“Put a lid on it, would you?” Kathryn joked. “I’m immune to it. After all these years hauling cross-country, you get to know the roads, for sure. Surprisingly, you get to know a lot of people, too. There are thousands of drivers like me. Well, not exactly like me.” She laughed. “We have a network and keep each other apprised of any situations. As soon as I hit the road, I call in to anyone who is on the same route. We look out for each other . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Except for that one time.”
“I really admire your grit. I don’t know if I could ever get back behind a wheel after what happened to you,” Yoko said with compassion.
“It somehow, in some weird way, keeps me connected to Alan.” Kathryn sighed, remembering her husband, who had died, and trying not to remember how she was brutally raped as he was forced to watch from his wheelchair.
Noticing the expression turning dark on Kathryn’s face, Yoko asked, “So you never wanted to go back into engineering?”
Kathryn slapped the dashboard of the eighteen-wheeler. “This is all the engine I need!”
Both laughed. The mood was lifted. They were on a mission.
Yoko pulled out the road atlas. They did not want any electronic trail on the GPS. “According to this, the property is about thirty miles northeast of where you make your delivery.”
“We should be arriving at the drop-off in about half an hour. I’m leaving the rig at the truck stop and borrowing a car. This big thing may be too obvious. We’ll stop for lunch, then head in that direction.” Kathryn shifted gears and pulled into the passing lane on the interstate. “I swear, drivers get worse every year,” she mumbled as she cranked up Donna Summer’s “She Works Hard for the Money” on the radio. They both sang along at the top of their lungs.
When the song was over, they burst into laughter. “I can’t remember the last time I did that,” Yoko exclaimed. “That felt really good!”
“Another reason I like hitting the road.” Kathryn moved back into the right lane. “I can sing whatever I want, as loud as I want, and there’s nobody around to tell me to shut up!”
“You must get some crazy looks,” Yoko replied.
“That ain’t all!” Kathryn howled.
A squawk came from her CB radio. “That you, K? Screaming your lungs out again?”
“Hey, Josh! How’d you know it was me?” Kathryn replied.
“Ain’t nobody else sounds that bad. You’re scaring away the cows!”
“Where the heck are you, Mr. Funny Man?” Kathryn called out.
“About two miles behind. Where you headed?”
“Have one stop and then taking my friend for a ride through the countryside.” Kathryn turned on her directional signal, indicating she was exiting the interstate.
“Now, that’s almost as funny as your singing! Ain’t no countryside to see no more.”
“Such a comedian. Be careful out there. Over and out!” Kathryn clicked off the CB. “There’s an app for my phone, but this is still easier to manage, and it doesn’t use up my data allotment,” she explained to Yoko.
“You live in a different world, for sure.”
“Oh, and yours is so normal.” Kathryn elbowed her. “Wait here. I’ll go tell the manager to open the loading dock.”
A few minutes later, Kathryn returned and pulled the rig to the back of the auto-parts distribution center.
“All this time, I forgot to ask what you are hauling,” Yoko said.
“Tires. Glamorous, huh?” Kathryn smiled. “I know a lot of people in the car-dealership, auto-replacement biz. That’s how I ended up coming out to Detroit so often. But not so much anymore.” She jumped from the rig and handed a clipboard to one of the dockworkers.
“Hey!” and “How ya doin’?” came from the workers.
Kathryn exchanged the same pleasantries. “Where do you want me to leave the trailer?” The arrangements usually called for her to unhitch the trailer and pick up another one to take goods back East, but this time she would deadhead home with just the cab of the truck. She knew that once they got a look at the property, she would need speed and flexibility on the return trip.
As soon as they freed the cab from the trailer, Kathryn took the clipboard back and jumped into the truck. Lots of waves and hollers followed.
“Nice people. Salt of the earth. Too bad many of them lost their jobs in the auto industry. But at least they’re still gainfully employed, I suppose,” she told Yoko. She maneuvered the cab onto the highway and headed to the truck stop. “Hungry?”
“Yes!”
“Excellent. You’re in for some good eats,” Kathryn shouted over the noise of the grinding gears and rolled up her window. Within a few minutes, they pulled into the truck stop.
“Rosie’s Diner? For real?” Yoko said with surprise.
“Wait until you meet her!” Kathryn chuckled. “C’mon. Home fries are waiting!”
They walked into what looked like something that had been frozen in time. The time was circa 1957.
“Wow. Look at this place. They even have jukeboxes in the booths.” Yoko was in awe.
“They’re just for show. Pretty cool, though.” Kathryn waved her arms at another throwback. This time it was Rosie, granddaughter of the original, decked out in a pink-striped uniform with a white collar and trim, a white apron, and a peaked cap, complete with the ugliest white shoes.
“Kathryn! Babe! How the heck are you?” Rosie sauntered over and gave Kathryn a bear hug. “Who is this pretty thing?” She pointed at Yoko.
“A good friend. Yoko, meet Rosie.”
Rosie’s hands were as large as Kathryn’s, and she almost crushed Yoko’s fine fingers with her grip. Yoko tried to hide a wince. “Nice to meet you. Kathryn tells me you have the best food in Michigan.”
“She’s got that right. Come sit over here, away from the cigarette smoke.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Yoko asked innocently. Kathryn kicked her in the foot.
“Nobody cares around these here parts. I only let my regulars do it. There’s only a couple of ’em left,” Rosie explained. “We ain’t that far from Flint. Now there’s a problem that needs fixin’.” She handed them plastic-coated menus that had seen better days. “Meat loaf is fresh this morning. Take a few minutes. Coffee? Tea? Soda?”
Thinking about the water problem in Flint, Yoko opted for something that came in a bottle. “Coke? Pepsi?”
“Pepsi, dollface. Kath? You?”
“Coffee. Thanks.”
Rosie waddled across the room, weaving in and out of the square Formica tables, which had also seen better days.
“It’s kind of depressing, isn’t it?” Yoko whispered.
“I prefer to think it’s quaint. But you’re right. Business has fallen off a cliff. It’s amazing she’s still here. But she owns the building, so that’s one bill she doesn’t have to pay.” Kathryn scanned the room. “I’m going for the meat loaf. Mashed potatoes. Gravy.”
Yoko looked at the menu. Not exactly what she was used to, especially when she was at Pinewood, with Charles’s fine cooking. Kathryn sensed Yoko’s apprehension.