With record-level rainfall last fall and this winter, it was a remarkably wet time in Kern County, Bakersfield, and the surrounding area. A welcome change to the arid, dry climate, and water conservation tactics that farmers were dealing with as part of the norm for the past fifteen years in California. The Kern River, that cuts through the city, had roared back to life clearing out dead brush, the occasional homeless encampment, and derelict shopping carts. Upstream, Lake Isabella and the newly completed hydroelectric dam made headlines. The lake was at full capacity for the first time in twenty years stretching as far as the eye could see. It was projected that brownouts and blackouts would be a thing of the past. The people running the state would never admit that we were officially out of a drought, but the evidence could be seen in the greenery around the mountains, hills, and valleys. The evidence could also be seen locally in the water banks that seemingly sprang up out of nowhere in plots of land that were once abandoned empty fields. There was a rush to capture the water as quickly as possible to replenish the once depleted aquifers. Agricultural business was starting to turn around, and things seemed to be going in a positive direction for the area, for once.

  Miguel took off from work a little later than expected. Warehouse distribution management wasn’t a nine-to-five occupation. Very rarely did Miguel make it home before six. One thing or another would get in the way. Even though Miguel told Betty O'Keefe, the evening dispatcher, about his need to take off early for a personal errand, the day-to-day management of his drivers constantly pulled at his attention. This time, as Miguel was rushing to leave, Betty patched through a call to his business cell from a disgruntled customer.

  “Hi, yes, this is Miguel Gutierrez, General Manager. How can I assist?”

  “Yeah, your driver, he’s a piece of shit!”.

  “Okay. Really? What’s his name?”

  "Javier or Hector, I didn’t get the name, and it’s not on the delivery invoice.”

  “No name on the delivery invoice? That’s not right.”

  “I ain’t no liar.”

  “No, I’m actually surprised. This is not how we train our guys.”

  “Well, this is the third time in a row that our deliveries for three different stores were either incorrect or damaged somehow”.

  “Oh, wow. Who is this, by the way?”

  “Marty Flanders, from Flanders Markets in Modesto.”

  Miguel paused, took a deep breath, and rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Yes, Mr. Flander, we met a few years ago. This is the first time I’ve heard our deliveries are, as you called it, Shit.”

  “It’s Flander-s, with an ‘s’, and I said the driver is a piece of shit. He’s got a shit attitude.”

  “Yes, sorry, I meant Flander-s.”

  “I’ve told him directly several times. He blames the warehouse and said he would pass it along.”

  “Really? No, this is the first time I’ve heard of this, and I assure you, this will be the last. I wholeheartedly apologize and will do everything to fix this.”

  “Well, um. I should hope so.”

  “Yes. When possible, please have someone provide our office with a listing of missing or damaged products and we will make sure to replace them, no cost. No questions. After this call, I’ll let our dispatcher know about this incident. They will be expecting your replacement list. Oh, and expect to see a new driver next time there is a delivery."

  “Oh, my, well, this conversation turned out different than expected. Better, I mean.”

  “I appreciate that, but please accept our most sincere apology. Mr. Flanders, after this conversation, I will let our office know what we discussed and that we will be expecting a call from a member of your company to provide us with that listing of replacements.”

  “Yes, we will. Thanks for handling this issue.”

  “No, Thank you for continuing to use our service. We rely on good natured people like you.”

  “Yes, well okay. Appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, have a good evening”

  “Same to you”

  Miguel hung up the phone, pulled over to the side of the road, took several deep breaths, and dialed back Betty.

  “Hey Betty. That was the owner of Flanders Markets in Modesto. We screwed up big time on the last three deliveries to three of his stores. I need you to verify the dates and times of delivery we made to them and which driver was involved.”

  “Yes, let me do a quick search.”

  “I'm placing bets that it’s one particular relative of Vinnie.”

  “You mean Javier?”

  “You guessed it. Is that what came up in the system?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok, his driving days are over. Either Vinnie will fire him, demote him to janitor, or whatever, but he’s no longer going to be driving.”

  “How do you want this handled?”

  “In the system, I need you to remove him from the available pool of drivers.”

  “For how long?”

