Nebraska Stars

Chapter Six

I waited there twenty minutes before I called my mom. I kept thinking, Ok, the train was late. They probably just got tired of waiting and went to go have breakfast or something. I thought, if they never show up, I can just get a cab to their house. I was trying to keep myself from having a full-on panic attack. Back at home, I didn't even like taking the El by myself. The thought of having to get myself to Ben and Fiona's house on my own was exhausting, especially after 19 hours of train travel.  

I dialed my mom and was waiting for her to answer when I saw the white pickup truck. It was speeding down the short driveway of the train station, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. Why was there so much dust in Nebraska? The truck skidded to a stop and parked lengthwise, taking up at least three parking spaces. Not that it mattered. I was the only other person at the train station, after all. I hung up the phone without noticing if my mom had answered and stood up, wiping my hands nervously on my jeans. This must be them, I thought. This has to be them. But then a young guy got out of the truck and started walking toward me. He was about six feet tall with broad shoulders that I could tell were well muscled beneath his kelly green t-shirt. His jeans were worn, faded at the knees and the thighs. I could tell, though, that they were worn from legitimate use. He hadn't bought them that way at a store. He was wearing cowboy boots, which was really such a cliché, but they worked on him. As he stepped closer to me, his face came into view and it seemed familiar somehow-the kind greenish-gray eyes, the dark brown hair with just the slightest wave to it, the warm, inviting smile. They have a son about your age. Mom's words echoed in my brain. 

"Hey," he said, stretching out his hand. "I'm Hank. Hank August, Ben and Fiona's son?"  

I didn't take his hand immediately, and after a second or two he looked down at it, then pulled it back and wiped it off on his jeans. "Oh sorry," he said. "It's greasy 'cause I had to stop to change a tire. That's why I was late too." He smiled at me. "Sorry about that," he added. 

"Oh, yeah," I said, recovering. "That's ok, no problem." I shook his hand, a firm handshake just like Alan taught me. "I'm sure you know, but I'm Mae." I combed my hair with my fingers and grabbed the handle of my suitcase. We stood there for a few more moments in the silence and the heat and the dust of the empty train station before he picked up my suitcase and carried it over to the truck bed. Even though it was a rolling suitcase, he just picked it up and carried it like he was carrying a bag of groceries or something. He set it into the little area he had cleared for it, as the rest of the truck bed was filled with crates of vegetables and fruits.  

"I hope you don't mind if I put this back here," he said motioning to the suitcase. "There won't be room for it behind the seat." 

"Yeah of course, that's fine," I said. He slapped his hands together to get the dust off and then opened the passenger side door of the truck and motioned for me to get in. 

"Oh thanks," I said, unaccustomed to having my door opened for me.  

I sat down and in the split second I had after he closed the car door and walked around the front of the truck to get in on his side, I thought, what is my life right now? The truck was old fashioned, with a light green bench seat made of a leather-like material, and one of those extra-large skinny steering wheels. I fastened my seatbelt so I wouldn't slide back and forth once we got moving. The truck was clean except for a crumpled paper coffee cup at my feet, and it smelled fruity and a little exotic, like pineapple or coconut. Hank climbed in on his side and buckled his seatbelt, then quickly unbuckled it and bent across me to pick up the crumpled coffee cup.  

"Sorry," he said, smiling politely. Then he crumpled the cup even more and threw it up on the dashboard. "I would throw it out the window, but I don't believe in littering."