Then a hurricane warning forced the platform to close.

They flew all of us back to shore by helicopter two weeks ahead of schedule.

I didn’t phone ahead.

I wanted to surprise my little boy.

I turned into the driveway at 9:58 p.m.

A pickup I had never seen before was sitting in my spot.

It was lifted, with mud caked on the tires.

The front door wasn’t locked.

A football game was blasting from the TV.

Two boys I had never laid eyes on, maybe ten and twelve years old, were stretched out on my couch munching chips.

A full-grown man was sleeping in my recliner.

His boots were still on, and a beer was in his hand.

And in the kitchen, standing up on a chair so he could reach the stove, was my son.

He was stirring a pot of boxed mac and cheese.