“None. Whatever is happening to your fuel, it’s not the vehicle’s fault.”
After expressing my gratitude, I hung up and stared blankly into space for a long duration.
If the truck was sound and no leaks existed, my choices narrowed down to losing my sanity or someone siphoning my fuel.
That was precisely when Katie’s advice echoed in my thoughts.
Katie is my twenty-four-year-old granddaughter residing about an hour away, the kind of young woman who routinely fixes everyone’s smartphones and computers during family get-togethers. Ellen used to remark that Katie was born possessing innate wisdom the rest of us lacked.
Months earlier, she had nagged me regarding home security.
“Grandpa, you really ought to install a driveway camera,” she had urged. “They’re inexpensive now, and they alert your phone automatically. It offers real peace of mind.”
Back then, I had brushed her off. “Nobody is bothering out here. Who would target an old man living among junk?”
Yet those words resurfaced vividly.
I dialed her number that evening.
“Grandpa!” she answered, thrilled to hear from me on a non-Sunday. “Everything alright?”
“I need one of those security cameras,” I stated. “The variety you mentioned earlier. The driveway kind.”
An instant of silence followed. “Grandpa, what’s happening?”
