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“Why are you doing this?” she choked out, her voice breaking into a ragged, breathless sob. “People… people don’t follow strangers down an interstate in a blizzard to give them steak. What do you want from us?”
Arthur looked at the hole in her left boot, held together by a black plastic zip-tie.
He looked at the small pile of cardboard visible through the gap in the tarp, where Chloe lay curled inside the faded purple sleeping bag, breathing with the soft, miraculous innocence of a child who believed in satellites and reindeer.
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“I want you to eat, ma’am,” Arthur said, his voice as steady and immovable as the granite hills of Lancaster County. “Because no mother who loves her child that fiercely should ever have to go to bed hungry on this earth. My car is parked at the diner. It is an all-wheel-drive sedan with four new winter tires, the tank is full, and the heater works.”
