The fuel question was still outstanding, and that was a relatively important one. Sheldon had mentioned refuelling earlier, so there was definitely some kind of limitation. It could severely restrict what we could do, both in general and in relation to the Loranna. I added it to the list.

My phone vibrated, and I checked the screen absently. From Patrick. Picking up Nat, will swing by McD. Want something?

I looked at the coffee in my other hand, then shrugged. I could eat. I typed in, McMuff and hash brown. At Duke’s now.

A few minutes later, Duke walked up and waved to me as he unlocked the front doors. I got out of the truck and followed him into the front office. I dropped the keys unceremoniously on the counter as he pulled out a file folder.

“So, Herman tells me you’ve been hunting deer without a permit. Or a rifle.”

I returned a polite smile. No reason not to go along with the fiction. “Yeah, but it got away. So no venison this week.”

Duke flipped a form around, and I signed where indicated. A honk outside made me look up. Patrick had arrived. “Thanks, Duke. Let us know when it’s done.” With a final wave, I was out the door.

Nat scooted over for me as I got in, and Patrick roared out of the parking lot at his usual sedate pace.

Nat unplastered herself from my side and slid back into the center position. “Cripes, Patrick, ease up.”

“Where’s my McD’s, by the way?” I said. Nat reached under the seat and handed me a small brown bag with the Golden Arches logo on it. I pulled out the hash brown, which had a half-moon bite taken out of the top. I glared at Nat, and she shrugged. “Handling fee. Want it back?” She started to stick her finger down her throat.

“No, you keep it.” I made short work of the breakfast and was done by the time we reached Kernigan Food Mart.

“See you after work, Jack,” Patrick called out as he pulled away. Patrick would drop Nat off at her job at the Harris Institute, then spend the day working at his father’s butcher shop. I would spend the day stocking shelves, cashiering, and carrying purchases out to cars.

Jim, one of the other employees, waved to me as I put on my apron. “Your father’s got me handling the deliveries today, Jack. I guess you’ll be doing all the cleanups on aisle whatever.”

“Oh, hah hah,” I replied with an eye roll. He wasn’t wrong, though. Another day just like a million other days, with a million more stretching into my future.

I sighed with resignation as I looked up at the sign over my family’s store. Life in a small town was an oxymoron.