Free Rearview by Mike Dellosso Page A

chewing a thought. “I can take you as far as Sloatsburg but that’s it. I’m headin’ that way, then goin’ north. You can get the train from there.”
    â€œGood enough. Thank you.”

13
    The interior of the truck smelled of oil and grease. But it was warm, and the contrast between it and the outside winter wonderland was so stark it could have passed as an alternate world altogether. The vinyl seats were torn, revealing slivers of the foam core. The dash was faded and warped. Dan pulled the seat belt tight and put his hands near the vents, letting the warm air bring circulation back to his fingers. Despite the balminess in the cab and the tropical air exiting the vents, he still shivered as if he were standing outside in the middle of the storm with nothing but his boxers to keep him warm.
    The Santa impersonator got in the driver’s side, shut the door, and extended his gloved hand to Dan. “Name’s Pete.”
    Dan was surprised his name wasn’t Nicholas. He shook Pete’s hand. “Dan. Thanks for doing this.”
    Pete wrinkled his nose and said, “Nah, don’t you mention it again. I’m just glad I came along when I did and saw your taillights. Who knows how long you’d’ve been stranded out here.” He motioned toward the embankment and the snow-covered Volvo. “What do you wanta do with your car?”
    â€œLeave it. I’ll get a tow truck to come back later for it.” He knew he’d be doing no such thing.
    â€œI guess it ain’t goin’ nowhere, huh?”
    â€œNot in this storm.”
    Pete shifted the truck into gear and pulled out onto the road. “They say it ain’t supposed to last long.”
    â€œIt’s a fast-moving one.”
    â€œYep, from what I hear, it got kinda lost on its way to Maine. Crazy thing, ain’t it?”
    â€œMoronic, even.”
    Pete settled into a steady speed of just over thirty miles an hour while Dan rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. Images of Sue and the boys were there again, smiling at him, laughing, playing games, and horsing around. Sue in the kitchen with her apron on, her nose and forehead dusted with flour. The boys in bed, covers pulled to their chins, sleeping peacefully. He thought about how quickly they’d grown, how the time had slipped past him unnoticed. It seemed like just weeks ago that they were both toddlers, waddling around and acting silly, playing peekaboo and hide-and-seek. His thoughts then turned to the future and what he’d miss. High school, sports, girlfriends, college, weddings, grandkids. No one would teach his boys how to become men, to change the oil in a car, replace a broken light switch, cut wood in a straight line. No one would teach them how to love their wife and nurture their own children. They would be journeymen without a guide, lost and alone in a strange world full of hate and violence and Santa Claus imposters.
    Sue would go it alone too. He doubted she’d remarry—they’d had that talk before and she was adamant about remaining alone the rest of her life, embracing widowhood as the burden she must carry. She’d said giving her heart to one man was enough to last her a lifetime; only if she were a cat with multiple lives would she consider remarrying. She’d enjoy retirement by herself, travel the country, spoil their grandkids, and never go a day without telling them how wonderful their granddad was. The fact of the matter was that time stopped for no one and would continue marching onward. And when Dan was gone from this life and passed on to the next, time would still march on without him. Over the years the memory of him would fade until all that was left were a few fond moments, like strands of thread holding together torn fabric, and a stack of old photos no one looked at.
    He regretted not spending more time with Jack and Murphy, not concerning himself more