Steven drank only occasionally, and. never very much. Still, he always brought a small flask of the highland spirits on these trips and enjoyed the si...gle cup he allowed himself in the evenings. More of a happy ritual than a need or even desire. He hummed a few bars of Suwannee River - he had always had a thing for Steven Foster songs - then fell silent once more to listen to the night.The fog was rapidly encroaching, blocking out any possible view beyond the small area lit by the fire.. Clint felt like one of those crazed stalkers. He watched for her to come to work and walk into her new office. He watched to see who was coming in the office. He was watching her now. She was up in the bleachers smiling at James. One of the single men with a child on the t-ball team he coached now. Clint stood by the dugout, gripping the chain length fence. He took a small bit of satisfaction at the fact that the smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes, like it used to for him. For the first. More

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