Chapter 3 - THE HEAVY FOOTSTEPS
The crunch of gravel announced his arrival.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps approached from the shadow of the open garage.
A middle-aged man stepped into the harsh sunlight.
His navy polo shirt clung to his shoulders.
His dark, closely cropped hair was peppered with gray at the temples.
A thick beard obscured the lower half of his face, hiding any immediate reaction.
He stopped two feet away from the woman.
His khaki pants brushed against the front bumper of the silver SUV.
He didn't speak.
He didn't look at the crying boy.
He kept his gaze fixed entirely on the woman’s white-knuckled grip.
He reached out.
His large, calloused hand wrapped over hers.
His fingers were warm and rough.
He gently, but firmly, pried the yellow dump truck from her grasp.
The plastic squeaked in protest as it changed hands.
The woman’s arm dropped to her side.
She rubbed her wrist, her chest still heaving with unspent adrenaline.
The man turned the toy over in his hands.
He examined the chunky plastic wheels.
He ran his thumb along the flat, molded edges of the yellow dumper.
There were no sharp corners.
There was no exposed metal.
Just cheap, hollow, brightly colored plastic.
He lowered the toy.
He turned his head slowly, his neck cracking slightly.
He looked at the deep blue scratch marring the silver door.
His dark eyes tracked the line from left to right.
He observed the depth of the groove, the way the primer showed white beneath the blue transfer.
He looked back at the toy truck in his left hand.
The boy stopped crying.
The toddler just watched the man, his breath hitching quietly in his chest.
The man’s thick eyebrows drew together, forming a deep bridge over his nose.
May you like
He stepped closer to the vehicle.
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