The Santa Mug by Patric Michael Page B

Sometimes I wonder about you.” Despite the severity of his words, his tone held nothing but laughter.
    “You have no idea, baby. No idea at all.”
    “Maybe not, but I’m beginning to suspect.” Max got out of the car. “I’ll be right back.”
    “One honk for yes, and two for no,” Darren said, just as the door closed. Max turned and grinned, shaking his head, and disappeared behind the stone-fronted modesty screen.
    After a moment, Darren also got out, stretching his long legs and groaning at the tingly pleasure-pain he felt. He stared up at the deepening sky and wondered, not for the first time since their trip began, if he was doing the right thing. The sane thing. Low on the horizon, barely above the busy interstate and the trees beyond, the first of the evening stars glittered in the chill air.
    Once, when the world was a nicer place, Darren watched those same stars come out, wrapped in an embrace….
    “No.” Darren whispered, his breath a mere wisp of fog upon the cold evening air.
    “Excuse me?”
    Darren whirled to find a man standing just to his left, waiting with a patient smile on his face. He was perhaps thirty, give-or-take, and wore a plain wool coat. His hands were buried deep in its pockets.
    “What did you say?” Darren said, startled.
    “This is my car.” The man nodded to the white Chevrolet next to Darren. “I rather wanted to get back into it, but you looked so lost in thought I didn’t want to disturb you, except that it’s getting colder—”
    “Oh, yeah. Sure.” Darren stepped up onto the sidewalk, giving the man room. “Sorry.”
    “Not a problem,” the man said as he chirped his key fob alarm and opened the door. “You know, if you don’t mind my saying so, whoever he is, I bet he misses you too.” He got into his car and shut the door. Darren lost his face behind the glare of the overhead street lamps reflected in the Chevy’s windshield. The engine started, and in moments the car, and the man, were gone.
    “Everything cool?” Max’s voice startled Darren again, and he jumped.
    “Jeez, Max. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
    “I wasn’t sneaking anywhere,” Max said easily. “Who was that guy?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, if we get a move on, we can just make dinner. You hungry?”
    Darren nodded absently, staring at the exit where the white car had disappeared.
    “Well, hop in then.”
    Darren shook himself and smiled. “Sorry. I guess I zoned for a bit.” He opened the car door and got in. “How much longer?”
    “About an hour,” Max said as he pulled his door shut. “Maybe a bit longer. Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “Never better,” Darren said. “Are we there yet, Daddy?”
    Max grinned and drove back out onto the freeway. They rode for perhaps forty-five minutes in silence when Darren sighed. “I was thinking about Marlon.”
    Max gripped the steering wheel a little harder, but his voice remained calm. Even after four years, Marlon was still a taboo subject. “Oh, really?”
    “That guy. In the white car. I was thinking about Marlon, and that guy says, ‘He misses you too.’ What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Max?”
    Max remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, regret cushioned his words to a gentle whisper. “I don’t know, buddy. Maybe it was just coincidence.”
    “Maybe. It was weird though.”
    Max laid a hand on Darren’s leg. “Do you want to talk about him?”
    Darren looked at the hand on his leg, more felt than seen in the darkness. Max’s hand. Comfortable, dependable Max. He covered it with his own for a moment and then gently removed it. “Maybe someday, but not right now, okay? It’s too easy to get lost in the dark.”
    “Not if I’m driving.” Max said, his voice perfectly serious.
    Darren laughed. The sound was weak, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Asshole.”
    “Hungry asshole. Would you grab my phone? It’s in the pocket of my jacket in the back seat.”
    Darren felt