  “Indefinitely. Just take him off the pool listing. That’ll prevent him from being listed for deliveries. When he arrives in the early shift, he’ll try to clock in and then go to the dispatch desk and discover he has no delivery invoices in his mail slot. Instead I need you to lock him out of Kronos, so he doesn’t clock in. Do that first, then I’ll give you the next steps.”

  A few minutes later…

  “Ok, he’s now no longer listed as a delivery driver. The system auto-directed all tomorrow’s deliveries to the remaining drivers. That’ll slow down delivery times.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it’s a necessary evil. The rest of the drivers will appreciate the long awaited O.T. How about Kronos?”

  “Yep, he’s blocked tomorrow. Shouldn’t he get a warning?”

  “In other circumstances, yes, but he fucked up royally. Flanders Markets is one of our biggest clients. If we lose that client, we’re all screwed.”

  “Ah, I see. Yep, what's next?”

  “This part is tricky, but I’ve seen it roll out a few ways.” Miguel looking at the truck dash time. “Shit! I’m going to be late for my thing with Heather. Okay, here’s how we should handle this..."

  Miguel paused to find a solution.

  “How about placing a note in his mail slot” Betty piped in. “Giving one to the morning dispatcher to hand him in the morning. That way if he misses the mail slot or realizes he cannot punch in, he’ll get the message.”

  “Perfect, great idea! That's how we’ll do it. Write the following..."

  Attention: Javier Diaz

  You screwed up royally and are restricted from clocking in today. Go home and come back at 4PM to discuss your future with Vinnie and Sons.

  -Management.

  “Why have him wait until the evening?” Betty asked.

  “It’ll give me time to talk with Vinnie and discuss what to do with his other brother-in-law.”

  “Other brother-in-law?” Betty asked. “Something happened to Pablo?”

  “Didn’t you hear? Pablo forgot how to drive a truck for the last time. Once Vinnie finds out we could potentially lose one of our biggest clients, and now our insurance rates are going to skyrocket, Vinnie won’t care how they're both related. You would think this would cure him from hiring family members?”

  “You know I’m married to Gill, his cousin”

  Yes, I know Betty, but you’re the exception, not the rule.

  “Thanks Miguel." She chuckled. "Okay, I typed out the letter and placed one in his box.”

  “Okay, one more thing. Someone from Flanders is going to call in with a listing of missing or damaged products. Double check the items are from the original invoice and tack on an emergency same day delivery. Oh, and no charge for the products, but email me and Vinnie the breakdown of the listing and cost.”

  “Got it, will do.”

  “Perfect, I gotta go. Thanks for the help.”

  “Good luck making your time”.

  "Betty, you're awesome!"

  Miguel jammed on the accelerator traversing around slower cars heading towards the Highway 99 onramp. Heavy construction around the future West-side parkway Centennial junction slowed to a bumper-to-bumper crawl. Construction on this junction had been going on for the past twenty years, with no sign of ending. He exited onto California Avenue, heading west toward Mohawk Avenue, taking a slightly longer detour but one with little to no traffic.

  Miguel felt in control of the road driving his old, reliable ‘89 Toyota pickup. It was gifted to him by his parents his junior year in high school. He cherished and babied it throughout their marriage. A little over three hundred and fifty thousand miles later, it had proven itself time and time again. Even with the faded, peeling white paint job and balding all terrain tires, the V6 Sport Rally 5-speed 4x4 extended cab had a special meaning to Miguel.

  The pickup represented all of the fun weekends he had with Heather, floating over muddy BLM roads, summer nights camping out in sleeping bags in the back of the bed under the stars. After having Juan and Julisa, they would take the truck out on skiing adventures and drives on Pismo Beach dunes. Heather had a similar take, but would like it if they replaced it with something newer, with Bluetooth, four doors, and better fuel efficiency. She understood why Miguel had trouble letting it go. The pickup delivered too many fond memories and it just wouldn't die.

