He followed Curtis into the cramped office behind the register.
Curtis closed the door.
“You think I enjoy repeating myself?”
“No.”
“You think rules are optional?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep trying to be everybody’s savior?”
“I gave a man eleven dollars.”
“And abandoned your work.”
“For less than a minute.”
Curtis opened a cabinet and pulled out Noah’s employment file.
Noah’s stomach tightened.
“Curtis.”
“I warned you twice about spending too long helping people outside.”
“One time was an elderly woman with a flat tire.”
“Not your job.”
“The other time was somebody whose battery died.”
“Also not your job.”
Curtis removed a termination form.
Noah stared at it.
“You’re serious?”
“I need employees who listen.”
“My family needs this job.”
Curtis looked at him without sympathy.
“Then you should have thought about that.”
That sentence hurt more than Noah expected.
He slowly unclipped his name tag.
Curtis held out his hand.
Noah placed it there.
“Leave the work shirt tomorrow.”
Noah nodded.
He walked outside carrying nothing except his backpack.
The old man was still standing beside the red pickup.
The eleven dollars remained in his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Noah shook his head.
“You didn’t fire me.”
“He fired you because of me.”
“He fired me because he wanted to.”
Noah started walking toward the road.
“Wait.”
He turned.
The old man pulled out a phone.
“Don’t go anywhere yet.”
“Why?”
The man tapped a contact and lifted the phone to his ear.
When someone answered, his voice became calm and precise.
“It’s Walter. I need a few people at the Highway 26 station.”
He listened.
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
Another pause.
“Bring Denise. And Marcus. Tell them I found David Carter’s boy.”
Noah’s heart seemed to stop.
The old man ended the call.
Noah stared at him.
“You knew my father?”
Walter slipped the phone into his jacket.
“Yes.”
“How?”
The old man looked toward the highway.
“That story is longer than eleven dollars.”
Then he pointed toward the curb.
“You might want to sit down.”
“Why?”
Walter smiled for the first time.
“Because your day isn’t over yet.”
Twenty minutes later, Noah began to wonder whether getting fired had somehow caused him to hallucinate.
The first vehicle to arrive was not a motorcycle or a limousine.
It was a white service truck bearing the blue logo of Ward Freight & Equipment.
Then came another.
And another.
Within ten minutes, the edge of the gas station parking lot was filled with work trucks, vans, pickup trucks, and two large tractor-trailers.
Men and women climbed out wearing uniforms, office clothes, mechanic shirts, and reflective work jackets.
Some were in their twenties.
Others looked older than Walter.
Almost all of them greeted him the same way.
“Walter.”
Not Mr. Ward.
Not sir.
Walter.
A woman with silver-streaked black hair walked directly toward him.
“You scared me half to death,” she said. “When you told Marcus to get everybody out here, I thought you’d wrecked the truck.”
Walter looked offended.
“I have never wrecked that truck.”
“You backed into your own mailbox last Christmas.”
“The mailbox was badly positioned.”
She laughed and hugged him.
Then Walter gestured toward Noah.
“This is Noah Carter.”
The woman’s smile disappeared.
“David’s son?”
Noah felt a strange chill.
“Yes.”
She extended her hand.
“I’m Denise Alvarez. Your father taught me how to rebuild my first transmission.”
A heavyset man approaching from behind her laughed.
“Your father taught everybody how to rebuild transmissions.”
“And how to make terrible coffee,” Denise added.
The man shook Noah’s hand.
“Marcus Lee. Warehouse operations.”
Noah looked from one face to another.
“You all knew my dad?”
Walter answered.
“A lot of us did.”
Behind them, Curtis had stepped outside.
The sudden arrival of more than twenty vehicles had apparently overcome his dislike of leaving the register unattended.
“What is going on?” he demanded.
Walter turned.
“People are buying fuel.”
Curtis looked at the trucks.
“All of them?”
“That tends to be what happens at gas stations.”
Marcus coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
One after another, the drivers began filling their vehicles.
Several went inside and bought coffee, food, drinks, road supplies, motor oil, ice, and windshield washer fluid.
Curtis rushed back behind the register.
Within minutes, the station was busier than Noah had ever seen it.
Walter stayed outside.
Noah folded his arms.
“Did you call everybody here just because I gave you eleven dollars?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I wanted them to meet you.”
“You could’ve invited me to an office.”
Walter looked toward the window where Curtis was frantically operating the register.
“This seemed more educational.”
Noah almost smiled.
“What exactly am I supposed to learn?”
“That one bad hour isn’t the same as a bad future.”
Noah’s smile disappeared.
Walter noticed.
“Losing the job scares you.”
“My mother already works too much.”
“So you help with bills.”
Noah did not answer.
Walter nodded as though the silence answered for him.
“Your father was the same.”
“You keep talking about him.”
“I intend to talk about him a lot.”
“Then start with how you knew him.”
Walter leaned against the pickup.
“Your father worked for me when Ward Freight was still three trucks, one warehouse, and more debt than common sense.”
Noah blinked.
“You own Ward Freight?”
Denise looked amused.
“You’ve never heard of it?”
“I’ve seen the trucks.”
Marcus grinned.
“There are four hundred and twelve of them now.”
Noah turned back to Walter.
“You own four hundred trucks?”
“Not personally. The company does.”
“And you drive this?”
Walter patted the battered red pickup affectionately.
“This has personality.”
“It has rust.”
“So do I.”
For the first time that day, Noah laughed.
Then Walter became serious.
“When your father came to work for me, he was twenty-four. Best mechanic I ever hired. Also the most stubborn human being I had ever met.”
“That sounds right.”
“He could hear an engine for ten seconds and tell you which bearing was failing.”
Noah’s expression softened.
His father had once diagnosed their neighbor’s truck from across the street.
Walter continued.
“But engines weren’t why I remembered him.”
“What happened?”
Before Walter could answer, Denise approached with several receipts.
“Everything’s paid.”
Walter took them.
“How much?”
“A little over twenty-three hundred between fuel and store purchases.”
Noah stared at her.
Walter glanced toward the convenience store.
“Good.”
“You did all this to punish Curtis?”
Walter looked at him.
“No.”
“It looks like it.”
“I don’t punish people by giving them business.”
Noah frowned.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Making sure he understands something.”
Walter walked toward the station.
Noah followed.
Inside, Curtis was counting receipts.
When Walter reached the counter, Curtis’s entire attitude had changed.
“Mr. Ward.”
Walter raised an eyebrow.
“So you know who I am now.”
Curtis forced a smile.
“I recognized the company.”
“I’m sure.”
“Listen, about Noah—”
Walter raised a hand.
“I’m not asking you to rehire him.”
Noah glanced at Walter.
Curtis seemed surprised.
“I just think maybe there was a misunderstanding.”
“No. I understood perfectly.”
Walter placed the receipts on the counter.
“Your station just made more from my employees in forty minutes than Noah probably earns here in several weeks.”
Curtis said nothing.
Walter continued.
“You’re free to run your workplace however you want within the law. But I’ve spent fifty years hiring people, and I’ll give you one piece of advice.”
Curtis swallowed.
“What?”
“If an employee cares enough about a stranger to give away the last money in his pocket, your first question shouldn’t be how to punish him.”