There were nights, Ray Vecchio thought as he stepped out onto the lanai of his house and into the balmy evening air, that he really missed Chicago. Even after two years, it still felt odd to realize that he was wearing shorts in November.
He shrugged and sighed, moving to lean a hand against the corner support and stared out through the mesh holes of the screen surrounding the lanai. So much change, and he was back to feeling rudderless, the way he'd felt before a certain Mountie had come into his life. He shook his head, too well aware that he was supposed to be happy. He had a wife who loved him, a business that not only was going well, but didn't involve people shooting at him, and he hadn't ruined a suit in months.
He chuckled softly, knowing that wearing a suit in Florida was something only serious corporate types and hot-shot executives from up North did. It had taken him quite a while to get used to that fact, and he wondered if anyone he'd known in Chicago other than his family would recognize him now.
He sighed again, hating the way the loneliness had slammed into him with the force of a hurricane. He'd been dreaming of drowning on dry land again, only this time the vault hadn't opened, and then it had gotten all mixed up with the things he'd done while undercover. He'd woken up with the remembered fear choking his throat, and had made his way here.
Funny, he mused as he opened the screen door and walked out onto the grass, how he never paid attention to the stars before Benny had opened his eyes to them. Now, staring at the brightest star he could see, Ray caught himself reciting a nearly half-forgotten, childhood chant. He laughed softly at his foolishness and unconsciously crossed his arms. Wishing on a star wouldn't change the way things were now, wouldn't alter the fact that despite everything, Ray missed his best friend and the crazy, unpredictable, death-defying life they'd shared.
Stella would probably scold him for being unpractical, Ray knew. He'd married a no-nonsense woman, and while she hid a depth of tenderness that often surprised him, he knew that compassion was buried underneath armor so thick he secretly compared it to the depth of Fraser's belief in the good in all people. In her eyes, they had escaped the insanity of Chicago for a quieter, more reasonable life. There was nothing to be gained by wanting to turn back the clock, in going back to the way things had been.
Yet standing in the stillness of the late night,
the distinctive, not-quite-tropical scent he'd come to associate with
Florida strong in his nostrils, a light breeze washing over him, rippling
his short-sleeved shirt, Ray found himself wishing he could go back.
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11.21.99 Alice in Stonyland Comments?
P.S. A lanai is
the Florida equivalent of a screened-in porch.