Jackknife 1
Chapter 1 Mornings
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Cray Scott woke early in the chilly autumn morning, letting the rest of the household sleep. He quietly made coffee, reviewed his delivery schedule, mentally prepared for the day of work ahead. He avoided the televised news deliberately. Weather and traffic forecasts on mute were the only exceptions.
The silent early rising habit was long-running and familiar. From growing up in cheap apartments, through bachelorhood before and after his first marriage, hardened by a stint in the Army.
Mornings were quiet time, quelling the impulse to rush, absorbing enough peace and quiet to sustain him through the day.
Whether his own household or shared living quarters the fundamental consideration was the same. People don’t want to be disturbed.
His current household came with remarrying in middle age, one of the best things he’s ever done. Obtaining a second chance at both a wife and children.
These were his people. Everyone else were other people. Nothing else mattered, save his one and only friend, Ian McConnell.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee spread to Cray’s sleeping wife, Marie, wakening her gently. After several months of this routine, she knew it was the real thing, not a performance to win her favor. And she liked it.
Marie joined him in the kitchen. They exchanged soft good mornings and drank coffee, spending quality time together until Cray left for work. Her children, now technically their children, wouldn’t wake up in time to see him go. Cray didn’t mind. He was prone to being indulgent when it came to issues in his people’s lives.
Marie escorted him to the door when Cray departed, but she didn’t go outside. She hated watching his contentment die at the door. The transformation was imperceptible to others, but sad and most striking to her.
First Cray lost that serene little grin he wore in the mornings when they talked at length about nothing of importance. The gentle expression slowly drained from his face, his eyes hardened, turning into a predator’s gaze. A rigidness overtook his posture, bearing the weight of the world that hadn’t been very good to him.
Maybe she was fooling herself she thought, overthinking it all. Maybe it was just the change of season affecting her mood, the dark clouds on the horizon, threatening rain.
It was November after all, a month of transformation, autumn to winter, resembling Cray’s daily change from family man to working man.
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