As we drive through the winding rural roads, everything from the day before: the visit to Niagara Falls, the hospital, Harmony Moonbeam – it all turns a whiter shade of pale.

The faithful blue Pontiac hums steadily, and on our way to Denver, the scenery suddenly shifts to picturesque vast fields of green, dotted with red rustic barns and wooly grazing animals.

The air is fresher here, and a sense of profound tranquility washes over me.

It might just be the calm that I need after all this emotional turbulence.

And then comes more turbulence.

The engine coughs and sputters. It's a dreadful, hollow sound that reminds me of a patient hacking their lungs out lying in a hospital bed.

"Dave? Is everything okay? Pontiac never made this sound before."

Dave's grip on the steering wheel tightens, and he mutters something under his breath. Possibly, a swearword. "Nope, it didn't. You're right. Something's definitely gotta be wrong with it," he says.

Great. Another thing we needed to slow us down.

I glance over at him, my heart pounding. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

The car jerks forward, then slows down, like a human being struggling to breathe. I can feel the panic rising in my chest.

We can't afford to stop now. We can't afford to fix the car. 

We can't afford... anything.

"We're losing time, Dave," I say, my voice shaking. "And we don't have enough money to fix this."

"Okay. Let's discuss this. You're obviously upset." Dave drives off the road. The Pontiac engine sputters to a stop, and now we just sit there in a heavy, tense silence.

I can feel the frustration and fear bubbling up inside me, and I turn to Dave, my voice sharp. "What did you mean by, 'something's wrong with it'? Do you even know what something is?"

"No. I'd have to take a look." It's obvious he's avoiding my gaze and it's so frigging irritating.

"Or is this another situation like the one where you said we had enough money to get to L.A.?"

Dave looks over at me.. "I... I already apologized for that. I might have bragged a little there but... I honestly thought we did. I mean, we had enough, but then things got more expensive and—"

"Are you kidding me?" I cut him off, my anger flaring. "You outright lied to me, Dave. In the first five minutes of our trip, too. You told me we had enough money. And I was foolish enough to trust you. I trusted you!"

He runs a hand through his hair, looking distressed. "Lewis, I didn't mean to lie. I thought we could make it. I wanted to... Look good in your book. And... I didn't want you to worry."

"Well, guess what? Now that this car has broken down, I'm worried now!" I snap. "I could have... crashed on a classmate's couch. I could have borrowed money from someone and gotten on the next Greyhound bus to L.A., even if I missed the first one because of you. I could have done anything but gone with you! Come to think of it, I probably should have."

Dave looks hurt, and for a moment, he just stares at me, his face pale. "Lewis, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. You know it."

I shake my head, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. "Sorry doesn't help us now, Dave. We're stuck in the middle of nowhere with no money and a car that's breaking down."

He reaches for my hand, but I pull away, my anger and frustration too raw. 

"Hey. Please. We'll figure this out. I'm sure we will. We always do."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Do we? Because right now, it feels like everything is falling apart. And I'm tired, Dave. I'm tired of always having to figure things out. Day after day, something is amiss, something bad happens and we have to solve it."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But this is not on me. Or on you. It's just an accident. We can't give up now. We've come too far. There's gotta be a way."

But what is he basing this claim on? What if there isn't a way?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Still, the anger and fear are too strong. "I really don't know if I can do this anymore, Dave. I don't know if I can keep going."

"We can't turn back either."

I nod, but the knot in my stomach doesn't loosen. We've faced a lot on this journey, but this... this feels different. The uncertainty, the helplessness... it's overwhelming.

As we sit there, waiting for the car to cool down, I can't help but pray that we'll find a way through this. We have to.

"Okay, so what can we do?"

Dave's jaw tightens, and he glances at me, his eyes full of concern. "Just... let me think."

I bite my lip, trying to keep my own fear in check. The road ahead seems to stretch endlessly, and the thought of being stranded here, in the middle of nowhere, is terrifying.

We've come so far, and now it feels like everything is unraveling.

"Maybe it's just overheated," Dave suggests, but there's no real confidence in his voice. The car is ticking and hissing as it cools down.

"We need a plan," I say, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. "We need to... figure out what to do."

Dave nods, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Let's give it a minute and then see if we can make it to the next town. Or village. There has to be someone there who can help."

