By Linc
Owen dropped him at the end of the drive a little after lunch, where the gravel met the county road and the fields stretched out like they had all the time in the world.
Jack swung his duffel down from the passenger seat and set it at his feet. The wind had teeth today, not biting hard yet, but sharp enough to remind him the season was turning.
“Thanks,” Jack said.
Owen nodded, hands still on the wheel. He started to speak, stopped, then offered, “Text me when you’re settled.”
Jack gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I will.”
Owen’s truck rolled away, tires crunching until the sound thinned into the wider quiet. Jack watched the taillights until they disappeared behind a rise.
Then he turned and started walking.
