands gripping the wheel like it’s Christmas morning. She looks me up and down with a smirk sharp enough to peel paint. “Well, since you look like shit, and since we can’t go to the club for obvious reasons, let’s hit The Doghouse at Paws and Claws.” Makes sense. Plus, maybe Noah’s there — perfect excuse to share the donor miracle in person. On the drive, Mel launches into a rant about her Minneapolis adventures with Haley and how the guys are off in Portland on a father-and-son fishing trip. Her voice is animated, her hands flailing dangerously close to the gearshift.

Driving home at three in the morning isn't my idea of a good deal. That being said, I have done it for years. My wife talked me into living in a beautiful rural community in southern Washington. We found a great log cabin big enough for us and even a kid, if one came along. She even found a job in Trout Lake. I needed to keep my job in Portland. Portland is a three hour commute... one way! Somehow I was convinced, by her, that this would be great. I would live in a tiny studio in Portland all week and drive home after work Friday night. On Monday I would drive back to Portland in time to be at work at four in the afternoon.

The morning light filtered through the large windows of the modern Bellevue home, softened by the persistent gray clouds and light rain that was typical for Washington in early summer. Emelia descended the stairs slowly, still wearing a simple oversized t-shirt and soft shorts. She had not slept well. The conversation with Marcus the night before kept replaying in her mind.