Connected: Part 4 of the On The Edge Series

The silence was warming in my car. The dark outside and the dim glow of my dash pulled me closer to Billy. His hand clutched mine and, as we traveled, he'd periodically lift my hand to his lips for a tickling kiss.

"I've never been here," he murmured as his eyes flicked to the warm yellow glow of light from my childhood home.

"Oh, right," I realized. "So, this is where I grew up," I offered as I pulled myself from the stupor of the ride.

"It's so New England," he mused, pulling a laugh from me.

"What does that mean?"

"You know, you see New England neighborhoods in the movies, and they're all tree-lined and casting an angelic glow." His gaze stayed trained down my street as he spoke.

"Mmhmm, when you live here, it's more like Peyton Place. See that green cape on the left? I'm pretty sure they swing with the couple that lives in that birthday cake white house across the street. And that adorable ranch... haunted."

"Haunted," Billy laughed.

"Yeah, haunted. My dad told me that in the late 1960s, a teen lived there. He was trying to sneak in through a window one night to avoid getting busted for breaking curfew. The dad didn't know he was out and thought he was a burglar. He shot him. Ever since then, people have heard the window banging shut when it wasn't even open."

"Okay, first, if that's true, that's a truly terrible story. Could you imagine shooting your own kid?" Billy's head slowly shook at the thought. "And don't you think your dad told you that story to prevent you from sneaking out?"

"No, maybe to stop me from sneaking in." I shrugged.

"Mmkay," Billy teased.

I sighed as I let my head fall onto Billy's shoulder. His arm instinctively snaked around me as his lips hit the crown of my head.

"Klopplebaum," slipped from my lips.

"Klopplebaum," Billy agreed before I heaved my door open, letting the cold outside into the warm car. "So that we're on the same page..." Billy said as he folded his hand around mine. "Your mom..."

"Still thinks you are a garage band musician working on a pipedream," I finished for him.

"Really? She doesn't have the faintest idea who I am?"

"I don't think so. We'll find out in a minute." I shrugged.

"You and your dad are strange and fascinating people," Billy mused.

"Thank you," I smiled.

I rang the bell and sunk into Billy's side.

"Isn't this your house?" He whispered into my hair.

"No, it's my mom's house. I've rung the doorbell since I left for college." My brow furrowed at this thought. I had never really thought about the differences between the Collins and the Turncotts. It seemed as natural for me to ring the doorbell as it did for Billy to burst into his mom's house with an echoing "ma."

"Lily," my mom greeted with a tempered smile.

"Hey, Mom, merry Christmas. I remembered the rolls." I held them up as though they were a Nobel Medal. "And this is Billy," I quickly added.

"Of course," She knowingly nodded as though nearly twenties years hadn't passed since she last heard of Billy. "How are you?" She continued.

"Well, Mrs. Turncott." Billy's head slightly bowed, and I wondered if it was from his manners or the weight of the formality my mom brought to the moment.