Chapter 12 - The Iron Horizon
Through the rain-streaked window of the diner, Clara watched as Silas walked across the muddy gravel lot toward his heavy black motorcycle.
He didn't hurry. He moved through the pouring rain with his head held high, his broad shoulders relaxed, as if the storm overhead was no longer a cold, punishing threat, but a clean, washing rain that was clearing away eleven years of dust and ghosts.
He straddled the heavy machine, kicking the starter with his right boot.
The V-twin engine erupted into life with a deep, thunderous roar that shattered the quiet hum of the valley. A cloud of white exhaust and blue smoke rose into the cold air, instantly dispersed by the driving wind. Silas swung the bike around, his headlight cutting a bright, golden beam through the grey storm, and accelerated down the empty asphalt of Route 9.
Clara watched until the red taillight vanished into the dark, misty pine trees at the bend of the highway.
She stood in the center of the diner, the heavy yellow package clutched tightly in her arms.
Behind her, Hank stepped out from the kitchen, holding a clean dry jacket and a ring of keys. He looked at Clara, his face completely devoid of its former arrogance, replaced by a quiet, cautious respect.
"My truck’s outside, Clara," Hank said quietly, setting the keys down on the counter. "It ain't fancy, but it's got a heater. Take it. Get down to the city."
Clara looked at her boss, then at the keys on the counter. She nodded once, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Thank you, Hank."
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She walked back to the service station, pulled her soaked blue apron off over her head, and laid it neatly across the stainless steel counter. From her pocket, she pulled out the wet, crumpled photograph of Lily.
She held it up to her face, kissing the tiny, smiling face of her daughter through the paper, before tucking it safely inside her dry jacket pocket, right next to her heart.
