He looked homeless.
His coat was torn. His beard was gray and uneven. His hands were rough, dirty, and shaking slightly from the cold.
He did not ask what happened.
He did not ask for money.
He simply knelt beside my car and began changing the tire.
I was too stunned to speak.
When he finished, he stood up, wiped his hands on his old coat, and looked at me.
His eyes were tired.
But there was something in them that made my heart stop.
Then he said softly:
“Take care of yourself, Linda.”
My blood turned cold.
I had never told him my name.
Before I could ask who he was, he turned and disappeared back into the trees.
I climbed into my car with trembling hands.
That was when I saw it.
On the passenger seat.
An old Polaroid photograph.
I picked it up slowly.
The date at the bottom said 2008.