  Miguel made it home twenty minutes later than expected. He knew there was just enough time to spare to make their appointment. Heather was outside waiting nervously with a frown. As he drove up the circular driveway to pick her up, Heather quickly jumped in the passenger side, slamming the door. Miguel could immediately sense she was nervous about being late. He knew that there was no measure of reassurance he could give to help defuse the situation. Instead of going in to take a quick bathroom break and freshen up, he just peeled out and drove off. Heather held on tight.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  It was a quiet drive down Old River Road, the sun started to set behind them and the sky was full of red, orange and dark colored clouds. Some of the dark clouds in the distance showed signs of rain, but the weather forecast on Miguel’s phone stated only a twenty percent chance. Dr. Anderson's home and office was in the old farming district in an unincorporated rural area southwest of Bakersfield among the almond, pistachio, and corn fields.

  Weaving quickly around slower moving vehicles, Miguel was on a mission to beat the clock. He had a few mental bullet points he wanted to make sure to discuss. He wanted to show Dr. Anderson the New Zealand trip text messages and get her take on how she would interpret them, even though his anger at Heather subsided days ago. Miguel was surrendering to the fact that the person he picked 30 years prior was never going to change. He knew, from previous sessions, that it was up to him to adjust, it was up to him to accept who she was. He knew this, but was just tired of making so many compromises. Miguel felt that the brunt of adjustments seemed to land heaviest on his shoulders. He thought Heather was content living and working within her routine. Going to her family events, surrounded by the people she grew up with. The minor conceding adjustments that Heather would allow, was within her comfort zone. Miguel was tired of the monotony that his life was becoming, post parenthood. He wanted more than what was happening in front of him. He loved her, and that’s what frustrated him. If he didn’t care for her, he knew that it wouldn’t anger him as much as it did.

  Heather was staring out the side passenger window watching the passing fields of crops, water banks, and solar farms. She knew that Miguel had been unhappy for a while and she did not know how to help him. Heather knew Vinnie and Sons frustrated Miguel, and that he was torn on leaving and starting over. She knew her limitations on adventure was a sore spot in their marriage. She tried going with the flow in the past, but it never worked out for her. She knew she wasn’t as easy going as Miguel, no matter how much she tried convincing herself she could be. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go and see different places, it was more that her thoughts always got in the way. Heather didn’t like surprises and the unknown. Fixating on the worst-case scenarios and potential bad things that could happen was the natural place she would go to. New Zealand was just this year’s worry. Last year, it was taking a Mexican Riviera Cruise. And before that it was a trip to New York. It wasn't that Miguel has bad ideas, it was that Heather felt anxious and nervous about traveling with Miguel, just the two of them. Something about only depending on him made Heather feel uneasy.

  Miguel's phone rang as he merged onto Highway 99, the familiar FaceTime ringtone cutting through the truck's cab. Heather grabbed it from the cupholder, her face softening when she saw the name.

  "It's Juan."

  She answered, and their son's face filled the screen—twenty-five years old, slightly sunburned, wearing his Gutierrez Electrical Service polo shirt.

  "Hey Mom, hey Dad. You guys on your way to see Dr. Anderson?"

  "Yeah, traffic's moving," Miguel said, keeping his eyes on the road. "How'd you know we had an appointment today?"

  "Google Calendar is shared with us, remember?" Juan said. "You literally gave us access when Julisa went to college so we could coordinate family stuff."

  "Of course you do," Miguel muttered.

  The screen split as Julisa joined the call, her China Lake badge visible on her lanyard.

  "There's my Julis-ita," Heather said warmly. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

  "Late lunch break. Juan texted me you guys were on your way, and we wanted to check in."

  "Check in?" Miguel's tone carried a warning note. "Or meddle?"

  "We prefer 'concerned adult children expressing healthy interest in their parents' wellbeing,'" Juan said with a grin.

  "That's a lot of words for meddling," Miguel said.

  "Look," Julisa started, her voice taking on that particular tone that meant she'd been rehearsing this speech, "we know you guys have been struggling—"

  "Dios mío," Miguel interrupted. "Here we go."

  "—and we just wanted to say that whatever happens today—"

  "Mija, no."

  "—we support both of you—"

  "Julisa, I swear to God—"

  "—and if you decide that maybe being apart would be healthier—"

  "?Ya basta!" Miguel's voice rose. "?Qué chingados les pasa? This is not your business!"

  "Dad, we're just trying to help—" Juan started.

