The engine purred even at this speed, as Giannis shifted into fourth despite the twisting mountain road. Even the sky matched his mood, with only bits of fluff interrupting the blue. His face ached with smiling, fierce and feral and triumphant. He'd been only a few minutes into the tune-up when his land line phone rang, and when he hadn't been able to reach it with his grease-smudged hand by the fourth ring, it had gone silent.
Only for his cell phone to ring an instant later.
He braked, tires squealing, and clutched down to match the winding descent. The terrain blurred past him as he eased into fifth gear as mountain switchbacks turned into mere hills.
The call had sent him to the garage, tossing tools helter-skelter onto the wooden workbench. He'd tossed the wrench and screwdriver he'd used to start the tune up onto the bench so hard they'd knocked the timing light to the concrete floor.
He hardly heard it beneath the sound of the engine surging to life.
The turnoff brought another squall of rubber, but within a minute, he was decelerating as he wound between slower-moving traffic. Horns blared, but he just smiled more widely. Half a mile later his journey ended. He jerked the key from the ignition as drivers he'd passed seconds before blared their horns and shouted at him.
Giannis only waved over his shoulder, thumbing the electronic lock on his keyring as he sprinted toward the steps of the old limestone-block building with narrow, arched windows. The awnings on the first floor fluttered in the slight breeze, and the security guard at the desk had risen to his feet, but barely taken three steps toward the doors when Giannes sprinted through them, turning automatically for the service stairs.
He imagined a Doppler effect blurring the other man's greeting, even as he interrupted with, “Taking Savina out for the day, it's /important/!”
A stranger in a staid blue dress suit flinched as she sped past him, muttering to herself. He burst through the door to the second story without breaking stride, and pushed open the mahogany and glass double doors with a similar show of strength.
“Savina!” he called.
A gray-haired man glared as he crossed from the private office. “Giannis? What's the trouble, here? Your wife is--”
Giannis broke in with a sharp toss of his head. “Never mind what she's doing, Mister Zirimis, as of /this moment/ it is no longer a priority!”
His wife appeared, calm and serene, but with fire in her eyes. He rushed to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her high, swinging them both in a circle.
“Mister Zirimis!” he called as Savina settled lightly on her feet. “Remember that maternity leave you promised when Savina came to work for you? It starts right now,” he laughed.
“What?” Savina gasped, and her voice cracked.
He kissed her cheeks, settling his arms around her shoulders to pull her close. “Right now,” he repeated, his own voice choked with longing. “It's a boy.”
A sob tore through his wife, though she clutched both hands to her mouth as though trying to catch it. “A boy?” she repeated.
He nodded. “His name is Aaron, and he just turned six.”
Prompt FILL: Clutching at the Future
The engine purred even at this speed, as Giannis shifted into fourth despite the twisting mountain road. Even the sky matched his mood, with only bits of fluff interrupting the blue. His face ached with smiling, fierce and feral and triumphant. He'd been only a few minutes into the tune-up when his land line phone rang, and when he hadn't been able to reach it with his grease-smudged hand by the fourth ring, it had gone silent.
Only for his cell phone to ring an instant later.
He braked, tires squealing, and clutched down to match the winding descent. The terrain blurred past him as he eased into fifth gear as mountain switchbacks turned into mere hills.
The call had sent him to the garage, tossing tools helter-skelter onto the wooden workbench. He'd tossed the wrench and screwdriver he'd used to start the tune up onto the bench so hard they'd knocked the timing light to the concrete floor.
He hardly heard it beneath the sound of the engine surging to life.
The turnoff brought another squall of rubber, but within a minute, he was decelerating as he wound between slower-moving traffic. Horns blared, but he just smiled more widely. Half a mile later his journey ended. He jerked the key from the ignition as drivers he'd passed seconds before blared their horns and shouted at him.
Giannis only waved over his shoulder, thumbing the electronic lock on his keyring as he sprinted toward the steps of the old limestone-block building with narrow, arched windows. The awnings on the first floor fluttered in the slight breeze, and the security guard at the desk had risen to his feet, but barely taken three steps toward the doors when Giannes sprinted through them, turning automatically for the service stairs.
He imagined a Doppler effect blurring the other man's greeting, even as he interrupted with, “Taking Savina out for the day, it's /important/!”
A stranger in a staid blue dress suit flinched as she sped past him, muttering to herself. He burst through the door to the second story without breaking stride, and pushed open the mahogany and glass double doors with a similar show of strength.
“Savina!” he called.
A gray-haired man glared as he crossed from the private office. “Giannis? What's the trouble, here? Your wife is--”
Giannis broke in with a sharp toss of his head. “Never mind what she's doing, Mister Zirimis, as of /this moment/ it is no longer a priority!”
His wife appeared, calm and serene, but with fire in her eyes. He rushed to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her high, swinging them both in a circle.
“Mister Zirimis!” he called as Savina settled lightly on her feet. “Remember that maternity leave you promised when Savina came to work for you? It starts right now,” he laughed.
“What?” Savina gasped, and her voice cracked.
He kissed her cheeks, settling his arms around her shoulders to pull her close. “Right now,” he repeated, his own voice choked with longing. “It's a boy.”
A sob tore through his wife, though she clutched both hands to her mouth as though trying to catch it. “A boy?” she repeated.
He nodded. “His name is Aaron, and he just turned six.”