I had to pull over onto the shoulder for a minute after that. I couldn’t see the road.
He was sitting in his truck at the Kwik Fill with the doors locked, just like I told him.
When I pulled in next to him, he looked over at me through the window.
For one horrible second, I was afraid. Afraid he would look at me and not know who I was.
But his face crumpled. He knew me. He knew me.
He unlocked the door and got out, and I got out, and we met in the middle of that gas station parking lot between the pumps, and he held me so tight I couldn’t breathe.
“I’m sorry,” he kept saying into my hair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Stop it,” I said. “Stop saying that.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
