CHAPTER THREE
The loud purr of the engine woke her this time. Emma opened her eyes to see light streaming through the windshield below. There was a little crick in her neck, and she stretched as far as she could, yawning. Then she shimmied around and dropped down into the main area of the cab. Jones was once again nowhere to be seen, but it was a bright, sunny morning, the sun reflecting off the snow lying on the berm of the road and the wet asphalt.
Emma had finished restoring the fold-down bed to its upright and locked position (Like a plane tray table, she thought with amusement), and was pulling on her boots when she saw Jones emerge from the store again. There was a thermos in his hand and a bag suspended over his left arm. He was grinning widely and shaking his head.
"Night shift changed over, and now it's a couple of cheery little teenagers at the register," he said without preamble as he climbed back into the truck, handing her the bag and opening the thermos. "If you need the bathroom again, I'd bet they won't give you any trouble."
Emma shook her head, then opened the plastic bag to find a couple of foil-wrapped breakfast sandwiches, still warm from a heat lamp. She watched as he deftly steadied his travel mug in his lap and poured some of the contents of the thermos inside; the prosthesis he used as a left hand had a sort of mechanism like and opposing thumb on it, which he used to grip the mug's handle. In the bright light of day, she noticed for the first time that the flat steering wheel had a stainless-steel ring mounted on top, with a rotating base. She'd seen knobs quite like that in plenty of other tractor-trailers, and had no doubt this was also a custom installation.
Jones finished pouring the coffee and offered her the thermos. Emma accepted it and poured some coffee into the cup-like lid, sniffing cautiously. It was plain old gas-station coffee, but at least it had some cream in it. A sudden longing for Granny's good Arabica beans made her heart ache.
"Well, I've got to quickly complete my log book for yesterday, but then we're off," Jones said, sipping his own coffee and putting it down into the cup holder. "We should be in Scranton by noon, traffic willing."
Emma nodded again. She suddenly felt terribly self-conscious, and more than a bit shy. It was one thing traveling across a couple of New England state lines with a stranger. But a daytime drive all the way into the Mid-Atlantic was another. Especially since, unlike almost every single driver she had ever hitched with, her companion hadn't asked a single question about why she was bumming a ride.
"I, um," she said. Jones had pulled a fat cloth-bound book from the center console, and was spreading it across his lap when he glanced back up at her. His expression was so open and friendly that Emma felt guilt strike in the pit of her stomach.
She gestured to the sandwiches and the coffee. "I can pay you back for this. And like, gas and stuff."
Jones laughed softly, turning his eyes back to his log book. "Totally unnecessary, love," he said, pulling a pen from his shirt pocket and making some notations in the book. "I assure you, my very excellent broker pays for any diesel this beast consumes. And I make enough money per mile to spare a few cents to feed a little bird I'm helping to fly west."
He scribbled for a moment longer, then closed the log book and returned it to the center console. Reaching over, he fastened his seat belt; Emma followed suit, not sure whether she should be charmed or annoyed by being referred to as a 'little bird.' "The only thing I ask," he continued cheerfully, "is that if you happen to meet any of my employers, to please stay mum about the fact that I picked up a hitchhiker. And certainly don't add it to my log book, unless you want me to get fired."
Emma shook her head "Of course not." Then curiosity got the better of her. "It's… illegal to pick up a hitchhiker?" she asked.
Jones shook his head, making that cute little moue again, and put the truck into gear, then pulled out. "Didn't say I'd get arrested," he answered slyly, as they trundled back out onto the road. "Just fired. It's against company policy, even in places where hitching is legal. A few fellows have gotten mugged, that's all."
Well, that only seemed reasonable, although it said a lot about Jones himself, that he'd picked her up without a single question. "Do you like your job?" Emma asked, suddenly interested. Jones glanced over, still shifting through the gears as the truck bumped towards the highway overpass. She fluttered her hand, trying to be casual. "I mean… traveling all over the country seems pretty interesting, but I imagine every job has its drawbacks."
He nodded thoughtfully, eyes on the road ahead. They picked up speed as he steered up onto the highway, checking his mirrors for traffic; he was using his right hand to shift and his left arm to steer, the ring fitting neatly over his hook and slotted directly against a band of metal on the brace below. A neat trick, Emma thought, admiring the ease with which he navigated the gears. She knew how to drive a stick shift, but nothing more advanced than a six-speed, and she hadn't driven one in years anyway.
"Sorry," Jones said once they had joined traffic on the highway, and flashed her a grin. "Yes, that's one sort-of drawback to being an over-the-road driver – I spend so much time in total solitude that sometimes it's a bit challenging to keep up a conversation when I'm not just driving in a straight line."
Emma hid a smile. "But yes, I do like it," he continued, his own smile fading to a softer expression. "I haven't got any family left, and most of my mates are drivers, too, so I just… drive from coast to coast, getting paid to see America along the way. Not a bad way to live, if you don't mind sitting for long periods of time. And drinking a lot of rubbish coffee."
The jokingly disgusted face he made caught her by surprise, and she laughed aloud; Jones glanced over, smiling warmly. Feeling self-conscious again, Emma took another sip of coffee, looking out the window as they passed what looked like a mall, the parking lot still empty of shoppers' cars in the early morning light. That had been the first time she'd laughed in… wow. Probably five or six days, she thought with wonder.
The road continued rushing by, and a comfortable silence fell over the cab. Emma put her feet up on her duffel bag again and leaned back, watching the scenery pass. It was still a long way to Pennsylvania, and an even longer way to the Midwest; that would give her plenty of time to think about what was next in life.
