Chapter 9

Charlie picked up the cell phone. It was probably broken, but he shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans and walked on in to Stockton. On the way, he thought. He still had his ID. If he flexed his foot just right, he could feel it digging into his ankle. It had slipped down some, since he first shoved it in his sock this morning, but it was still there.

In one front pocket he had $40, in the other, $20 and change. $200 more was zipped into the lining of his jacket. Unless…in a momentary panic he stopped, shook the jacket out in front of him. He let out his breath in relief. It looked like he'd ripped up and bloodied the sleeves pretty good, but he could still see an intact lining.

By noon he was in a large grocery store. The first things he picked out were a small notebook and a pen, a fact that even he found interesting. He added a couple of bottles of water, a sandwich from the deli. Near the pharmacy, he priced bandages and toothbrushes, finally decided he had to have both, and took the most inexpensive he could find. Farther back in the store, he actually found a bin of irregular t-shirts, and he routed through it until he had two in his size. He calculated. Almost $20, already. Charlie paid for his purchases and wandered the streets, grocery bag clutched firmly in hand, until he found a bench to sit on.

As he unwrapped the deli sandwich, Charlie thought about his ATM card. Whoever took the pack would probably never find it, sewn into a pair of shorts, but Charlie couldn't take that chance. That account was paying for his Dad to stay in the house. He chewed for a while, drank some water, pulled out the cell phone. When he got a signal, he was surprised. They made these things better than he thought. By the time he had called directory assistance, been connected to the bank, and found an actual person, rather than voice mail, to report the theft to, the cell phone was fading. He confirmed his information, disconnected and looked at the phone. Two minutes left. It didn't matter. It was more a friend than a phone, now, anyway. He put it back in his pocket.

He sat on the bench long enough that he almost fell asleep in the afternoon sun. Then he started to wander the streets again. He was startled to find himself in front of a post office. He went inside, bought a postage-paid envelope from a vending machine, added it to the treasures in his grocery bag.

Then he headed out of town again, on the way passing a farm supply store.

Inside, he managed to find some jeans. On sale, but still…another $20?

He looked around some more, found a pair of khaki cargos for only $16.

As Charlie lightened the load in his jeans pocket even more, he asked the clerk for directions to the nearest truck stop. When he exited the store he shoved the jacket in the bag with the khakis, changed his t-shirt right there on the street, and headed for the Interstate 5 junction. Maybe he could score a real ride.

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By the time he got to the truck stop, he wished he had his tennis shoes to change into again. He sat at the counter in the restaurant, ordered a grilled cheese, and took out the envelope, notebook and pen while he was waiting. He ripped out a sheet. He wasn't sure what to say, or even how he could mail it without worrying about Don tracing the postmark, but he wrote it anyway.

Dad — Safe, healthy. Please don't try to find me. Sorry I left the way I did, I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Please tell L & A for me. Miss everyone —even Don. Will try to contact you again later. Don't worry. Love, Charlie

He sealed the note in the envelope and was addressing it just as his dinner arrived. "Want me to mail that, hon?" Charlie was considering how to politely decline when a thermos slammed down on the counter next to him, making him jump.

"Fill that up for me, Sally! Headed south, gotta be in San Diego by morning!"

The waitress continued looking at Charlie. "You will just wait your turn, Bob. I'm helping this nice young man, here." She held out a hand. "Mail?" she asked again.

"Actually," Charlie snuck a look at Bob, whose beefy hand still held the thermos. "Could you? From San Diego, I mean?"

Both the trucker and the waitress looked at him like…well, actually, not all that strangely at all. They must have heard odder requests. "If it'll get my thermos filled up faster, you betcha!" bellowed Bob, and he ripped the envelope from Charlie's hand, stuffed it in a shirt pocket. Sally rolled her eyes, grabbed the thermos and sashayed off, and Charlie just hoped Bob would remember the letter by morning.

"Looking for a ride?", the trucker asked, while he waited for his coffee. "Or just mailing a letter?"

Charlie grinned. "I'm headed North. Thanks, though."

Bob started to turn to meet Sally at the register. "You finish that sandwich, you hit the pumps. Lots of guys headed North tonight, and you need more than coffee to keep you awake over the Siskiyous."

"Thanks," Charlie said, but he said it to the air. Bob was already gone.

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Sure enough, after hanging out at the pumps for a while, Charlie spotted a truck headed in the right direction. He was looking it over when a voice sounded in his ear. "She's right purty, ain't she?" The man was taller than he was, and even thinner, but he was holding the tell-tale thermos.

"She yours?" Charlie ventured.

"Sho'nuff. You should see her all polished up, at the start of a run."

"You headed North?"

"All the way to Ashland, Oregon. Got me a half a load of newspaper inserts to drop off, full load to pick up and take back to Sacramento."

"Need some help staying awake? Over…over…over the Siskiyous?"

"How much gear you got?"

Charlie held up his two bags. "This is it. My pack was stolen." He saw the man focus on the bandage on his arm. "I, uh, I was in an accident."

"Seems to me you been having a bad day." The apparition clapped him on the shoulder. "Name's Joe. Don't pick up no strangers."

It took Charlie a second to catch on. "Charlie," he finally sputtered. "Name's Charlie."

"Well come on, Charlie, hop on in." Joe rubbed the back of his sunburned neck. "Hell, boy, might even let ya drive."