Riding Home at Sunset

[Malloon]

Omar Bruges sat contently in his living room, reading and waiting for his daughter Chloe to come home. He had put a load of clothes in the washing machine half an hour ago and the salmon and the vegetables in the oven were roasting and baking nicely. He had also already laid the table in the kitchen -- two places, one for him and one for Chloe -- so for now, he could take a break. His wife wouldn't be joining them that evening; she was at a conference in Philadelphia and would be back the next day.

He was neither a small nor a large man, standing at about 5'7'' when upright. He had a barrel chest and a layer of fat as was typical of a man in his late forties. He had a round face, with a very dark complexion, and his expression was relaxed and friendly. Perched on the end of his nose were a pair of small round reading glasses.

The armchair he sat in faced the large picture window on the far side of the room. Outside, the sun had almost set. Through the open curtains he could gaze into the front yard and further onto the street, or at least, he could have, had he not been hidden behind that day's issue of the "New York Times". He was perusing the articles by the light of a floor lamp beside him. At the same time an oven timer on the coffee table in front of him ticked steadily towards its end. Ten minutes to go.

A few minutes later the sound of a scooter reached his ears. It grew louder as the vehicle pulled into the street, the beam of light from its headlight illuminating the house opposite, and made its way towards the house. It pulled into the driveway, purring like a large cat, and was abruptly silenced. He smiled, but kept reading. Chloe was home.

CHLOE BRUGES - PREGAME START

Chloe had had a long day. Not a bad one. Just a long one. After she turned off the scooter's motor she allowed herself a few moments' respite. She had just come back from tutoring Dante. Dante Dante Dante... Dante who could get her so frustrated, yet at whom she could never be mad. He was too sweet and his parents were too nice and cared about getting him some decent grades and he was clearly trying, but... For what it was worth, she knew she could be proud of helping him achieve those grades, even if it was hard work.

...God, was she really complaining? She had to be more tired than she realized. Or hungry, she thought as she smelled a faint waft of garlic emanating from the kitchen. Almost on cue, her stomach rumbled. She then wasted no time getting off the scooter and pushing it into the garage. Once inside she closed the garage door and stepped into the house through the side door, bag in hand. She carefully set it down beside the front door, took off her shoes and placed them in an empty spot on the shoe rack, as was routine. Then she walked into the living room. She had guessed her dad was there when she saw light in the window as she approached the house. He liked to read before dinner, she knew, and sure enough, he was there, half-hidden by a newspaper on the far side of the room. Without further ado she took a few steps forward and flopped onto the couch.

"Hi dad," she remarked, lying almost horizontal, with only her shoulders, head and neck being propped up by the couch cushions. "Hi sweetie," her dad answered, letting the top half of his newspaper drop forwards as he smiled at her over his reading glasses. "Long day?" His voice had more than a hint of a French accent, betraying his country of origin. "Uh huh," replied Chloe as she grabbed her braid and started untying it, moving into a more upright position as she did. Her voice in contrast was a subdued Tennessean drawl, though she sometimes slipped some French pronunciation in there by accident, especially when she was around her dad. She suspected she might do that around him even if he hadn't been the one who raised her -- his manner exuded both refinement and practicality in a way that made even people who had just met him respect him, like a professor who would roll up his sleeves to help the farmhands carry hay bales, or a concert musician expertly chaperoning a class of preschoolers. And people imitated those they respected. She had read that on the internet once.

She finished untying her braid and fanned her waist-length hair over the back of the couch. That felt better. Her dad had returned to his paper, intuitively sensing that Chloe wanted a moment's quiet while undoing her hair. The quiet didn't last long, however, as the oven timer finally reached its goal and sounded a muted but persistent ringing. Chloe and her dad immediately sprang into action. Her dad abruptly closed his paper, folded it and tapped the top of the timer, silencing it. "Dinner!" he announced, springing up from his chair and striding towards the kitchen. While he walked he took off his glasses and placed them in his spectacle case. "Right!" Chloe answered as she collected her hair in a bunch and loosely tied it into a pony tail. She then collected two hairs from the couch that had fallen out and followed her dad out of the room.

The kitchen was down the hall from the living room, on the other side, just past the downstairs toilet. First Chloe slipped into the toilet to throw away the hairs and wash her hands, then slipped back out and into the kitchen. Her dad had put two baking pans on the table already and was washing his hands too. Chloe grabbed a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge and went to sit down. She immediately poured herself a glass and took a gulp. The food smelled delicious. It was a shame her mom wasn't here -- Chloe had a few things she wanted to discuss with her, and she would have loved the food. At the moment she was probably dining on some bland but filling hotel food.

Her dad had sat down and was shoveling a large salmon filet onto his plate. Chloe grabbed a spatula and started shoveling some roast vegetables onto hers. A moment later they switched. Then they toasted. "Here's hoping your mother catches her flight tomorrow", her dad toasted. "Here's hoping the food she has for dinner isn't too awful," Chloe toasted back.

Dinner was otherwise uneventful. Both of them had double helpings, though her dad had insisted that she stick to only one glass of Pepsi. After dinner Chloe went up to her room to do homework and practice the clarinet. At around eleven thirty she was done. After the day she'd had she was glad to get an early night. To round off the day she checked her emails and her messages, then she brushed her teeth and slipped into bed. The last thoughts she had before drifting off were to remind herself that she had band practice before school the following morning. Then she fell into a deep sleep.

Chloe Bruges continues in Senior President Election