“Perfectly fine, sir,” he said, his voice smooth and empty. “Just a long drive. We are running a bit behind schedule.”
He pulled the girl past me before I could say another word, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum.
I stood there for a second, my hand going to my silver wedding ring, turning it around my finger. David was already looking toward the food counter, his mind on the road ahead, but my eyes stayed on the pair until they turned the corner toward the back exit.
Ten minutes later, I was out by the concrete pump island, wiping down the windshield of my motorcycle. The heavy heat of the afternoon was still rising off the asphalt, and the price on the digital sign above us showed three dollars and forty cents a gallon.
The white van had moved from the entrance and was now parked near the large green trash bin at the far edge of the lot, its engine idling with a low, uneven rattle.
The side door of the van slid back, and the little girl stepped down onto the gravel, holding a small paper cup. She walked toward the trash bin, her head down, her steps slow.
