Chapter 11: The Truck

I knocked on the glass with two knuckles.

Warren came awake all at once.

He sat up, saw me, and put a hand over his eyes.

Then he rolled the window down a crack.

"Go back to the house."

"Come back to the house."

"I'm fine out here."

"You've been out here for a week."

"It's quiet."

"Open the door, Warren."

He didn't.

I stood there until the first drops of rain hit the roof of the cab, and then the sky opened.

It came down in sheets, cold and loud, and within moments my sweater was soaked through.

He swore, and the lock clicked.

I climbed in and slammed the door behind me.

The cab smelled of coffee, cedar and him.

We sat side by side with the rain roaring on the roof.

Water ran down my face and dripped off my chin.

He took off his coat and put it around my shoulders without a word.

"You're being stubborn," I said.

"I'm being careful."

"That's Owen's job."

His mouth moved, almost a smile.

Then it faded, and he looked straight ahead at the windshield.

"I can't be in that house with you," he said. "I tried all week. I'd hear you in the shower, or in the hall. I'd hear your door."

"So you slept in a truck."

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