Page 16 of Truck Me
“I appreciate that, but Bullet is comfortable in my truck.”
She lets out a long sigh that suggests she’s disappointed, but not enough to stop me from leaving.
“I guess you do have a long drive back to Beaver, don’t you? You’re such a sweet boy for coming all this way to help me out. I really do appreciate it.” She reaches behind her and picks up her purse from where it’s sitting on the counter behind her. “How much do I owe you?”
I lift my hand and shake my head. “Nothing. It didn’t take but a few minutes to fix it.”
“But what about the part?”
“It only cost a few dollars. Consider the tea and cookies payment enough.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. If you’re not going to take my money, let me send you home with more food as payment.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to object further before she’s up and putting several cookies in a container for me. Then she heads to her refrigerator and pulls out a covered dish and a couple of bowls.
“You like fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans? I canned the green beans myself.”
My mouth waters at the mere mention of it. I didn’t eat dinner before rushing out here, and fried chicken sounds damn good. I tell myself to say no, but I don’t. “Yes, ma’am. I love fried chicken, and not much beats home-canned green beans.”
“Then let me send you home with some of this. I made way too much for just me. I thought maybe I could entice my son and his wife to come over and eat with me, but they had some school event for my granddaughter and said they couldn’t make it. Might as well send most of it home with you, since I’ll never eat it all. I so hate wasting food.”
She wasn’t kidding when she said she was going to give me most of it. She packs it all up, except one piece of chicken and enough sides for just herself. Then she hands it to me, along with the cookies. “This is very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll enjoy eating it.”
She beams at me. “Good. I’ll gladly feed you anytime you wanna come visit. A good man like you needs to find a woman to cook for you. I hate seeing all you Mutter boys still single. You ever gonna settle down?”
I give her a closed lipped smile and shrug. “It’ll take a special woman to win me over. Far as I’ve seen, that woman doesn’t live around here.” I lift the containers and grab my tool bag. “Thanks for the food. I’ll see you next time.”
“Okay, sounds good. You drive safe and be sure to tell Mila I said hello. If I can get a ride down, I’ll come to the fundraiser. I just love all the treats and games they set up.”
“I’ll let her know,” I say as I walk out the back door. If I don’t keep moving, she won’t stop talking, and then I’ll never get out of here. “Bye now.”
I wave as I walk to my truck. With the sun long gone, the night air is cold. I zip my coat further up and hunch my shoulders in like that’s going to do any good.
Mrs. Moore continues talking, but I keep walking. I can’t make out her words now that I’m outside anyway.
There’s a strong wind tonight whipping around my head and filling my ears with a rumbling sound. When I reach my truck, I give her another wave and hop in. Bullet lifts her head from where she’s curled up in the passenger seat. She gives me a quick glance before she buries her head back in the blanket as if she’s too content to be disturbed. I keep a thick wool blanket in my truck for moments just like this.
After setting my tool bag and the leftovers on the bench seat behind me, I start up my truck and don’t bother waiting for her to warm up before I throw my truck into gear. Mrs. Moore is still waving at me from her opened back door. Poor woman is lonely, living in this house all by herself.
I know the feeling.
I get lonely sometimes too in my tiny home.
But I want solitude and escape from my family. I need it.
It’s the only way I know how to keep my scars hidden and buried deep inside me.
* * *
There’s not a lot of traffic as I leave the city and turn onto the highway. It’s late enough that I’ve missed all the evening traffic from people making their commutes home from work, but not so late that I’m alone on the roads. Not that there’s ever much traffic in this area. Even at the busiest time, there’s hardly ever a slow down or back up.
Bullet is snoring next to me, so I flip on the radio. I like the silence most nights, but tonight I’m in the mood for some music. I flip through a few stations before I settle on a classic rock station. Most folks in this area listen to country music, but I’ve always been more of a rock and metal fan.
Just as I get comfortable and settled in for the rest of the drive home, flashing hazard lights come into view up ahead. I only see one car, so I decide to pull over and see if they need help. It’s late enough that most people wouldn’t bother to stop, but I can’t do that. I always imagine it’s Grams. I’d hate for her to get stuck out after dark like this.
I toss my truck into park and flip the radio off before I lean in closer to the window to get a look at the car. It’s an older Volvo wagon in dark blue with an out-of-state tag.
“You coming, Bullet?” I ask as I open the glove box to get my flashlight. She gives me a low ruff and stands up on the seat. Bullet is a good dog, and I don’t have to worry about her running away or straying from my side.