THE ROADSIDE DINER, ingeniously named THE ROADSIDE DINER, looked exactly how it sounded. A silver, rounded caravan-type structure resembling places typically seen in American films, set back a little from the road, with a couple of trees snuggled close, and a petrol station as companion. Beyond the bus-like windows, people occupied two thirds of the inner space, and on an outside bench that had tree trunks for legs sat Brook, face hidden behind her long curtain of dark hair.
With her hands tucked between her knees and shoulders hunched, she looked frozen—probably was with only the shirt on she wore. I brought the truck to a stop and gave a quick blast of the horn.
Brook’s head snapped up, her gaze instantly locking onto mine. I waited for the inevitable smile. It didn’t come. In fact, sh