We sit in the car, the silence heavy and tense, when a green van approaches from a distance. As it gets closer, I notice the words "Fresh Produce" painted on its side. 

The vehicle slows down, and I can see a middle-aged man behind the wheel, looking at us with concern. At first, he drives past us, like we drove past Harmony, but then, to my surprise, he stops and reverses back until he's level with our car.

He rolls down his window and calls out, "Folks, you need any help?"

Dave and I exchange a glance. Then Dave nods and leans out of his window. "Actually... Yeah. You see, the car started making strange noises, and now it's just... stopped. We aren't sure what it could be."

The man nods sympathetically. "That doesn't sound good. Not good at all. Tell you what: my son's pretty handy with cars. Our farmhouse is just up the road a bit. He could take a look at it for you."

I can see the hesitation in Dave's eyes, but before he can say anything, the man continues. "It's no trouble at all. Just follow me, and we'll see if we can get you back on the road."

I glance at Dave and then back at the man. "I think we should go," I say, my voice quiet but firm. "We don't really have any other options."

Dave looks at me for a moment. "But we can't pay them." He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. "We could always let him fix it and then tell them we have no money but..." He sighs, scrutinizing my face. "I don't want another Harold situation on my hands. Best be honest from the get go."

Those words warm my heart. I'm kind of glad I had a positive influence on David Rivera.

He turns to the man and says: "Listen, we really appreciate this, but a word of warning: we can't pay for any repairs right now."

The man waves a dismissive hand. "Don't you worry about that," he says. "You kids are obviously in need of help. We probably have some spare parts lying around. You don't have to pay now. You can always pay some other time, whenever you can manage it. You'll know where we live."

I'm taken aback by this man's generosity. Mom always used to say that this day and age, people don't often offer help without expecting something in return. 

"Thank you," I say, my voice softer than intended. "That really means a lot. Maybe we can at least buy some of your fresh produce?"

The man nods, his eyes kind. "No problem at all. Name's Joe, by the way."

"I'm April," I reply, and Dave introduces himself as well, then nods slowly. "Alright, we'll follow you."

The man smiles warmly. "Great! Just stay close behind me." He rolls up his window and starts to drive away, and Dave turns the key in the ignition. 

The car sputters, and I put my hands together in a sign of prayer.

"Please start up, please start up, please start up."

Thankfully, it does – a cheerful Blue Pontiac starts up again.

We drive down behind the green van, following a winding road, the scenery gradually shifting from open plains to scattered trees and fields.

Then the farmhouse he told us about comes into view, and it's absolutely a-do-ra-ble.

It's a charming, rustic building with a big red barn and a sprawling vegetable garden.

The man pulls into the driveway and parks his van, and we follow suit —Dave steers the Pontiac onto a gravel path leading up to the farmhouse, parking the car nearby.

Joe gets out of the van and waves us over. "Come on, I'll introduce you to my son. He should be around here somewhere," he says, gesturing towards the open barn doors.

He leads us inside, where the smell of hay and oil fills the air. It's surprisingly cool in here, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat outside.

"Tom!" Joe calls out, his voice echoing off the wooden walls. "Got a couple of folks here who need your help!"

A young man in his early twenties appears from behind a tractor, wiping his hands on a rag. "Hey, Dad. What's up?" he asks, then spots us and offers a friendly nod.

"Tom, this is April and Dave. Their car's giving them trouble. Think you can take a look?" Joe explains.

Tom grins and tosses the rag aside. "Sure thing. Let's see what we're dealing with here."

We lead Tom back to the Pontiac, and he pops the hood, peering inside with a practiced eye.

Dave and I stand by, watching as he examines the engine. I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will turn out alright.

I already feel bad for having yelled at David.

As Tom works, Joe leans against the side of the car, chatting amiably. "So, what brings you two out this way?" he asks.

"We're on our way to L.A.," Dave replies. "Next stop... It should have been Denver but... The Pontiac doesn't think so. It's been... quite the journey."

Joe chuckles. "I can imagine. Well, you're in good hands with Tom. He's been fixing up cars since he could hold a wrench. Have a seat over here in front of our home."

I glance at Dave, and he gives me a small, reassuring smile. For the first time in hours, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease.

