"Bonnie, is there any chance-" Dad began.
"No," said Mom in a sad, soft voice. "There isn‘t a chance."
"Why not?" asked Dad.
"Too many lonely days and nights not knowing where you were, too much waiting for phone calls you forgot to make because you were whooping it up at some truck stop," said Mom. "Too many boring Saturday nights in some noisy tavern. Too many broken promises. Things like that."
"Well..." said Dad and set his mug down. "That‘s what I came to find out, so I might as well be going." He hadn‘t even finished his coffee. He stood up and so did I. Then he gave me a big hug, and for a minute I wanted to hang on to him and never let him go. - P132
I thought of Dad hauling a forty-foot refrigerated trailer full of broccoli over the Sierra and the Rockies and across the plains and all those places in my book of road maps until hegot to Ohio. Personally I would be happy to see all the broccoli in California trucked to Ohio because it‘s not my favorite vegetable, but I didn‘t like to think of Dad alone on that long haul driving all day and most of the night, except when he snatched a few hours‘ sleep in his bunk, and thinking of Mom. - P133