“What about the drivers?” he asked.

“They’re still out in the yard wondering who’s running dispatch.”

“Tell them to haul their afternoon loads,” I said.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to sign the final papers.”

“Where are you headed now?” he asked.

“To go fix what I broke,” I said.

I drove the used Buick west out of Nashville on the two-lane highway, past the old gravel quarries and the pine lots.

The address Dale had dug out of the delivery logs took me to a quiet stretch of county road by the river.