Chapter 2: The Man Who Bought Her Husband's Truck
Nancy finished her shift at 3:17 p.m.
She had stayed an extra seventeen minutes because a family with three children had left a terrible mess in the back booth.
Brad hadn't thanked her.
He had, however, reminded her that she was responsible for the broken sugar dispenser.
“Two dollars and fifty cents,” he said, tapping his tablet.
Nancy stared at him.
“I didn't break it.””
“It happened in your section.””
“But the little boy—”
“Do you want to argue about two dollars and fifty cents?””
Nancy lowered her eyes.
“No.””
“Good. Now get out of here.””
She collected her purse from the employee locker.
Inside was a folded envelope containing the money she had saved over the last six weeks.
Twenty-dollar bills.
Five-dollar bills.
A few wrinkled ones.
She counted them every Sunday night.
Not because she enjoyed counting money.
Because each bill brought her closer to bringing Walter's truck home.
Outside, the afternoon air smelled of rain and hot asphalt.
Nancy sat on a bench beside the parking lot and rubbed her knees.
Her phone buzzed.
It was her daughter, Emily.
*Emily:* Mom, did you eat today?
Nancy smiled.
*Nancy:* Had some soup at work.
*Emily:* That's not what I asked.
*Nancy:* I'm fine, sweetheart.
A second message appeared.
*Emily:* You know you can come stay with me. You don't have to keep doing this.
Nancy looked at the photograph inside her purse.
*Nancy:* Eight more paychecks.
Emily responded almost immediately.
*Emily:* I still don't understand why that truck matters so much.
Nancy stared at the screen for several seconds.
Then she typed:
*Nancy:* Because your father left something in it.
She didn't send anything else.
She put her phone away and started walking home.
Across town, Mack was standing inside a motorcycle repair shop when his phone rang.
“Tell me you found something,” he said.
A younger biker named Eddie spoke through the phone.
“Found the truck. Blue Ford F-150, 1978. It's at Riverside Recovery.””
“Who owns it?””
“That's where it gets interesting.””
Mack stopped working on the motorcycle.
“Go ahead.””
“The yard's records show the vehicle was registered to Walter Miller. There's a lien notice from three years ago, but the title transfer is incomplete.””
“Who paid the towing fees?””
“Some guy named Brad Dawson. Paid the storage balance last week.””
Mack's jaw tightened.
“Brad Dawson?””
“Yeah. Why?””
“Because he manages the diner where Walter's wife works.””
There was a pause.
“That's a hell of a coincidence.””
“No,” Mack replied.
“It's not.””
He wiped his hands on a rag.
“Find out whether the truck's been sold.””
“Already did. The yard's holding it under a purchase agreement. Dawson says he's taking it apart for restoration parts.””
Mack looked toward the photograph taped above his workbench.
It showed a group of bikers standing outside a roadside diner.
Walter was in the middle.
Mack was beside him.
Six years younger.
And smiling.
“Eddie, get the guys together.””
“How many?””
“All of them.””
The next morning, Nancy arrived at work fifteen minutes early.
Her feet hurt.
Her back hurt.
But she had a little hope.
She had received a message from Riverside Recovery the night before saying there had been a change in the vehicle's status.
She hadn't understood the details.
She only knew she needed to speak with someone.
Unfortunately, Brad was already there.
He stood behind the counter, sipping an expensive iced coffee.
“Nancy. My office.””
She followed him.
He closed the door and tossed a sheet of paper onto the desk.
“Your schedule's changing.””
Nancy picked it up.
Her name appeared beside three shifts instead of five.
“Brad, I don't understand.””
“We're cutting labor costs.””
“But you told me last week I could have five shifts.””
“Things change.””
“I need those hours.””
Brad leaned back in his chair.
“You've been saying that for months.””
“I'm trying to get my husband's truck back.””
Brad laughed.
“Still chasing that thing?””
Nancy looked down.
“It's all I have left of him.””
“It's a rusty old Ford.””
“It was his.””
Brad took another sip of coffee.
“Well, I have some news.””
Nancy looked up.
“What?””
Brad placed his cup on the desk.
“I bought it last week.””
For a moment, the room went silent.
Nancy blinked.
“You bought Walter's truck?””
“That's right.””
“But I was saving to get it.””
“You were taking too long.””
“Please, Brad. The yard said I still had time.””
Brad smiled.
“They said I had time, too.””
Nancy's fingers tightened around the schedule.
“What are you going to do with it?””
“Part it out. Maybe fix it up. I haven't decided.””
“Could you sell it back to me?””
He pretended to consider the question.
“How much do you have?””
Nancy hesitated.
“Not enough yet.””
Brad laughed.
“Then I guess we're done talking.””
“Please.””
He stood and opened the office door.
“Get to your station.””
Nancy walked out with the paper trembling in her hands.
At the far end of the dining room, a waitress named Lily watched her.
“Are you okay?”” Lily whispered.
Nancy nodded.
“Just tired.””
“You're crying.””
Nancy quickly wiped her cheek.
“It's nothing.””
Lily glanced toward Brad's office.
“He's a terrible man.””
“Don't say that where he can hear you.””
“Why do you protect him?””
Nancy forced a smile.
“Because I need the job.””
At that moment, a motorcycle engine roared outside.
Then another.
Then another.
The sound grew until the windows began to vibrate.
Brad looked up from his office.
“What the hell is that?””
Through the front window, Nancy saw a line of motorcycles pulling into the parking lot.
One after another.
A dozen bikers climbed off.
At the front stood Mack.
He removed his helmet, looked directly through the glass, and pointed toward the diner entrance.
Brad muttered something under his breath.
“Not this guy again.””
Mack pushed open the door.
The little bell above it rang.
“Morning,” he said.
Brad stepped forward.
“We're closed to large groups.””
Mack looked around at the customers eating breakfast.
“Funny. Looks open to me.””
Then Mack turned toward Nancy.
“Ma'am, do you have a few minutes?””
Brad stepped between them.
“She is working.””
Mack's expression hardened.
“Not for long, I hope.””
Brad frowned.
“What does that mean?””
Mack pulled a folded document from his vest.
“It means we need to have a conversation about the truck you bought.””
Brad's face lost its smile.
And when Mack placed the document on the counter, Nancy saw the name printed at the top.
Walter Miller.
May you like
But beneath it was another name.
One Brad clearly hadn't expected to see.
