we go back to the living room to the couch. “You both sit while I go talk to Mr. Alexander.” He’s still standing at the stove when I walk into the kitchen. Steam rises from the pot he’s stirring. “I want to thank you again for helping us,” I say. “Hopefully the roads will be clear enough tomorrow so my truck can be pulled out and we can get out of your hair.” “They won’t.” He leaves the stove and grabs three mugs out of the cabinet to the left. “What do you mean, they won’t? How could you know?” He starts pouring the contents of the pot into the mugs before turning to face me. His scars stand
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