Page 7 of Clear Path

The change was gradual at first—the paint a little more weathered, the sidewalks a bit more cracked, the weeds more plentiful. But by the time he crossed the rusted railroad tracks, the transformation was complete. Here was the Clayton Falls that existed beyond the carefully curated town square.

Narrow shotgun houses with sagging porches lined the potholed street. A laundromat with flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed loudly sat between a pawn shop and a check-cashing store advertising payday loans. A squat Dollar General served as the neighborhood’s grocery, its parking lot dotted with cars that had seen better decades.

He turned onto a side street at random. Halfway down the block, sandwiched between two brick buildings with boarded-up windows, a hand-painted sign above a door with a hairline crackin one pane of glass identified Dot’s Place. Bodhi glanced inside and saw a long counter and an open kitchen. He pushed the door open gingerly, hoping the crack wouldn’t grow. A bell jangled, announcing his arrival.

The interior was shabby but clean, with curling posters on the walls and mismatched tables and chairs scattered across the floor. A yellow Formica counter lined with metal stools ran the full length of one wall. Behind it, a woman worked a flat-top grill. She glanced up at Bodhi without pausing in her movements, her spatula never breaking rhythm as she flipped crispy hash browns.

“Sit anywhere,” she called. “Menus are under the napkin holders.”

Bodhi chose a corner table and slipped his pack off, leaning it against the wall. He studied the laminated menu.

When the woman approached, order pad in hand, he smiled.

“Just tea for now. Hot, please.”

“I’ve got Red Rose, no flavors or anything.” She assessed him with tired eyes.

“That would be perfect, thank you.”

She returned immediately with a cup of hot water and a packaged tea bag and a lemon wedge resting on the saucer. “Sugar’s in the bowl. You ready to order?”

“I think so. Those hash browns don’t have any egg or butter in them, right?”

She raised her left eyebrow. “You’re a vegan?”

“I am.”

She snorted. “You probably should have gone to Forage up on the square. They specialize in fancy plant-based meals—or so I’m told.”

“I’m more of a diner guy.”

Her expression softened. “The hash browns are just shredded potatoes and oil.”

“Great. I’ll have those.”

“What else?”

He scanned the menu again. “A dish of applesauce.”

She frowned and took in his attire. “You’re hiking the GAP, right?”

“I am.”

“Then you need some protein. I’ll see what I can cobble together. I’m Dot, by the way.”

“I’m Bodhi. Pleased to meet you, Dot.”

While he waited for his meal, he observed the other diners—a pair of mechanics still in their coveralls with the shop name embroidered over their chest pockets, an older couple sharing a slice of pie, and a young mother who nursed a lemonade while her two tow-haired toddlers colored on paper placemats in between bites of chicken nuggets and French fries drowning in ketchup. Dot’s was the quintessential neighborhood joint. A dying breed in this town, by the looks of things. He doubted any of the other customers frequented Forage.

Dot returned with a tray loaded with items that didn’t appear on the menu. In addition to a heaping stack of hash browns and a mound of applesauce, there was a tower of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, and a bowl of colorful four-bean salad.

“You need protein if you’re hiking.” She pointed toward the bean salad.

“You’re right, I do. Thank you.”

She waved his thanks away with one hand. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He focused on the food before him. He was hungrier than he realized. He hadn’t eaten since his send-off breakfast with Saul and Mona and their kids early in the morning. He probably should have held on to at least some of his snacks. But he was sure he could replenish his supply—the Family Dollar should have something suitable.

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