Melinda and I were tired been driving all night and now Eugene was just minutes down the road but we needed to stop, to rest the eyes, stretch. Pulling off the road alongside an unfamiliar lake we climb out of the Scion and walk to the shoreline. The sun was just peaking over the Cascade Mountain foothills highlighting bare trees through a thick fog giving them wicked appearance with an ulterior motive, not a sound not even a duck.
I shiver in the cold morning air and turn to Melinda, “Do you think it wise leaving without telling anyone, I don’t feel right about it.”
Without warning a truck races past diesel engine breaks the silence, “Jim your as white as ghost, you’re face, it’s drenched in sweat. What’s going on?”
“We should not have left I’m nervous lets go.”
Anxious, I settle into the Scion’s passenger seat, Melinda, confidence beaming, drives steering back onto Highway 58 our past disappears in the rear-view mirror red taillights swallowed by the fog, hopefully a bright future in Eugene.
The Conglomerate Lode 