“I used to think this truck took you away from me,” she said.

That hurt.

Then she added, “Now I think it brought you back every time.”

I had to look away.

The diesel smell was still there. So was the ache in my knee. So was the old leather around my wrist.

But the weight had changed.

Emma climbed one step onto the rig and looked back.

“Dad,” she said. “When we get home, where do we start?”

I touched the rescue band once.

“We start with Sergeant Holloway,” I said.

“And then?”