The text said: BRING DINNER HOME. YOUR FATHER’S HERE.

Every few months it happened like this. Luanne’s old man pulled his long-haul rig through Chattanooga to bother her and her mother like they were a regular family. The last time, he sat himself at the head of the table and started in with questions before dinner was even served.

“You got a job?” he asked Luanne.

“Yes.”

“You got a boyfriend?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m asking.”

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend.” She twisted her shirt beneath the table.

“Hmm.” He sipped his beer. “You some kind of queer?”

And it never took longer than that for Luanne to remember why she hated him.

She’d always dig back, though, as best she could. “How’s living in your truck, dad?”

*        *        *

It had only been half an hour since her shift began, but Luanne took a cigarette break anyway. Walking onto the back stoop, she pulled a Red from a crumpled soft pack and read her mother’s text again.

“Got another?” the tramp asked.

Luanne jumped at his voice, but she played it off with a small laugh. These freight train riders had come around before to stock up for their travels, and her Walmart backed up to the railyard.

The tramp hopped out of the dumpster and brushed himself off. He still looked dirty, in a permanent way, like her cousins in the mine.

Luanne handed him a cig. “Anything good in there?”

He showed her a dented can of beans.

“Hmm,” Luanne said. She tossed him the lighter and checked her phone again. From the corner of her eye she could see him staring. It would have made most girls uncomfortable. But Luanne made that stupid blue Walmart shirt look better than anyone else. She cocked her hip toward him.

“So, you travelling then?” she asked without looking up.

“Yeh.”

Luanne lifted her chin, her eyes still on the phone. “Do you hop trains?”

“Sometimes.”

“Where you headed next?”

The tramp nodded down the row of blue cans. “That dumpster there.”

“No, I mean, where—”

“New Orleans.”

Luanne nodded. She looked up and pulled on her cig. “Sometimes I want to get out of here.”

The tramp shrugged.

Luanne knew she could. Like her old man. But whenever she saw trucks pulled off at the rest stops, she wondered about him. She could barely admit it, but part of her didn’t blame him for leaving.

“So, you got any food inside,” the tramp asked.

“There’s a pile of steaks that just expired. I don’t know if they’re any good.”

“Those dates are never right.” The tramp chewed on his cigarette.

Luanne laid her cig on the edge of the dumpster. She went inside and stared at the shelves of the store room in the fluorescent light, overflowing with old merchandise and things to be thrown out. All of this could disappear. It could—but no. She could never leave her mom alone.

Luanne picked up a few steaks and went back outside. The tramp took them into his arm, and she stayed close. “Can I take a picture with you?”

The tramp pulled back. “Uh, why?”

“I’ll think of you.”

“Whatever,” the tramp said.

Luanne held out her phone as far as she could and the tramp leaned in awkwardly. When she showed him the picture, he said nothing.

Luanne’s mother texted again. DID YOU GET MY MESSAGE . . .

She dropped her cig and reached for the door. “I’ve got to get back to work.” Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared inside with a strut, knowing the tramp was still watching.

In the store room, Luanne looked around again before replying.

I GOT IT. BRINGING HOME STEAK.