Reunion

Paul had been behind the wheel of the old GMC half-ton pickup, driving south down Interstate Five towards Portland, Oregon for almost an hour before he took a good long breath and looked around.

He'd been sitting on the tailgate, eating the baloney sandwich he'd brought when his beat-up Nokia "Dumb-Phone" had rung and he'd just left the job site.

He glanced in the rearview for the first time and his tailgate was still down. Paul tried to remember if he'd told anyone at the job that he was leaving. Kevin, the foreman, had been standing a few feet away, looking at some blueprints spread out on a scrap plywood table and talking to a subcontractor on the phone. Andy had just laughingly called the new guy, what was his name, called him a rookie for something and the others were laughing. "New Guy" was pissed, Paul could tell.

No, Paul hadn't said anything to anyone. He'd just got in the truck and left. What happened to his sandwich? He looked around. He didn’t see it. He hoped he wouldn't get fired for leaving the job, but for now, what happens, happens. A job wasn't on the top of the list right now.

He looked at the clock in the dash out of habit, it said 8:20, it always said 8:20. It'd stopped working a long time ago. They'd broken for lunch around noon and he'd had maybe two bites of the sandwich so, he'd probably gotten the phone call around 12:10, 12:15. He was now past Olympia and before Centralia so that had taken, what? Maybe an hour, so about 1:15 now.

He was headed for his brother's double-wide near Longview which was maybe 45 more miles away. Dale was in trouble and needed his help. That's all he knew for now. Dale was in trouble. That was not exactly news.

There was a lot less traffic since he'd gotten past Olympia, it'd get a little busier around Centralia/Chehalis and then I-5 would open up and he could make some time. Paul hoped that he'd get there in time, or that Dale would get out and go someplace safe. It was still a long way away and he didn't know how much time he had.

Paul glanced down to his right and saw his old Nokia phone. He picked it up, flipped it open and punched in Dale's number slowly with his right thumb while looking back and forth between the phone and the road. It rang and rang and then went to voicemail, he heard Dale's smart-ass voice and his message, "Hey y'all. I'm not all here, or not all there, or something like that, anyhoo. Leave me a message and I'll think about it. Baah!"

"God dammit Dale. I'm on the way. Call me back quick. We got to make a plan. Call me back!" and he hung up.

Maybe he was on the phone to somebody else. Dale wouldn't call the police about this, but Paul wished he would. Maybe Paul should call the cops and just tell them. Dale would get arrested but maybe that would be good idea at this point. What was Paul going to do to help him? He looked around the cab of the truck. Good question, he was so focused on getting there, he realized now he didn't have a plan and he was sure that Dale wouldn't have one.

There was a tire iron behind the seat and that was about it. No guns. He didn't even have his tool bag with his framing hammer. He'd left that on the tailgate and it had probably fallen off the back of the truck with his Thermos and sandwich when he took off.

His phone rang and he swerved as he reached down to pick it up.

"Dale?"

"Where are you man? I need a little help here. There here now, man. Three cars of them. God dammit, where are you?"

"I'm not even to Centralia yet. Dale, you got to call the cops, dude. It's your only chance here. Call 'em. Maybe you can stall ‘til the cops get there." Paul was talking fast, trying to get through to his brother.

"That's your idea? Call the cops, man? Give myself up? Roll over? Shit, they'd do me for sure then. These guys don't fuck around Paul. They don't fuck around." There was a pause. "Just get here man. I'll try to hold on. Shit!"

"Dale, I love you." Paul couldn't think of anything else to say. He wished he was there with him. He wished they were together for this. Whatever happened, Paul would share it if he could.

"Yeah, man. I love you too. Paul." Another pause. "Look man. I know I --" The was a big crashing noise over the phone obscuring what Dale said next and the signal was dropped.

Paul continued to hold the phone to his right ear. "Dale. I love you, man. I'm coming." He said to no one.

The road began to blur as tears stung his eyes. He thought about Dale and him when they younger. They were inseparable. He could see Dale, maybe 8 years old, in a dirty white t-shirt and jeans, laughing.  Dale and him, they took care of each other.

Paul closed the phone, then flipped it open again and carefully dialed, 9-1-1 as the old pickup rolled along the interstate.

***