The sky remained pale and heavy, but the highway showed itself again, one lane at a time.
The stranded drivers prepared to leave.
They paid what they could.
Some paid extra.
Some left notes.
Some left phone numbers.
Some simply hugged Marcus, or shook his hand with both of theirs, or looked him in the eye long enough to say what words could not.
Caleb was one of the last to go.
The young driver stood at the counter with his cap in his hands.
“I called my mom,” he said.
Marcus smiled.
“Good.”
“I told her I found good people on the road.”
Marcus looked down.
Caleb swallowed.
“She cried.”
Marcus nodded once.
“Mothers do that.”
Caleb smiled faintly.
“She wants me to stop here again if I come through.”
“You better,” Marcus said. “You still owe me a story when you’ve got more miles on you.”
Caleb stood a little taller.
“Yes, sir.”
When Sam finally stepped toward the door, Marcus followed.
The two men stood under the patched awning, looking out over the lot.
The new trucks were leaving one by one.
Tires crunched over packed snow.
Engines rumbled back toward the highway.
Sam pulled his gloves on.
“You going to be okay?”
Marcus looked at the diner.
The cracked sign.
The glowing windows.
Tara inside, already arguing with Henry about whether he was allowed to stack chairs.
The CB radio crackling behind the counter.
“I don’t know,” Marcus said honestly.
Then he breathed in.
