What you do with that offer is entirely your call. She didn't accept immediately. That mattered to him. The fact that she didn't immediately say yes told him she was smart. And the fact that she didn't immediately say no told him she was practical.
Instead, she asked him for his ID. He handed it over without a word. She looked at his Georgia driver's license under the beam of his phone's flashlight, which was apparently still at 10% because she had rationed it. He realized, then looked at his face, then looked at the license again. Marcus Darnell Reed, she read aloud.
4407 Piney Grove Road, Smyrna. That's me. Smyrna is 20 miles from here. 22. You were driving home?
From Meridian. Just finished the late shift. She looked at him once more, that calculation running behind her eyes. You got a work badge? She asked.
He pulled his Meridian Medical Supply badge from the clip on his jacket and held it out. She took it, studied it, turned it over. Your photo looks terrible, she said. I know. You look like you just got released from somewhere.
I had just come off a double shift. I looked exactly how I felt. The tiniest ghost of something not quite a smile, not quite, but close crossed her face. She handed both the ID and the badge back to him. I don't live far from Smyrna, she said carefully.
Where you headed? She hesitated. That's still being determined. He didn't push. He just said, "Nearest hotel is the Comfort Inn off Route 278.
I can get you there." She considered it. One more long moment. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay," he said. He grabbed her suitcase before she could protest, not aggressively, just efficiently, the way you grab something because it's the practical thing to do, and loaded it into the truck bed.
He opened the passenger door. He went around to the driver's side. She was already buckled in by the time he sat down. "You can use my phone," he said, handing it to her. "Passcode is 2714, Lily's birthday, she took it.
Paused. Who's Lily? My daughter. Claire typed in the code. She tried to load her email, then her contacts.
She stared at the screen for a moment. What's wrong? He asked. I don't I don't have anywhere I need to call, she said, and she said it like it surprised her. Like the realization was arriving for the first time.
There's nobody waiting on me. Marcus didn't say anything to that. He just pulled back onto the highway. He didn't make it to the Comfort Inn. Not because he drove her somewhere else.
He asked first, very clearly, before he changed course. But 2 miles down the road, Claire said she needed to use the restroom, and Marcus said he knew a 24-hour diner up at exit 47, and Claire said fine. They went inside. She ordered coffee. He ordered coffee.
The waitress, a woman in her 60s with reading glasses pushed up into silver hair, refilled their cups without being asked, and left them alone. That's when Claire's hands started shaking. Not dramatically. Just a fine tremor, barely visible. The kind you only notice because you're paying attention.
Marcus noticed. When did you last eat? He asked. I'm not hungry. That's not what I asked.
A beat. Lunch. What time is it now? Almost midnight. So, 11, 12 hours ago.
I said I'm not hungry. Okay, Marcus said, and he waved the waitress back over and ordered Claire the turkey club and a bowl of soup without asking her again. Claire looked at him across the table. I said, I heard you, he said. You don't have to eat it.
She ate it. Every bite, actually, including the soup, while staring at the table like she was daring herself to feel embarrassed about it, and losing. Marcus ate his coffee and watched the highway through the window and didn't say a word. When she was done, she set down her spoon and looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite name, somewhere between gratitude and suspicion and something older than both. "Why are you being like this?" she asked.
"Like what?" "Like this, nice." She stopped, started again. "Most people who do something for you want something from you." "What do you want?" "I want to finish my coffee." Marcus said. "And then I want to drive you somewhere safe." "That's it?" "That's it. That's it." She studied him. "You're a logistics supervisor at a mid-size medical supply company outside Atlanta.