A Thousand Miles

Part 7

What just happened?

Shane stared at the door through which JoLynn just departed almost as if she might turn around and come back in. He glanced at the now empty chair where she'd just been sitting, then down at the pages she'd brought him. He let a smile work its way across his face.

So, she'd found some of his articles and was willing to concede that maybe he wasn't just some hillbilly from nowhere. Dang if it wasn't gratifying to see her swallowing her pride and coming over here to ask for his input, to acknowledge his talent.

Of course, she'd made a good point about finding those articles no thanks to Truman or him. His presence here was a major change for her, and if what she said was true, if Truman really hadn't discussed such a major change in format with her, hadn't even given her a little advanced warning, then maybe her behavior these past two days wasn't so terribly inexcusable. He'd be fairly angry if the tables were turned. But Truman had money, and the people with the money always had the power and rarely minded wielding it. JoLynn, of all people, ought to know that.

But she didn't know the first thing about him; had never even heard his name until yesterday. And he'd at least had a little time to check out her credentials and figure out where she came from. He ran a hand across his chin, then scratched at the stubble there. And here he sat, looking like a vagrant.

An image of his father's stubbly face materialized. He always had what seemed like two or three day's growth on his face. He never had a beard, but Shane couldn't recall him clean shaven either. The only image he could conjure was of an unkempt, worn out, scruffy man, stationed behind the wheel of an ancient Winnebago. The same RV Shane lived in now. Alone.

"We'll stop just down the road a bit."

Shane heard that phrase from his father every day. Just down the road a bit. He'd say it like he knew exactly where they were headed, and when Shane was younger he believed him. As he grew up he realized that his dad was just hoping to find a town with a decent looking RV park where they could hook up and light for a few days, or weeks, or however long it took for his father to get struck with the urge to move on.

Usually, they found a place. But it wasn't uncommon for them to spend nights at some interstate rest stop with no power source to hook up to, and public restrooms to wash up in. Winter nights were the worst. What he wouldn't have given for a cozy motel room like this one. Firm double beds, bathroom, television, telephone. All the comforts of home—just not the one he grew up in. Now he'd give almost anything to be able to pick up the phone and hear his dad's voice on the other end.

He took a deep breath and shook the memories off. He'd better get to looking at JoLynn's work. She probably knew more about this kind of writing than he did, but he still wanted to have something to offer when he saw her tomorrow morning.