The world tilted, spun, straightened. Asher could hear every breath he took, loud in his own ears, his blood pumping, the heat humming all around him. He could hear the gas being pumped into a farmer’s truck, the electric bells chiming as the gas station door opened, the breath of hot air in the stand of pines nearby.

“Asher?” Zelda said loud and forceful, as if she had said it many times without him hearing.

“I’m here.”

“Please don’t take him.”

Asher put his finger on the silver button to hang up but stood there holding the phone to his ear. He needed a minute before he got back in the Jeep. He was shaking all over. He had talked to Zelda and she was all right. They had a head start of six hours on the law. And this was really happening.

He put the phone on the hook but as he started toward the Jeep, he saw that a young man was heading straight for him. Bleached hair, a mangy beard, a tee shirt with the sleeves torn off, emblazoned with the face of one of those male country singers who all sounded alike.

“Thank you—for what you did,” the boy said.

“I’m sorry?” Asher said.

“For what you said, on that video. It meant a lot to me.” The boy—not much more than a teenager—kept his brown eyes right on Asher’s face.

“I’m glad, son,” he said, and realized he had not used the word son with a stranger since his preacher days. He put his hand out to be shaken. “I’m so glad it helped you, buddy.” He let go the boy’s hand. “Please don’t ever tell anyone you saw me here, alright?”

“Okay,” the boy said, a confused smile playing across his mouth. “I won’t.”

“Take care of yourself,” Asher said, sliding into the Jeep.

Justin had turned the key so he could listen to music. He sang along until they got to the interstate ramp, where a skinny man with long hair and a full, red beard stood on the shoulder. He looked exhausted as he stood in the heat holding a cardboard sign. hungry stranded had been printed on it in neat block letters. A worn backpack sat at the man’s feet.

“Dad, let’s help him,” Justin said as they passed the man, and turned in his seat to keep his eye on him. “Let’s go back to that McDonald’s and buy him a fish sandwich.”

“Justin, we can’t, honey.” Asher watched the man growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. The man had turned to watch after them as if he knew they were discussing his fate. “We need to keep going.”

“But he’s hungry. We should help him,” Justin said as the Jeep curved up the interstate ramp. Too late to turn back now.

“I’m already on the interstate, buddy.”