* * *
The sun was still shining outside, no storm in sight. He drove to The Circle, went almost the entire circumference before turning off on New Hampshire. From there, it was Florida Avenue, and a hard left onto 29. He drove past Howard University, heading due north to Silver Spring, and then on deeper into Maryland.
It’s a straight shot now. But I need to get gas.
He waited until he was outside the beltway in Burtonsville to stop. Traffic was still blessedly light, and he was making good time. It was a quarter to three.
While he was filling up, he checked his phone to see the menu for Hunan Manor. It was enormous—a virtual bible of Asian cuisine—and he was hungry. It was hard to determine what to order as he grew hungrier with each description, craving samples of everything. Impulsively, he pushed the phone number and waited. A friendly voice answered on the second ring.
“Hunan Manor. Delivery or pickup?”
“Uh, pickup, please,” said Ralph.
“OK. What’s your order?”
“Uh, I want... egg rolls.”
“One order egg roll.”
“No. Make that three,” Ralph said. “And I want Kung Pao chicken, Moo Goo Gai Pan, Cashew beef, and—” He thought about Shirley. “—uh, Moo Shu pork.”
The voice on the other end repeated this back to Ralph. “Anything else?” they asked.
“Yeah. Fried rice, vegetable, two orders.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope,” Ralph said, knowing he’d ordered way too much. But he didn’t care. It was a celebration, after all. “I think that’ll do it. I’ll be there in about a half-hour.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll have it ready.”
“Thank you.”
Ralph disconnected, removed the gas nozzle from his truck and hung it back up. He snagged the receipt—for expenses, of course—and climbed back in.
* * *
He made two more stops in Burtonsville. One at Williams Beer and Wine store, where he grabbed a twelve-pack of Sam Adams seasonal and a bottle of Champagne. And a second at Montgomery County Liquor where he bought an expensive bottle of Patrón Tequila packaged with two ornate, crystal shot glasses because...
Well, why not?
As he was coming out of the liquor store, the sun had vanished; the sky had gone gray, and it was noticeably colder than when he had first stopped for gas.
That’s more like it. That’s a snow-sky rolling in if I ever saw one.
* * *
Back on 29, Ralph remembered to return Bo’s call.
“Google, call Bo Bryson, mobile.”
After a brief pause, he heard the call connect on the truck’s speakers. It rang three times before Bo’s voicemail answered it.
Hey, you’ve reached Bo. I’m either on the job or on the move, leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.
Ralph disconnected, the echo of Bo’s words still fresh in his ear. Bo’s voice had an unmistakable Eastern Shore accent which could be called Delmarva southern—melodic and deep, with long vowels.
Salisbury, Ralph thought. Bo had told him one time that he was originally from Salisbury, just below Delaware. It was a unique accent, a little strange, but sexy as hell.
