“So,” asked the grizzled vet with the sawed off shotguns, “where are you headed?”
She paused for a moment. She’d met up with some people in the past few weeks, and they always asked. Everyone is moving in some direction or another. She didn’t usually tell, but he reminded her of Dad. “Houston.”
“Why Houston?”
“My boyfriend goes to Rice.”
He stared at her. She knew what he was thinking.
“He’s not dead. He runs track and his father was taking him hunting when he was eight. If anybody’s alive, it’s Charlie.”
The old man nodded, unconvincingly. “All right then.”
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