“Looking good,” a voice said.

My satchel over one shoulder, I tried to squeeze past the stranger without looking up. After that pileup in St. Paul my whole body ached too much to be polite. I didn’t need to see the stranger to identify him. I could smell him, the heady mix of body odor and acetone, the perfume of one of my fellow long haul truckers.

A lot of us were hopped up on synth meth or some stimulant to get through the 48 hours drive shifts. A lot of us looked for a warm body to come down with. I couldn’t be bothered. I skirted around the other driver flashing my taser holster. The stranger got the message and returned to his pole by the rest stop entrance. Maybe the next driver would be in the mood for company. I walked inside.

Westbound Rest Stop Molly Pitchers 4 was one of the better stops. Reasonably clean and mostly safe, the Mollys were a reliable place to get fueled, hot food, a real shower, and a comfy cube. You taught me about truck stops during my training. Standing in line, I thought about your detailed rest stop rating system from Ritz Carlton to I wouldn’t let my dog piss here.

The scrawny rest stop clerk gave me a weird look. Thinking about you, I must be smiling. God, the kid probably thought I was flirting. I started removing my PPE to hide my embarrassment.

“Four thousand on pump 37, full hydraulics check. What’s the radiation forecast?” I asked as I raised my palm to be scanned.

“Eight tonight, down to three in 24,” the clerk said. “We’re have a special on showers, extra long with complimentary shampoo and conditioner for only 250 more.”

The clerk, a kid really hardly older than our boy, waggled his eyebrows at my shoulder length hair spilling out from my protective hood. I considered the extra five minutes but thought better of it. Like I always tell you the only deals are when your credits stay in your pockets.

“No, thanks but no thanks, I’ll take the standard single stay package with extra towels,” I said.

Sighing the clerk scanned my right hand. With my left, I slipped the clerk a chocolate bar. You showed me how to tip without triggering the surveillance cameras. The rest stop employees barely scraped by on their salaries and worked on commission from upselling. Food was the best way to get a nice sleep cube and a hassle free stay. I still remember when I was pregnant with Louie and ate all my bribes. I nearly froze to death at a stop in British Columbia.

“You’re in cube 85, newly renovated. Enjoy.”

Gear and extra towels under my arms, I headed for the corridor.

“Miss, my screen says you have a letter,” the clerk said stumbling over the last word.

My heart leapt. I didn’t think you would have enough time. I hurried back to counter. The clerk opened a safe and retrieved a plump envelope. Marvelling at the manilla sleeve, the teen turned the brown paper in his hands.

“Skrill, lady. Those scribbles mean you, like your name, right?”

“Yeah, it is called cursive. My old man still does things the old way. He’s extra.”

He handed me my letter. I slipped the envelope into my bunny suit against my skin. Suddenly lighter I hurried to my cube.

I followed the narrow corridor to my cube. I could hear faint moans and snoring coming from the other cubes. It wasn’t exactly newly renovated but it was clean and perfectly functional. Warm lights and the smell of lemony disinfectant greeted me. I climbed up the ladder with quick steps. Sealed my cube door behind me, I was ready for my family time.

Later, I would take a whore’s bath, eat my fill, and sleep like the dead. But for now my heart was beating fast against my letter. Ripping open the seal, photos of Louie and Chris pour out of the envelope. Chris must have gotten the parts for that old color printer. I go through each colorful image.

Five months on the road, five months of truck stops and deliveries from Newark to Portland, from Portland back to Jersey while my man hauled from Chicago to Tampa. Louie stayed home in Flint near my people. I swear Louis is a head taller than last time. I kissed the pictures of my guys.

Part of me wanted to savor the letter, to read it in bite sized pieces but soon I was devouring Chris’ stories. His latest hauls, Louie’s progress in school, extended family news, even after all these years he had a way of making every little thing an adventure. In his terrible scrawl Louie had written funny commentary in the margins.

Chris promised that in a month or two our schedules would realign and the three of us would be together for a real holiday. A staycation he called it. Reading and re-reading surrounded by photos, I could almost believe it would be true.