After getting stitched up at the hospital and spending some quality time with his family, Gus returned to work in early January. He drove the night shift, enabling Cathleen to work during the day as an accountant, and with tax season rapidly approaching, it was going to be hectic. It always was, but they made it work. They always made it work, for they were grateful to have food on their table, grateful to have healthy children, and grateful for a stranger who deserved more than a simple yet heartfelt thank you.

Gus’s routine was the same as it always was, except now, when he picked up a fare or dropped one off, he began paying attention to the people milling about. Streetlights and shop lights were his friends, illuminating the sidewalks in high-intensity lighting that was all the rage, so when he spotted a tall woman with short hair, the color of which matched her clothes, he knew in an instant he had finally found her. Before the next fare could open the door, Gus flipped a switch, changing his rooftop sign to Off Duty, all the while never once taking his eyes off Bennett Archer.

Gus pulled out into traffic, a few cars honking at his lack of speed, but undeterred by their annoyance, Gus crept along, following the woman until she unlocked the door to an art gallery and stepped inside. Finding a parking spot, Gus checked the time, and drumming his fingers on the wheel for a moment, he opened his thermos and poured a cup of coffee. Yes, Gus Rooney was a patient man.

***

Shortly before six the following morning, Gus made his way to the art gallery after using the restroom at an all-night coffee shop. His plan was simply to stretch his legs for a few minutes before returning to his cab, and stopping under a streetlight, Gus sipped his coffee out of the paper cup. He was halfway through his morning caffeine fix when the door to the gallery opened, and the woman walked out. For a split-second, Gus thought he’d made a mistake, for the woman’s neck instantly grew corded in anger, but standing tall, Gus walked toward her wearing the friendliest of smiles. “Good morning.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here because…well, because my wife and I wanted you to know if there was ever anything you needed from us, anything at all, all you have to do is ask.”

Bennett’s eyes were drawn to the five-inch scar running down the man’s face. Thick and pink, no matter how long he lived, it would forever be there as a constant reminder of a night she would prefer he’d forget. “I don’t need anything from you,” she said, staring him in the eye. “Other than for you and your family to forget—”