I nodded.
“Me too.”
That was enough.
I did not need to convince her the system was perfect.
It was not.
I did not need to turn an imperfect outcome into a moral victory.
Some things remained unfair.
Healing did not require pretending otherwise.
Chloe left for college that fall.
Our apartment became painfully quiet.
Mr. Buttons went with her.
So did the biker patch.
The framed two-dollar bill remained.
Her choice.
“Keep it,” she said.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“You still worry more than I do.”
Accurate.
I kept it.
Grant helped load her belongings into a borrowed pickup.
At one point, he lifted a box.
His back complained.
Chloe laughed.
“You’re old.”
Grant glared.
“You people keep saying that.”
“Because time works.”
“College already ruined you.”
She hugged him before leaving.
Then she hugged me.
Longer.
When her car disappeared, I cried.
Grant remained beside me.
“Want me to say something useful?”
“No.”
“Good.”
We stood silently.
That was another lesson he had learned too.
Or maybe one he had always known.
Not every pain requires fixing.
Sometimes staying is enough.
Years after Barstow, I returned to that gas station alone.
I had no reason.
Not exactly.
I was driving through the area for work.
The station had been renovated.
New pumps.
Fresh paint.
The ice machine moved.
Same enormous desert sky.
I parked near pump three.
For a moment, memory overlaid reality.
Old Civic.
Empty tank.
Chloe beneath the shade clutching Mr. Buttons.
Motorcycles roaring in.
The dark SUV across the highway.
Grant kneeling with a two-dollar bill pressed to his heart.
I went inside.
Bought a bottle of water.
The cashier was different.
Young man.
He had no idea who I was.
Good.
I stood outside beside my newer car.
Then I noticed a woman at another pump.
Young.
Two children in the back seat.
She tried a card.
Declined.
Tried again.
Declined.
Her shoulders dropped.
I knew that posture.
I walked toward her.
Then stopped.
Do not assume.
Ask.
“Excuse me.”
She turned, wary.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
Her expression tightened.
“I’m fine.”
I nodded.
“All right.”
I started to leave.
Then she said, “Wait.”
I turned.
“My card’s not working.”
“Okay.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I have another one somewhere.”
“Take your time.”
One child in the back seat was crying.
The woman rubbed her forehead.
I pointed toward the store.
“Want me to get them water?”
She stared.
“Why?”