As we plop on a wooden bench Joe pointed at, the smell of freshly turned earth and blooming flowers fills the air.

The house is surrounded by neat rows of vegetables, and an elderly woman in worn overalls is tending to them.

"Afternoon!" Dave calls out.

The woman looks up, offering us a warm smile.

"Good afternoon, folks. I'm Joe's mother; Tom's grandma. Can I help you with something?"

"We were just passing through and saw your sign," I say. "Your son was so kind to us. Our car broke down, and he brought us here, we followed his van. Thought we could maybe buy some produce. Everything looks so fresh."

The she-farmer chuckles. "Well, you've come to the right place. I'm Katherine, but folks around here call me Kat. Help yourselves to anything you like. Anything at all. I just harvested some tomatoes this morning, and I don't just say it because they're mine — but they're as sweet as candy."

As we walk through the garden, Kat joins us. With her silver hair tied back in a neat bun, and her apron dusted with soil, she moves with a graceful familiarity among the crops, as she points out various plants and shares tidbits of wisdom about each one.

We walk among rows and rows of vegetables and fruit plants stretching out in neat, orderly lines.

I can't even imagine how much time it took this family to grow it all.

"This is where we grow our strawberries," Kat says. She bends down and picks a plump, red berry from a nearby plant. Her hands are gentle, yet strong, reflecting years of tending to this land. She hands the strawberry to me with a smile. "Here, try one. They're just coming into season."

I accept the strawberry, its scent sweet and earthy. As I bite into the fruit, the burst of flavor is refreshing and delightful, far richer than anything I've tasted from a store in Poughkeepsie.

"Wow, this is amazing," I say, savoring the taste. "I've never had strawberries this good before. We have to buy some."

Kat's face lights up with satisfaction. "Thank you, dear. We put a lot of love into our garden. It's hard work, but seeing the produce thrive and hearing people enjoy it makes it all worth it."

Dave takes a strawberry from Kat as well, and as he eats, he nods appreciatively. "You've got a real green thumb, Kat. Everything here looks incredible. Not to mention the taste. Mmm-hmm."

Kat chuckles, a soft, contented sound. "Oh, I just do what I can. The real magic is in the soil and the seasons. But I do enjoy sharing it with others."

As we walk along the garden rows, Kat points out various crops, explaining how she cares for each one.

There are tomatoes ripening on the vine, rows of crisp green lettuce, and even a patch of sweet corn. Her enthusiasm is palpable, and it's clear how much this garden means to her.

"You see those over there?" she asks, pointing to a patch of vibrant green herbs. "Those are basil and thyme. Now those little devils make everything taste so much better."

​​As we follow Kat back to the farmhouse, the smell of fresh cookies wafts through the air, making my stomach rumble. Kat leads us to a cozy porch with a few wooden chairs and a table set with a simple, welcoming spread.

"Why don't you two have a seat here?" She gestures to the table where a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of cookies are set out. "You must be starving after such a long trip. Joe's telling me you started off in New York and that you're headed to L.A. Fresh lemonade and homemade cookies are just what you need."

Dave and I sit down, our bodies grateful for the break from the road.

Kat pours us each a glass of lemonade, the condensation on the outside of the pitcher making it look especially refreshing. She places a couple of cookies on a napkin and hands them to us.

"Here you go," she says with a smile. "These cookies are just out of the oven. I thought you might enjoy them."

I take a sip of the lemonade, the chilled, sweet flavor instantly cooling me off. The cookies are warm and crumbly, with a perfect balance of sweetness and buttery richness.

"This is wonderful, Kat," I say, savoring the taste. "You really didn't have to go through all this trouble for us."

Kat waves her hand dismissively. "Oh, it's no trouble at all. I can imagine you two must be starving and a bit worn out from your journey. It's not often we get visitors, and it's a pleasure to share a bit of what we have."

Dave, taking a bite of his cookie, adds, "You're right. We've been on the road for a while now, and we got a bit frustrated just now when the car broke down. I think this is exactly what we needed."

Kat's eyes twinkle with kindness. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Traveling can be exhausting, and a bit of comfort food always helps. Plus, I got you the perfect pairing."

We both laugh, enjoying the simplicity of the moment and the genuine warmth of Kat's hospitality.

