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Misty was good to her word and she and Joe were buckled up and heading north on Roswell Road just as the car’s clock changed over to 7:10. “If you think you’re going to throw up then you need to roll down the window,” Misty said with a chuckle and a quick squeeze of Joe’s arm.

“Har, har,” her husband commented back. “You are quite the commode-ian. Hey, thanks for driving me. I know how much you like to sleep in.”

“No problemas, honey child. Sacrifice is part of the program.”

“Go team. Love you, sweetie.”

“Back atcha.”

Traffic was heavier heading south than north and the Kleens made good time to the Roswell Road and Azalea Drive traffic light. “Left here, right?”

Joe scowled at his bride and said, “Yes, left here, correct. Smart ass.”

“Moi? In any case that is the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it, Mr. Wordplay?”

“Touche. Left here then another left at Willeo. I’ll keep my eyes peeled, I’m not sure how far it is.”

“Wow. This is pretty along the river.”

“Yep,” Joe replied. “Until it floods.”

“I’d say you have no soul but that would be both cruel and untrue. Maybe we could find a house on a bluff high above the water but with a magnificent view. I saw a house listed that was perfect; only two point five million.”

“Make a lower bid, see if they’ll chop off three zeros. Even we can afford a house at twenty five hundred. Your Cavalier cost twice that.”

“Our Cavalier, Mr. Kleen. Don’t fret. I bet we’ll be in a house before we celebrate our first anniversary.”

“And I think we should make that 2.5 thousand dollar bid on your stately mansion. I think this is Willeo coming up.”

Like Azalea Willeo also hugged the Chattahoochee and the sun rising over the river made the early morning November view dazzling. “What direction does that mansion face? I really like this sunrise on the water thing. John Denver was right, it does look so lovely.”

“Just don’t tear up, lover,” Misty responded. “I need you to navigate.”

The left turn onto Lower Roswell left the view of the river behind them and Joe was late in recognizing their final right turn on Indian Hills to the point that Misty had to slam on her brakes in order to not swing by the intersection. “Yeah, yeah, dog meat,” she said in response to the car horn honk she received from the trailing driver, “if you hadn’t been following so closely we wouldn’t have had a problem, now would we?”

“Wow, honey! That was like having my dad right here next to me. Next thing you know you’ll be telling the whole world how to drive.”

“Can it, mister. If you’d been a little quicker in the navigation department we wouldn’t have had a problem. What time do you have?”

“Seven twenty two. I should have plenty of time.”

“Good. I think that must be it on the left. Oh, lord. Look at all those temporary classrooms. Things are booming around here, aren’t they?”

“Yeah. That’s not something you see a lot of in New Britain.”

“Nor in Brewster. Atlanta is bursting at the seams. Okay, champ looks like this is your bus stop,” she said as she pulled into the school parking lot and put the car in park.

Joe took the bike off of the roof rack while Misty removed his belongings from the backseat. He installed the front wheel, draped his bags over the rack and pecked his wife on the cheek. “Love you, sweetie. Thanks.”

“Love you, tiger. Go get ‘em.”

“Will do. I’ll call you before I head for home.”

“Great. Bye bye, sweetie pie,” she said as she buckled up and closed her door. The last he saw of his wife that morning Misty was blowing him a kiss as she turned out of the school parking lot and headed north to Roswell Road.