| Roadstop Angel- Concluded When JoAnne walked away, the girl took a moment to look around the restaurant. The inside was a combination fast food joint and gas station. A black woman and her three children ate in the corner. Two truckers were talking over coffee. A grungy man in his fifties or sixties (she couldn�t quite tell) slumped less than twenty feet away, following her every move with his eyes. She unconsciously edged closer to the counter. JoAnne returned, saying as she walked toward the counter, �He�s comin'. Just a minute.� �That�s great... where�s there a payphone?� �Oh, do you want to call home? I bet you can use the employee phone... it�ll be a lot easier.� JoAnne offered a smile, and reached behind her to the white cordless on the wall. The girl dialed, then turned her back to the counter as it started ringing. The man was still watching her. Her eyes darted away, then furtively crept back again and again to study him. He wore torn blue jeans, and a gray t-shirt. His hair was dirty-white and wild, like his beard. The intense way he looked at her made her shift her feet and pretend she�d been staring at the wall behind his head the whole time. The call to her mother and father was by no means brief, or without lectures. Several minutes later, another one of the Burger King employees drew her a map leading to the beltway, and showing how to get home from there. Her father said for the third time that she should have called sooner, told her to take the tollroad to avoid getting lost again on the feeder, and hung up. She chewed her lower lip and thought about her empty wallet, and half-full tank of gas. She asked, but Johanna couldn�t cash a check. The man behind the Exxon counter wouldn�t, either. Her eyes were filling with frustrated tears again when she heard shuffling footsteps behind her. A five-dollar bill slid across the counter, and a cotton-throated voice said, �Give her about four dollars worth of quarters.� She felt almost ashamed when she saw the old man in his torn jeans. �Thank you, sir.� Her checkbook was still open, so she quietly asked his name, pen poised. �That�s all right.� He didn�t touch her, but his eyes made her put the checkbook away with another shaky thanks. As the Exxon man counted quarters into her hand, the old man added, �I�m taking highway 183 m�self, so you can follow me there if you like.� She nodded, forcing a smile, feeling about a inch tall for all her assumptions. �I�m in the gray Ford pickup, around this side.� He pointed. �I�m over here.� She gestured vaguely, her eyes beginning to feel salty from all the trauma they�d endured in the past few hours. She suddenly felt very, very tired. �I�ll come by and meet you, then we can head off together.� He smiled, revealing yellowish teeth. Dirt settled into the creases in his face, but she prayed she could remember that face. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Back in her room, dressing for bed, six quarters still jingled in her pocket. She drew them out, looked at their dulled shine for a moment, and almost smiled. She didn�t have a way to thank him. But she put the coins in a special compartment of her jewelry box. She�d never spend them. She might use them as a good luck charm, though. Just as a little reminder that angels hung out at Burger King. |