As we chat and nibble on the cookies, the worries of the road seem to melt away, replaced by the comforting sense of kindness and home.

"I'm so glad we stopped by." I admit, swallowing a huge gulp of a cool, refreshing beverage.

"Have you been traveling for a long time?" She leans forward with interest.

"This is our third day only." I sigh. "But it does feel like forever sometimes. Especially when we have to figure out the money distribution. For food, and gas. But it's okay. When we get to L.A., my dad will cover for it all."

"It's weird," says Dave. "but when I'm on the road, I miss home so much. And then when I get back home, the only thing I want to do is to be on the move. Not sure if I'll ever be happy with what I have." He laughs bitterly.

"You know," Kat begins, her eyes reflecting the endless blue sky, "different folks like different things. And different rhythms, different speeds. It's good to listen to your inside instinct and change pace if you feel like you need to."

"So what you're saying is..." Dave says, "is that it's okay to take my time?"

"Absolutely. Look at our family. We like the life we chose for ourselves. And take farming, for example. I think farming is a lot like life. It takes patience, hard work, and a bit of faith. You plant the seeds, tend to them every day, and eventually, you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

Dave picks a ripe tomato and tosses it in his hand, contemplating Kat's words. "Sounds like you've seen a lot of seasons, Kat."

She nods, her gaze distant. "I've been farming this land for over fifty years. Seen good times and bad. But the most important thing I've learned is that you can't rush nature. Everything has its time. Just like in life, sometimes you have to wait for the right moment."

She is right. I hated that we ran into a problem, and I wanted it solved instantly but sometimes, the best thing to do is to wait it out and see – each solution might take time.

We gather a small basket of fresh vegetables, and Kat refuses to take more than a few dollars. "Consider the rest a gift," she says with a wink. "And remember, patience and hard work will always pay off in the end."

She's right. It was one of my Dad's life lessons. Letter lessons.

Always eager to seize every opportunity and make things happen immediately.

It's actually one of the traits I admire in you—the drive and enthusiasm to make the most of every moment.

But remember, sometimes the best things in life come to those who are patient and slow and diligent.

The things worth having are often worth waiting for.

Experience life fully, but don't rush through it. Each step along your path is valuable and deserves its own time to unfold. Taking a moment to stop, relax, and take a deep breath can offer clarity and insight that hasty decisions often miss.

Life will take its course, and sometimes the most beautiful parts of our journey come when we allow ourselves to embrace the present fully.

Trust in the process, April. Your life journey is unique and unfolding as it should. Embrace it with patience, and you'll find that the experiences and lessons will come to you in their own time, enriching your life beyond measure.

"Oh look." Kat's words startle me from my innermost thoughts. "I do think Tom's figured out what was wrong with your car."

And she's right. Her grandson Tom waves at us with a broad grin, his face stained with oil but thrilled. "Hey there! I figured it all out," his voice is full of pride. "It was just an overheated engine. Nothing too serious. It's purring like a cat now, it is."

I let out a sigh of relief, my tension clearly easing as I watch Tom's genuine smile. He's very pleased with himself for fixing the Pontiac. Dave's expression mirrors mine—both of us are incredibly grateful.

Tom steps closer. "I'm happy I could help. It's always nice to get someone back on the road."

Dave extends his hand to Tom, shaking it firmly. "Thanks a lot, Tom. We really appreciate it, man. We were starting to get worried."

Joe emerges from the farmhouse, patting his son on the head. "No problem at all. Just glad I could get you sorted. I hope you two enjoy the rest of your trip. Drive safe, and if you ever find yourself in a pinch again, don't hesitate to come by."

With a final wave, father and son head back inside, leaving us standing by the car, the engine now humming smoothly.

The Pontiac feels like it's been given a new lease on life, and we're ready to continue our journey, grateful for the unexpected help and the kindness of these strangers.

"That was... nice," I say, breaking the silence, grinning at the strawberries we bought. "I guess we could all use a little more patience. Especially me. I'm sorry I yelled at you back there."

Dave smiles, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "That's okay, Lewis. You were frustrated. I mean, who wouldn't be? We faced obstacle after obstacle and after obstacle, no end, no respite in sight. And who knew a pit stop at a farm would be so enlightening?"