A couple men near him laughed.
I stepped out of the truck slowly. My jeans were dusty from the drive. My shoulder ached from twelve hours behind the wheel. I hadn’t slept right in three nights. The last thing on earth I wanted was to have my homecoming narrated by Wade Barlow.
“Didn’t know you still lived here,” I said.
More laughter.
He pushed off the porch rail and came down a step. “I do. Unlike some people, I don’t leave town and come crawling back in a truck that sounds like a lawn mower.”
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