On Tuesday morning, Frank dozed in the passenger seat as Rob drove to Rusk. 
Rob hated when Frank slept, especially on long drives. They left Dallas at 
eight o'clock and had just passed through Athens—a little over half way there. 
Frank didn't mean to be rude, but being in a moving vehicle made him drowsy, a 
tendency that probably started when he was a baby. 

Frank napped peacefully, arms folded, knees against dash, and head cocked to the side by the window. 
An eighteen-wheeler topped the hill about two hundred yards out, going in the opposite direction. 
Rob put both hands on the wheel at the two and ten position and steadied his nerves. 
When the eighteen-wheeler was about a hundred yards away, Rob eased his left wheels across the white stripes. 
The truck was now only fifty yards out. Rob waited for the truck driver to make the next move. 
Sure enough, the truck blared its loud horn. Simultaneously, 
Rob cried out like he was being crucified and jerked the car back 
into his lane as the roar of the rushing truck blew past.

Frank jumped two feet off the seat and screamed like an eight-year-old girl. 
His sunglasses flew off, and his eyes were as big as melons. Frank slapped his 
hand against his chest, as if he were checking to see if his heart still beat. 
He jerked his head toward Rob. His mouth gaped, but he appeared unable to formulate words.
 
Rob wasn't sure he could keep a straight face, but if he didn't play it to the end, 
Frank would sleep again on the next trip. "Sorry, I don't know…I mean, I was looking 
at the road and there wasn't anyone in sight. Then the horn blew and a truck just 
appeared in my lane," Rob stammered. "I must have dropped off."

"Must have dropped off? You can't just drop off—you're driving." Frank screamed. 
He had that incredulous expression, as if he'd just learned that Bigfoot was real.

Rob threw up his hands. "Hey, I'm sorry. But with no one to talk to, I get sleepy sometimes."

Frank still clasped his chest, but he had stopped taking deep, panicked breaths. 
He sipped his bottle of water, and they drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Talked to Roger Wells last night," Frank said.
"Roger Wells? I know that name."
Frank slid down in the seat and propped his knees on the dash while adjusting his sunglasses. 
"Used to work Burglary and Theft. Resigned a couple of years ago."
"Oh, yeah, I remember. Nice guy," Rob said.
"Yeah."
"Why were you talking to him?" Rob asked.
"He works corporate security for Bank of America."
Rob's stomach tightened. "So how's he doing?"
"Good. Making a lot more money…better hours, company car, and expense account."
Rob didn't say anything. He already knew why Frank made the call. 
After a minute Frank said, "I asked him about life on the outside—you know—what it was like. 
We talked for a while, and he asked when I was thinking about pulling the plug. I told him probably by the summer."
The world dropped out from under Rob. He took a slow deep breath but didn't want to show surprise. "Wow, that soon, huh?"
Frank cut a sideways look at him. "If I don't have a future here, why stay? Better to leave now."
This was all happening faster than Rob liked. He expected Frank would drag his feet about resigning and 
probably talk himself out of it in the end. But he was serious and already making contacts. "Summer, huh. Gee, that's right around the corner," Rob mumbled.

"Roger said they had a VP job in security opening up in Charlotte. He'd put in a word for me if I wanted."
Rob's skin tingled and he dreaded to ask, but did. "What did you tell him?"
Frank stared at the road for a couple of seconds before answering. "I told him to do it."
"That's great." Rob's tone didn't mask his disappointment.
Frank muttered, "Yeah, great."