CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – TAKING ACCOUNTABILITY

An hour passed with no luck. The sun beat down on them mercilessly, and Laura could feel her skin starting to burn. Just as she was about to suggest they turn back, a battered pickup truck appeared on the horizon. Mark waved his arms frantically, and to their relief, the truck slowed to a stop beside them. The driver, a weathered-looking man in his sixties, peered at them suspiciously. "You folks need some help?" he asked, his voice gravelly. Mark nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. Our car broke down a few miles back. Is there any chance you could give us a ride to the nearest town?" The old man eyed them for a moment longer, then jerked his thumb towards the truck bed. "Hop in the back. I'm headed to Millerville, about twenty miles down the road. That work for you?" Grateful for any help, they climbed into the truck bed. As they bounced along the uneven road, the wind whipping their hair, Laura couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of their situation. "What's so funny?" Mark asked, h