No changes to chapter 6. Yet.
Tom stroked Frank Sinatra’s fur as Stacey exited the Station’s main gate. She glanced over and chuckled. “You’re approved of. He doesn’t give up his seat for anybody.”
Frank cushed Tom’s lap and fell asleep, his purrs almost as loud as the F-150’s AC. “Frank Sinatra, huh? If we had Gene Kelly, Ann Miller, and a couple of other hoofers we could make a movie. When did you get a cat? When did you get a truck? When did you get a farm? Feel free to answer in any order you’d like.”
Stacey entered I-278 traffic. Frank stood up and looked out the window as if riding shotgun.
Free of the kitten, Tom reached into his duffel. “Mind pulling over before we’re too far from base?”
He pulled out a second laptop, this one bio-locked. He pressed his thumb against what looked like a mousepad except it was on laptop’s cover. It pinged and opened. He typed in something and waited.
“What you doing, big brother?”
“Homework.”
Stacey couldn’t see the screen but did see him type in two numbers.
“You know, Acra may be in God’s back acre but we do have the internet. We have computers and modems, too. We even have TVs.”
Tom smiled. “You don’t have this kind of internet.” He nodded at the screen then closed the laptop and put it back in his duffel. “Ever hear of a Rhonda Gilbert?”
“Should I have?”
“Guess not. Thanks for stopping. We can move on, now.”
Frank Sinatra, still perched at the window, looked at Tom and twitched his tail.
Tom spread his hands in invitation. “Well come on.”
Frank turned, cushed Tom’s lap again, settled back down, and purred.
“Going to tell me what was so important we had to stop?”
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