about it and go to bed. Wise advice to herself. Except she couldn’t forget about it and didn’t seem to want to get ready for bed despite the late hour. She grabbed the new novel she’d started earlier and tried to read it. But all she could think about was meeting the stranger at the truck stop and maybe learning more about him. Actually seeing his face in the light. Getting his measure.
It would be safe at the truck stop, a busy place at any hour. Safer than what she had just done by accosting him on the darkened street.
A minute later she was grabbing her keys and heading out the door.
The truck stop restaurant was indeed brightly lit, and in addition to the staff held about a dozen drivers, all eating some version of early breakfast or late dinner, every occupied table boasting a generous carafe of coffee. Some of the drivers seemed to know each other. Others greeted each other, table to table, strangers in a common place and time.
Grant sat alone at a table backed up to the wall. He already had coffee, and she noted that an extra mug was at the seat facing him. Whether for her or for someone else she didn’t know.
She ignored the interested looks she received from the truckers as she eased her way between tables to Grant’s.
“Hi,” she said. In the light he proved to be goodlooking, if a bit wan. Silvery threads of gray sparkled in his dark hair. His eyes were dark, that brown so deep it would sometimes appear black. He returned her greeting with a faint smile and motioned her into the seat facing his.
“I got you a cup,” he said.
“You knew I’d come?”
“Anyone who’d come out onto a dark street to beard a stranger who frightened her must have more curiosity than a dozen cats.”
In spite of herself, she smiled back and took the chair. “It gets me into trouble sometimes.”
“I imagine so. On the other hand, you probably don’t run through life with a load of nagging questions.”
“Not often.”
He reached for the carafe and filled her beige mug. The table already held a saucer full of little half-and-half containers. She reached for one, opened it and poured the contents into her coffee. At this hour of the night, even her beloved beverage could give her heartburn. The half-and-half would help.
“I haven’t ordered yet,” he said. “Take a look at the menu. I’m buying.”
“I can buy for myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But since I caused all this uproar for you, this seems like the least I can do. And believe me, I can afford it.”
So she reached for the menu and began scanning a list that exceeded Maude’s City Diner in variety, but probably not in saturated fats. Here she could even find artificial eggs and vegetarian omelets. It gave her a glimpse of the new generation of truck drivers.
But what the heck. She settled finally on their “fluffy” pancakes.
The waitress came and took their orders, his a fullsize breakfast with all the trimmings. He certainly wasn’t worrying about his weight or his cholesterol.
With the menus tucked back into the wire holder behind the salt, pepper and ketchup, they stared at one another over coffee mugs. Trish found herself strangely reluctant to grill him, even though she’d started their conversation back on the bench by doing precisely that.
Finally he spoke. “So what can I tell you that will ease your mind?”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“That I mean you no harm. A statement that is absolutely meaningless without anything to back it up.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “Seems like one of those lines in a bad sci-fi movie that always winds up being the prelude to something terrible.”
“Hey, I like those old science fiction movies. The older and more awful, the better.”
“The ones with nuclear bombs that are both the cause and the solution to whatever is ravaging the world?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, those. Science as the be-all and end-all.”
“I take it you don’t believe that.”
He hesitated. “Not anymore,” he said finally.
She eyed him directly. “What changed your mind?”
“Let’s just say I have reason to believe that science is less of an answer and more of a question. It should be a search, not a conclusion.”
“Interesting way of putting it.”
The waitress interrupted, serving their breakfasts with a smile that seemed almost obscene at this hour of the night. Either the woman was a native night owl, or the need for tips made her pretend to be one.
After a bite of pancake, which did indeed prove to be very fluffy, she posed a question. “What brings you to Conard City? Sure, the state highway runs through, but it’s not the kind of place where people usually stop and stay without a reason.”
“I’ve been on the road for a long time. Guess I finally realized you can’t outrun yourself. Seemed as good a place as any to wait for the rest to catch up.”
The answer sounded pat. Too pat. She looked down at her mug, then picked up the spoon to stir her coffee pointlessly. “Really,” she finally responded.
“Really,” he said. “Sounds like a bad novel, right?”
She met his gaze again. “No, not exactly. Just…stock.”
He nodded slowly. “There’s a difference between citing a cliché and meaning it.”
“Well, yes.”
“And clichés become clichéd because they’re often true. Otherwise people wouldn’t use them so much.”
In spite of all her suspicions, she felt more intrigued that ever, and sensed the beginnings of an actual liking for this guy. She didn’t want that.
He shrugged finally. “It’s true. I ran from myself. From an unhappy time in my life. And like all people who run, I found all the troubles and grief just came along with me. Some memories can’t be erased. They stick like burrs on your cuffs.”
“Yes, they do. Would you want to erase your memory?”
“There’ve been times I’ve actually thought that would be a good thing. But other times…well, frankly, Ms. Devlin, you can’t give up the bad without giving up the good.” He looked out the window, but there was clearly nothing to be seen beyond the reflections of the interior of the restaurant. Darkness turned the windows into mirrors.
“I had to put my favorite dog to sleep a couple of years ago,” he said slowly. “Best dog I ever had. She taught me a lot about being a better person.”
“How
