HE FORGETS NOT HIS OWN by Edward L. Woodyard

He Forgets Not His Own Part Five

Mid-morning Wednesday, Scott was staring into a graffiti-scratched metal mirror of a truck stop men's room. He decided to let his whiskers go another day. The growth hadn't started to itch uncomfortably yet. He took off his jacket and brushed his teeth. He slipped off his shirt and, seeing no hook on which to hang it, wrapped it around his neck like a beach towel, washed his face and underarms, decided that his blue jeans were good for yet another day, then dressed himself again to face the unpredictable weather of the central Midwest. As he left the men's room by a back door and saw a gas attendant named Owen filling his tank, he watched a Toyota Tacoma Double Cab pickup truck exit the truck stop, heading west on an interstate bypass road.

Maya was putting her cell phone into her purse as she exited a convenience store with two cups of coffee. It had a sign on its door welcoming travelers to Iowa City. She approached Scott, handing him one of the cardboard cups.

"Half-and-half with one sugar."

"Thanks," he said, noticing only two cups. "Kevin didn't want one?"

"He said no."

Scott sipped from his coffee cup as they ambled toward the Bimmer. Both were trying to stretch their leg muscles as they walked. The truck stop was crowded, active with travelers and families on the road for the Thanksgiving holiday. A morning news alert on their cell phones had reported that the national transportation strike had doubled the number of vehicles on the road and both could believe it. In addition to the Iowa license plates, they noticed a majority of the vehicles were from Illinois, Missouri and Minnesota.

"What did they tell you in New York?" Scott asked Maya.

"They still need me in the office Friday morning," she replied. Then she asked, "Shouldn't you call your office to check in?"

"Why? I sold my company last week. Paid off my investors. Had a good profit. Done."

Maya was taken back by the suddenness of this revelation, as well as by Scott's nonchalant attitude about it. She decided against mentioning anything further, instead referring to a new text on her phone, "My friend in Hoboken left for New Hampshire to be with her family, but she left the key for me with the super of the building."

"Thanksgiving in Hoboken?"

"Maybe I can volunteer at a homeless shelter or something. Help out there serving or cleaning up? Holidays are not a time to be alone."

"Maybe I'll help you. I don't have any plans either. I'm not in any hurry to get back to California."

Owen finished filling the Bimmer with gas and replaced the nozzle in its saddle. "Pop the hood and I'll check oil, belts and fluids."

Scott was distracted when he opened the driver's door and pulled the latch to open the hood. Kevin was not sitting in the back seat; his backpack was no longer there. "Maya, did you see where Kevin went? His things are gone."

"I thought he went with you to the men's room."

Owen overheard them as he propped open the Bimmer's hood. "The guy that was with you? He asked some kids from the university for a ride and then took a backpack from here and jumped in the pickup with them. He said he had to go."

Scott's eyes searched the gas pumps and parking lot; he was somewhat bewildered. The gas attendant cleaned off the dipstick with his thumb and forefinger, wiping the oil on his dark blue uniform pants as he again checked the oil level. "Better look to see if you got it all, that he dint take nothin'."

"No need. He was honest," Scott assured him.

"You sure bein' a trustin' soul."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No, sir," said the gas attendant, "but the pickup had Idaho license plates."

Scott mumbled under his breath, "I hope he gets there in time."

Maya overheard him, "He went back home? He must have remembered something."

Owen looked around the raised hood at Scott, "He said for me to say thanks to you."

Scott glanced over his shoulder toward the interstate bypass road, now certain that Kevin was in the Toyota Tacoma he saw exit onto it a few minutes earlier, "I'm the one who wanted to say thanks to him."

The gas attendant closed the hood of the Bimmer. "You're bitchin'." Scott gave Owen a credit card. "No good. That guy t'was with you slapped me with two twenties to cover the gas."

Scott put his credit card back in his wallet and started to get in the driver's side door, but Maya took the key fob from him. "You get some sleep, Scott," she said. She scratched the back of her head then itched her scalp. "I need to stop somewhere tonight and wash my hair."

Maya sat behind the steering wheel of the Bimmer as Scott got comfortable in the front passenger seat. He would be asleep within five miles of their getting back onto the interstate.