The sun had begun to drop, but the heat still pressed against the Arizona highway like a sentence being served.<\/p>\n
My name is Emily Parker, and on that day, I had exactly forty-seven cents in my pocket.<\/p>\n
Beside me were two worn-out suitcases, one ripped cloth bag, and an empty lunchbox my daughter kept opening as though food might somehow appear by magic.<\/p>\n
\u201cMommy,\u201d Lily whispered, pressing one hand against her stomach. \u201cIs the bus coming soon?\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
I forced myself to smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cSoon, sweetheart.\u201d<\/p>\n
My son, Noah, was seven, old enough to recognize when I was lying but kind enough not to say it.<\/p>\n
He stood next to me, dusty and exhausted, trying his best to look brave.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can walk,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI can carry one bag.\u201d<\/p>\n
That almost broke me.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I whispered. \u201cYou\u2019ve done enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
We had spent hours waiting on the shoulder of a deserted interstate outside Tucson. Cars passed in bursts of chrome and heat, but not one stopped.<\/p>\n
Then, finally, one did.<\/p>\n
A black sedan slowed beside us, polished and sleek, looking completely wrong on that dusty stretch of road.<\/p>\n
I instinctively stepped in front of my children.<\/p>\n
The window rolled down.<\/p>\n
A man looked out at me.<\/p>\n
He was older than I was, maybe in his early forties, dressed in a dark tailored suit despite the brutal heat. His face was calm, serious, impossible to read.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you need help?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
My arms tightened around Lily.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re waiting for the bus.\u201d<\/p>\n
His eyes shifted down the empty highway.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere hasn\u2019t been a bus on this route in three days.\u201d<\/p>\n
I blinked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe company shut down service. No drivers. No route.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, everything went silent.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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