“I am safe,” I said, though my fingers were cold despite the heat in the diner.
The sky was turning a dark, bruised purple as we walked out to his old Ford truck.
The air smelled of humidity and incoming rain, the heavy Ocala heat settling over the asphalt in thick waves.
I walked ahead, my cheap lace dress swishing against my shins.
Daniel lingered by the passenger side, his hand deep in his coat pocket.
Through the glass of the cab, I saw him pull the folded yellow paper out and look at it in the flat light of the afternoon.
He stared at the blue ink on the page, his thumb tracing the crease as if he could erase the words written there.
“Daniel,” I called out, holding the door handle.
“Are you coming? The rain is starting.”
He quickly stuffed the paper back into his inside pocket, his face pale under his tan.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition.
I got in beside him, the vinyl seat hot against my legs.
I looked down at the pocket of his jacket, where the corner of the thick yellow page still protruded.
“What is that paper?” I asked.
Daniel stared straight ahead at the windshield, his hand remaining on the key without turning it.
“Just some notes from the shop,” he said.
The engine sputtered to life, the loud rumble of the exhaust filling the quiet cab.
I knew his shop notes were kept on white receipt paper, never yellow legal pads.
I watched his fingers grip the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he put the truck in reverse.
We turned onto the main road, the rain finally beginning to spot the dusty windshield.
We drove past the old feed store and the hardware shop where Daniel bought his brass fittings.
The town was quiet on a Tuesday afternoon, the traffic light on Tenth Street blinking yellow.
“Connor has a new project manager,” Daniel said as we waited for the light to change. “Some guy from Orlando who wears a suit even when it is ninety degrees out.”
“My father told me about him,” I said. “He said they are planning to tear down the whole block near the creek.”
“That includes the cottage, Sav.”
“They can’t tear it down if they don’t own it yet,” I said. “But my mother said the sale is already in probate.”