The time passed more quickly than Emma would have thought. Jones seemed more than happy to remain silent for the majority of the trip and listen to music, but they chatted from time to time. She knew very little about trucking (since her past experience hitchhiking hadn't been conducive to nearly such amiable conversations about the industry), and at one point, listened with fascination as he described how long-haul truckers lived. He had owned the rig they were riding in for a few years now, and received regular instructions on where his next pickup and delivery were.
"It's actually really unusual that my contractor pays for many of my costs," he admitted. "I've been doing this… Lord, nearly seven years now, and this is the first company I've been with that reimburses me for fuel. It's probably because once economy went down the drain, they couldn't find enough OTR drivers unless they offered that perk."
He continued describing their next stop, some kind of general terminal just south of the city. When Emma inquired about where he lived when he wasn't driving, Jones simply said that he hadn't bothered with a regular address for a long time. "I rent a post office box in the east part of Pittsburgh, since I tend to drive up and down the East Coast and then out through the Midwest a lot," he said, with a shrug. "And I've got a couple of mates there. So if I'm passing by, I'll stop to get my mail and say hello, maybe stay the night if I've got time. But mostly… I just drive."
They reached Scranton around noon, as predicted. Emma took a deep breath as they passed into the city limits. Not only had Jones been cheerfully forthcoming enough to reassure her that he was the trustworthy sort… but he also still hadn't inquired about how far she was planning to ride along. And she'd been too contentedly distracted to think about it.
He steered them around the city on the freeway. As they were approaching the regional airport, he suddenly clicked on the turn signal, and began slowing to exit. Emma had taken out her book, and looked up to see that they were approaching a T-junction braced by a scrim of bare trees, softened beyond by the folds of low rolling hills.
"Is… is this where the terminal is?" she asked, her heart fluttering.
He shook his head, concentrating as they turned left. They inched slowly through one roundabout, then another. As they finally rolled to a halt at a three-way intersection and waited for opposing traffic to slow, he gestured up the hill. "There's a pretty nice truck stop here," he explained, "and if you don't mind, I'll drop you there for a couple of hours. I can't take you to the terminal, after all: if someone starts chatting, and word gets back to my broker that I had a passenger with me…"
He trailed off, cringing a little. "They'll figure out you took on a hitcher," Emma finished for him. Her stomach clenched.
Jones nodded with a grimace, gearing up as they made the turn and began lumbering up the hill. "I'll go in with you, so you know where to find things," he assured her. "There's a restaurant, coffee, mini-mart, all that. And if you want to, I don't know, use the shower facilities, watch some television, use the fitness center… you can."
Showers! Well, that sounded like heaven. Emma pressed her lips together, nodding. She understood perfectly well why he needed to temporarily leave her behind. But of all the places in the world she wanted to be abandoned, Scranton, Pennsylvania wasn't one of them.
He said nothing else as they pulled around the truck repair center and into a smaller parking lot, where he brought the truck to a halt and turned off the engine. They both pulled on their coats and hopped out. Aside from a few trucks rumbling around and distant traffic noise from the highway, it was quiet. Emma shouldered her bag as they trekked toward the main door. It wasn't quite as cold as up north, but the odd snowflake could still be seen flurrying around.
Inside, it was surprisingly peaceful, not to mention clean. They walked around for a few minutes, Jones pointing out the major amenities.
"So, ah," he said at last, turning to her. He looked desperately uncomfortable, and pulled a hand from his pocket to scratch the back of his neck. "I might only be gone for a couple of hours. But it could be longer – I still haven't heard from my broker about where my pickup is going to be. If it's right here in town, I might just… go get it while I'm already out, aye?"
He inhaled deeply and pulled out his phone, unlocking it and offering it to her. "So… if you want to put your number in here, and I'll put my number in yours…?"
Emma realized a heartfelt offer when she heard it. "Sounds good," she said, taking his phone and pulling her own from her pocket to offer in return. She felt her own nervousness abate a little as his face cleared.
They exchanged phones again. Jones stuck his into his pocket without looking at it, then pulled out his keyrings. Holding the keys between left arm and chest, he worked off a keychain with deft fingers. He let out a long breath this time; holding up the keychain, looking pained, he slowly lowered his hand and extended the object toward her.
Emma hesitated, but took it. A small length of woven paracord with a split ring at one end and some kind of military crest at the other, the keychain may at one time have been a deep olive color; now it was a faded sea-green, the fabric shiny and flat with wear.
"My brother's," Jones said quietly. "Leaving this with you… means I'm coming back."
His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her, finely cut lips pressed tightly in an unreadable expression beneath the scruff. A muscle in his cheek jumped as his jaw clenched. Emma didn't know how to respond. But she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was telling the absolute truth.
At last she smiled, feeling sad that she had nothing with which to reciprocate his promise: to assure him that she would still be there when he returned. "Thanks," she said simply.
In a moment of inspiration she unzipped the breast pocket of her jacket, snugged the keychain into it, then re-zipped the pocket, putting her hand over it. "I'll keep it safe," she added.
Jones smiled in return, the warmth returning to his eyes. Backing away with a little bow, he turned and walked out of the truck stop, swaggering a little as he bashed through the double doors to return to the parking lot.
Emma watched him go, her hand now clutched over her breast pocket. Then she let out the breath she had been holding and turned slowly away, marching toward the showers with a renewed sense of courage.