  "Help? ?Ayudar un carajo! You two are like goddamn relationship referees, always jumping in with your opinions about our marriage. You know what would help? Minding your own pinche business for once!"

  "Miguel," Heather said, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "They mean well."

  "Mean well? Heather, they're trying to give us permission to get divorced before we've even seen the therapist!"

  "We're not giving you permission," Julisa said defensively. "We're just saying—"

  "You're just saying that you've decided our marriage is over and we should accept it. That's what you're saying."

  "Actually," Juan interjected, "we're saying that you guys don't have to stay together for our sake—"

  "For your sake?" Miguel's laugh was sharp. "Mijo, you moved out five years ago! You think we've been staying married for you? That we wake up every morning and think 'well, gotta keep this shit-show running for Juan and Julisa'?"

  "Language, Miguel," Heather said mildly, though she was definitely smiling now.

  "No, no language. They started this." Miguel pointed at the phone. "You two. Both of you. We love you. We appreciate that you care. But stay the fuck out of our marriage. ?Entiendes?"

  "But Dad—" Juan tried.

  "No 'but Dad.' You want to help? Stop trying to fix things that aren't yours to fix. Stop having secret twin strategy sessions about your parents' relationship. Stop treating us like we're too stupid to figure out our own lives."

  "We don't think you're stupid—" Julisa began.

  "Then stop acting like we need a goddamn intervention every time we have a rough patch! Jesus Christ, we're going to therapy. That's us handling our business. You two need to handle yours and stay out of ours."

  There was a long, awkward silence. Even through the phone, Miguel could feel his children's chastened expressions.

  "He's got a point," Heather said finally, surprising everyone. "Juanito, Julisita, your father and I appreciate that you care about us. But this is between us. We'll figure it out."

  "Together or apart," Miguel added, softening slightly. "But we'll figure it out. Without a committee."

  "You guys have always been kind of intense about this," Heather continued. "Ever since high school, you've been trying to fix us. It's sweet, but it's also exhausting. We're the parents. You're the kids. Even if you're all grown up with fancy jobs and health insurance."

  Juan and Julisa exchanged one of their twin looks—the silent communication they'd perfected over twenty-five years.

  "Okay," Julisa said finally. "You're right. We ‘do’ meddle too much."

  "We just worry," Juan added. "You guys have seemed really unhappy lately."

  "And that's our problem to solve," Miguel said, his voice gentler now. "Not yours. Okay?"

  "Okay," they chorused.

  "Now both of you get back to work," Heather said. "And stop monitoring our Google Calendar like we're teenagers with a curfew. That's creepy."

  "It's not monitoring, it's staying informed!" Julisa protested.

  "It's creepy," Miguel agreed. "We love you both. Now mind your business."

  "We love you too," Juan said. "Even when you're yelling at us in Spanish."

  "Especially when I'm yelling at you in Spanish," Miguel corrected. "It means I care."

  They said their goodbyes, and when Heather ended the call, she was laughing.

  "Well," she said, "that was more fun than I expected."

  "They mean well," Miguel said, keeping his eyes on the road as he exited onto Old River Road.

  "They do. But they're also incredibly nosy."

  "They get that from your side of the family."

  "They get it from both sides," Heather corrected. "Your mother used to call me weekly to ask if I was pregnant yet."

  "Fair point."

  They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the first genuinely relaxed moment they'd shared in weeks. The twins' meddling had somehow broken the tension, turned the heavy drive into something almost light.

  "Miguel?" Heather said.

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you for defending us. From our own children."

  Miguel smiled despite himself. "Someone's gotta tell them to back off. They've been like this since they learned to talk."

  "Remember when they were eight and tried to plan our anniversary dinner?"

  "Complete with a budget spreadsheet and a pros-and-cons list of restaurants. Jesus, we raised some intense kids."

  "We really did."

  For the first time all day, they felt like a team again. United against their meddling offspring, if nothing else. The twins might be busybodies, but at least they'd reminded Miguel and Heather of something important: whatever happened next, they were in this together.

  For better or worse. Like they'd promised thirty years ago.

  ?

  They drove in silence for another few miles, the brief moment of unity from the phone call slowly dissolving back into the weight of everything unsaid between them. Another set of almond and corn fields passed by, identical to the last dozen they'd seen.

