Chapter 9 - The Long Haul AheadThree weeks later, the morning sun was just beginning to crest over the jagged peaks of the Bridger Mountains outside Livingston, Montana. The air was crisp, sharp, and smelled of pine needles and fresh asphalt.
I sat on the wooden porch of the Highway 90 Diner, nursing a mug of black coffee that tasted like roasted beans and burnt metal. My old Peterbilt truck was parked across the gravel lot, its diesel engine idling with a steady, comforting rumble.
My phone, sitting on the weathered tabletop next to my work gloves, vibrated against the wood.
A text message from an unknown North Carolina number.
‘The board restructured. Bennett Coastal Development is officially under family management, and Grant’s assets have been frozen by federal courts. My mother says hello.’
I stared at the screen, a slow grin spreading across my face. I tapped out a short reply:
‘Tell your mother she owes me a cup of coffee.’
Within seconds, my phone vibrated again.
‘Hope you like your coffee black. My flight lands in Bozeman in two hours. Don't leave.’
May you like
I set the phone down, took a final sip of the hot coffee, and stood up from the wooden bench. I picked up my work gloves, slapped them against my thigh, and walked over toward the driver's side door of the semi-truck.
Some journeys begin with a desperate lie shouted across a crowded airplane aisle. But sometimes, if you hold your ground and wait for the right moment, the road leads you right where you were supposed to be all along.
