She was tired. It had been a long drive cross country already and she hadn't even reached the halfway point of her journey yet.
Yet she couldn't wait to get to the end, and the proverbial end, provided she went through with her current post-divorce plans.
In any event, the telltale DING of the station wagon's 'Need Gas' alert rang, interrupting her thoughts.
Then her headlights shined on the road sign announcing a truck stop with gas, food, and lodging only a couple of miles ahead.
It had been a long day as it was, so she might as well take care of her own needs as well as the car's.
She parked at an empty pump offering Regular Unleaded, locked the car, and went inside to pay in advance since she no longer had a valid credit card in her name. The Debit Card of her new post divorce bank account would cover expenses, but she didn't trust many machines and preferred to keep track of her expenses in person.
"Okay ma'am. That's $40 prepaid at Pump 7. Come back in when you're done if you either need more fuel or to collect your change," the clerk said, while handing back her card and receipt.
"Thank you," she politely replied, turning to go back outside but running into a living road block instead.
At eye level, all she saw was an open, long sleeve flannel shirt covering the bare but hairy chest of a muscular man who looked like he could bench press twice his own weight without working up a sweat.
Raising her head, the chest was connected to the bearded face of a ruggedly handsome man at least a few years younger than her.
"I'm sorry miss. If I had known I'd be meeting someone as beautiful as you, I'd have tried to clean up more before entering," he said, hastily buttoning his shirt.
She actually started to blush at this comment, for the last thing she considered herself was good looking, let alone beautiful.
"I'm Samuel Twain, but you can call me Sam," he said, holding out his hand. "And you are...?"
"Not interested," she coldly replied.
"Oh?" he said, looking at her. "Well, if there's another lady in your life..."
"What? Oh no! Not that," she hastily spoke, shocked that someone could think such a thing about her.
"I don't see a ring, but whoever has your heart is a lucky fellow," Sam replied.
"You'd think so, but after all our years together he decided to go for a younger woman and—" and then stopped, surprised that she was speaking about so sore a topic so soon.
"Well, it's his loss," Sam said, looking at the lady before him again. "How long since your divorce was decreed final?"
She hesitated this time before saying, "About a week."
"Really?" the trucker replied, for it was now his turn to be shocked. "So, what's a nice woman like you doing out in the middle of nowhere like this?" he asked.
"Well..." she began, stepping aside to let another customer have access to the cashier.
"Look, it's not my place to pry, but you look like you could use someone to talk to. No tricks," Sam said, crossing his now covered chest. "No pick up attempts. Just a friendly offer to have dinner and lend a sympathetic ear for awhile. Interested?"
"Well..." she said, while chastising herself for seriously thinking it over.
"I'm between runs and not expecting my dispatcher to call with a new assignment until at least tomorrow morning," Sam said, briefly holding up his cellphone. "I've still got to secure my rig for the night, but otherwise I'm free. Dinner's on me. The diner's not much in regards to haute cuisine, but at least the food's edible."
That actually made her smile.
"I didn't catch your name," Sam reminded her.
"Oh," she replied. "I'm Abigail... Turner. Sorry for the pause. Almost used my former married name."
"That's okay. I've had a few ladies in my life, but none that got to the point where I strongly considered proposing, let alone actually taking that trip down the primrose aisle."
"Why?" Abigail asked out of genuine curiosity.
"Guess I haven't found the right one yet. I confess that I don't see myself driving a truck until retirement but I won't apologize because I happen to like the open road, at least at this point in my life. Yet not too many women are interested in a trucker beyond an adventure or two at most."
"Your job sounds exciting, but you are right about the long haul. I've been driving cross country for a couple of days now and can't wait to get to my destination," complained Abigail.
"Going somewhere to start fresh?" Sam wondered.
"Truthfully? I'm not sure about anything other than going to see my sister and her family for at least Thanksgiving, if not Christmas as well," Abigail said, not willing to admit what she really planned to do afterwards.
"No job? No kids?"
"I believed in staying home and being a good wife and housekeeper, but never got to experience motherhood because we never were blessed with children," Abigail replied. Why am I being so honest with a total stranger?
"Can I ask where you're headed?"
"You've probably never heard of it. I hadn't either until my sister moved there. Some small town in Washington State called Moon Lake."
Sam's eyes widened in surprise but before he could say anything, the Truck Stop's Public Address System blared.
"WILL THE OWNER OF A BLUE STATION WAGON AT PUMP 7—"
"Oh no! That's me!" Abigail yelled, her face turning red in embarrassment. "I've got to go and—"
"I understand," Sam replied. "Meet me at the diner?"
Abigail hesitated for a moment before saying, "Sure." At least it's a free meal and less time alone in a motel room with my crossword puzzles and Bible for one night.
Yet as Abigail walked out to go pump her gas, Samuel Twain had other thoughts. Why do I always fall for Normal women and wind up getting my heart broken? And is any of her kin weres? Or am I going to have to alert the town a Normal's coming to visit?