Dirt and flaked paint obscured the diner, making it almost invisible against the sides of the industrial, cinderblock buildings.
Jolene sat in the third booth from the door. She rubbed a wet paper towel across her face. Bruises and hunger panged her stomach.
Five 18-wheelers were lined up outside next to pickups and old cars that didn’t make the Clunkers For Cash deadline.
Thoughts of the diner outside Dallas kept her on edge as she watched each patron inside and out. Everyone was suspect. Everyone stared.
A frail, elderly waitress brought a grilled chicken sandwich with extra pickles sprinkled around a chipped plate. Jolene loved pickles.
“On the house,” said the waitress, leaning to Jolene’s ear. “Don’t ask, just eat it and go. You know the gig.” Jolene was not welcome here.
It was not a revelation to know that she probably wasn’t helping business by being there, looking the way she did. So Jolene ate quickly.
Ice from her glass of water mildly eased her swollen eyes. The smell of pickles somehow made her feel safe. Her father used to jar them.
Dill brought the old man’s image to mind. He used to grown cucumbers and dill and preserve them in Ball jars to sell at the farmers market.
Jolene knew he was not her real father. She still loved him, even though she had hurt him all of her life. Perhaps he was safe somewhere.
The money she had given him was enough to start a new life. Now she needed one.
“Your significant other is either a mean sum-bitch or you pissed off somebody’s wife,” said the trucker in the next booth. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Jolene. “Just need to get my strength back. a little food, some rest.”
“So you’re a stripper?” said the trucker. “My name is Eugene, by the way. Cross country. Stay on the interstates. Heavy loads, small towns.”
“Eugene Cross Country, good eye. I was a stripper and a hooker,” said Jolene. “I just need to get back to Florida. My vacation went south.”
“I ain’t asking for favors on either on of those professions, but if you need some money, I know where you can pick it up honest,” he said.
“I’m not much on favors,” she said. “I have a bank account, sort of. Some cash stashed away. But I’m a long way from it right now.”
“I run cross to Gulf Bama, don’t run the Florida route,” he said. “I can loan you money and you can pay me back when you get to your stash.”
“Gulf Bama?” asked Jolene. “Where’s that? Near Mobile?”
“Gulf Shores, ma’am,” he said. “My last stop before heading back to Los Angeles and pick up loads along the way.” He smiled a gold tooth.
“You’ll give money to a stripper you just met?” she said. “You’re mighty trusting for a trucker. Or you’re just a fool.”
“I wasn’t always a trucker,” he said. “I used to be a man of God. But God had other plans. They didn’t include me. So I started driving.”
“Must be my day to meet preachers,” said Jolene. “Hope you fare better than the last poor bastard.”
“I’m not officially a preacher anymore,” said Eugene from behind a mug of steaming coffee. “Practice my faith more than talk about it now.”
“But you still have enough religion in your heart to loan a hooker money,” said Jolene. “A beat-up hooker you found, sitting in a cafe.”
“It ain’t religion that drives my generosity,” he said. “Maybe I still have a little goodness left inside. But it’s from God, not religion.”
“My daddy was like you,” said Jolene. “Or I thought he was my daddy. I’m not real sure anymore. A lot of shit has happened lately.”
“It happens every day,” said Eugene. He pulled out his wallet. “$127 here. It’s yours. Just get some help and get home, wherever that is.”
Jolene looked at the money in his hand. “I can’t take that. I got enough to get by for a little while. Thank you anyway.”
He held the money steady. “You can repay me later. Just mail it to me when you can.”
“Where?” she asked. Two women saw him holding the bills toward Jolene. They looked disgusted, as if he was propositioning a wounded girl.
“That’s my address,” said Eugene, pointing to his truck. “Right over there. The big red one. Needs a wash job, don’t it?”
“That truck has been my home since my wife took off to start her own business.”
“You live on the road in the back of an 18-wheeler cab?” said Jolene. “Not exactly an address. That’s got to get old after a while.”
“Yes ma’am, it does. But I have satellite radio, so it ain’t so bad,” he said. “There’s a whole lot of channels floating around in space.”
His unadorned honesty made Jolene realize how many horrible things she had done in her life and how many more she was going to do.
“Which way you headed?” she said. “I could use a ride, maybe. Especially if you’re headed east on I-10.”
“Listen, I can take you as far as Lafayette, Louisiana if you need a ride back in that direction. No strings attached. Guaranteed.”
Jolene studied his face, trying to decide if she should trust him. She wanted to. He could tell she was leery of his hospitality.
“I’m a safe ride,” he said. “Besides, you got a 9 mil tucked in your pants so I wouldn’t get far if I was lecherous – which I ain’t.”
Jolene awkwardly pushed the gun deeper into her pants, looked around at the inquiring faces, finished her meal and took him up on his offer.
