The February snow flurries were turning into thick flakes as we pulled the truck and trailer underneath the gas station overhead covering. We were passing through Missouri on our way to Illinois, and the sky was already dark even though the evening hour had barely set in.
Lynn returned from the bathroom and climbed into the truck’s passenger seat.
“I’m buying dinner!” a woman announced outside the truck. “You tell him I’m buying dinner!” I looked out my backseat window to see a woman with dark, wavy hair and a fluffy winter headband standing next to Tim by the gas pump, pointing her finger inside at Lynn across the seats with determination and intensity in her tone. It sounded more like a scolding than a generous offer.