  The silence was becoming uncomfortable again. Miguel reached for the radio.

  “4:50 and here is the latest development after former military intelligence officer-turned-whistleblower, David Grusch, told House lawmakers last week about his knowledge involving a multi-decade UAP crash retrieval and reverse-engineering program...”

  “Isn’t that crazy” Miguel said, breaking the silence. “UFO’s are apparently real. And the government is trying to hide them from the public.”

  “Yeah, that's on my news feed. Makes me wonder what other things the government is trying to hide,” Heather said.

  “Come on, doesn’t it freak you out a little to think we’re not alone? They're actually having hearings on it.”

  “It’s not like I don’t want to believe in them. I just don’t trust the government. I told you, ever since I saw that JFK movie, I don’t trust anything they say”.

  “True, that’s at least something we both have in common. What’d you think are the odds that...”

  “What the hell is that?!”

  Through Miguel’s driver-side window, Heather sees a fireball racing across the sky in the distance, appearing small but getting larger by the second, leaving a brown smoke trail in the red orange sky.

  “Oh shit! What, Where?!?”

  “There!! Oh my God! Pull over, Pull Over!!

  The fireball appeared to be several miles away, gaining speed and heading towards them. Miguel abruptly pulled over on the opposite side of the road, next to a field of mature almond trees. They both jump out, and lay low in front of the truck bed, hoping to see it fly overhead.

  At that moment, the fireball's trajectory abruptly changed angle and wasted no time hitting the ground several thousands of yards away from them. The initial impact and subsequent carnage was explosive, deafening, and unnatural. Trees, almonds, dirt and rocks scattered as the object plowed a diagonal path across the field. The noise and ground shaking was too much to bear. Not knowing what to do, Miguel and Heather held each other in place hoping to protect themselves from what appeared to be heading their direction. The object was losing momentum as it tore through the ground, but was still traveling at what seemed like hundreds of miles per hour, getting closer and closer to them. Heather yelled in terror, as the noise level raced toward them.

  At that moment, a terrifying thought entered her mind. “Why did I tell Miguel to pull over?” It wasn’t in her nature to demand such a thing, and now her decision was going to have fatal consequences. She muttered out, “I’m, I'm sorry!”.

  Miguel held Heather tighter in his arms, trying his best to protect and brace her from the unknown impending danger.

  The noise level and carnage reached the end of the field, about a hundred feet in front of them, pointing right at them. The ball of carnage ricocheted off the deep drainage ditch, collided with their pickup truck, sending the object and truck into the air. The mangled carcass of the pickup landed upside-down, wheels up, in the middle of the road in front of them. Dirt, rocks, branches, and almonds showered all over Miguel and Heather. Miguel’s eyes were tightly shut. Heather was able to peek at what looked like a large dense cloud of dirt and reflective metal fly overhead being engulfed by the overgrown field of cornstalks across the road.

  They were in extreme shock, but miraculously unharmed by the event as debris continued to shower from above.

  “What the fuck just happened?!” Miguel yelled out, opening his eyes, shaking off the dirt from his head. “The truck!”

  They looked at each other in disbelief. Both dumbfounded, they had survived such an encounter, full of fear and adrenaline. They looked around and were surprised no one else was in sight to witness such a crazy event.

  Miguel’s first instinct was to pull out his phone and call 911. Before he could, Heather grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the cornfield. Miguel looked at her in disbelief and followed, running with her into the cornfield. They both needed to know what created such a disastrous pathway. Little did they know that this turn of events was the actual beginning of their therapy session…

  ?

  Overseer Jeff here. Last time we left off, Mi-guel and Hea-ther's case was being presented to The Council of Eight Cosmic Overlords. Since then, there has been much heated back and forth debating the legitimacy of my intervention, crimes committed, and rule violations.

  Honestly, I've never seen these old beings yell as much at each other. The Council's overall stance and intolerance on breaking even the least important laws are well documented. They are currently still out arguing amongst themselves. I plan to present my evidence to hopefully help turn the tide in our favor. Stay tuned. Regardless, I have a hunch, we might have a chance of keeping our existence.

  Oh, by the way, I'm not just representing Hea-ther and Mi-guel…

  ?