But a man my husband had spent years describing as dishonest and unreliable.
A man whose Christmas cards went straight into the recycling.
I wondered whether I’d made another terrible mistake.
Still, something in his voice had made me feel less alone.
I bought a bottle of water with part of my twenty-dollar bill and waited.
A middle-aged employee wiping tables asked whether I was meeting someone.
I nodded.
“My brother-in-law.”
She smiled.
“Then make yourself comfortable.”
I almost laughed.
Comfortable was the last thing I felt.
But I thanked her and sat beside the window.
A little later, a white pickup pulled into the parking lot.
The words “Vincent Tire and Auto” were painted on the door.
A man climbed out.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a blue work shirt with his name embroidered above the pocket.
His beard was beginning to gray near the chin.
He looked like Colton.
And yet he didn’t.
The resemblance was strongest around the eyes.
But where Colton’s expression was usually guarded and impatient, Heath’s seemed tired and thoughtful.
He walked toward the entrance.
Then he stopped.
He looked at the ice machine beside the door.
For several seconds, he didn’t move.
His face changed in a way I couldn’t understand.
Finally, he entered the building.
He found me near the window.
“Callie?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
He glanced at my phone and the nearly empty water bottle.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded, then shook my head.
“I’m not sure.”
He pulled out the chair opposite me.
“That’s all right.”
I began apologizing immediately.
“I’m sorry I called you. I didn’t know who else to contact, and I know things are complicated between you and Colton.”
He raised one hand gently.
“Don’t apologize for needing a ride.”
Then he stood, bought me coffee and a phone charger from the rack near the register, and returned to the table.
He found an outlet beside the booth and plugged in my phone.
I watched the charging symbol appear.
For some reason, that small green icon nearly made me cry.
Heath sat down again.
His eyes moved toward the entrance.
“I haven’t been inside this place in twenty-three years.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He rested both hands on the table.
For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he said, “Because this is where my mother left me.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He looked directly at me.
“I was fifteen.”
The sounds of the travel plaza seemed to recede.
I remembered Sherry’s voice.
His brother learned it, too.
Heath looked toward the ice machine.
“She brought us here on the way home from a church camp. Colton was eleven. I said something she didn’t like, and she told me to get my bag out of the trunk.”
He paused.
“I thought she wanted me to move something.”
I didn’t speak.
“She got back into the car and drove away.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“How long was she gone?”
He looked at me.
“She never came back.”
For a moment, I couldn’t process the answer.
Heath continued.
“I sat outside beside that ice machine for hours. I thought she’d return once she decided I’d waited long enough.”
His voice remained steady, but I could see the effort it required.
“The people who owned the place noticed me. They brought me food. Eventually, they helped arrange somewhere safe for me to stay.”
I stared through the window.
The ice machine was still there.
A newer model, perhaps.
But the same spot.
The same building.
The same stretch of road.
“Colton told me you ran away.”
Heath nodded.
“I know.”
“He said you took money from your mother’s purse and disappeared.”
He looked down.
“When I was thirteen, I took twenty dollars without asking because I wanted to go on a school trip. I admitted it later. That was the story she kept telling.”
I swallowed.
“And the rest?”
“There wasn’t anything else.”
He rubbed one hand across his face.
“I didn’t run away. I sat there waiting for her.”
I felt the world shift beneath my feet.
The woman who had just called my situation a lesson had done the same thing to her own child.
And she’d spent more than two decades describing the boy as the one who chose to leave.
Heath studied my expression.
“You don’t have to believe me just because I’m saying it.”
I looked at him.
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“That’s fair.”
He reached for his keys.
“My wife is making dinner. We have a guest room. You can stay with us tonight, and tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the woman who helped me back then.”
I hesitated.
He seemed to understand.
“No pressure. If you’d rather stay at a hotel, I’ll help you arrange one. I just don’t want you sitting here wondering how you’re getting home.”
I looked at the phone charging beside me.
Then at the man across the table.
He wasn’t demanding an answer.
He wasn’t setting a deadline.
He was simply offering choices.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed having them.
“I’d like to meet your wife,” I said.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
We drove south through open farmland beneath a wide afternoon sky.
Heath didn’t ask me to explain my marriage.
He didn’t criticize his brother.
He talked about his repair shop, the weather, and the road construction outside Holdrege.