Part 7 – The Van That Wouldn’t Start
The first time the van coughed, Alicia ignored it.
The second time—when it sputtered before turning over—she muttered a prayer she hadn’t used since nursing school finals.
By the third time, there was no doubt.
The van wasn’t starting.
They were parked behind an old laundromat in Honcut, a town so small it didn’t even have a post office anymore—just two dusty vending machines, a broken bench, and a church with a crooked bell tower.
Alicia had come to run a half-day clinic. Word had spread fast—by the time she arrived, three dogs, two toddlers, and a woman with an oozing burn on her arm were already waiting.
She treated everyone. Stayed late.
Now it was dusk.
And the van—the lifeline, the fridge, the clinic, the home—was dead.
She tried the key again.
Click. Click. Silence.
She dropped her forehead against the steering wheel.
“Don’t do this now,” she whispered.
Reggie climbed into the front seat and licked her elbow, gentle but firm. Like he was reminding her: we’ve come through worse.
She sighed. “You’re right. But I don’t have jumper cables, you genius.”
Reggie wagged his tail.
It was too late to call a mechanic, and too remote for AAA. Cell signal flickered in and out. Daisy had stayed with Vernon back at the orchard for the day—safe, stocked with insulin, and wrapped in a blanket Alicia had found at a thrift store. Reggie had insisted on coming with Alicia.
Alicia looked around the empty lot, lit only by the orange glow of a flickering streetlight.
Then something moved.
A figure.
From behind the laundromat.
An old man with a wiry beard, pushing a shopping cart covered in wind-chimes and milk crates.
He saw Reggie first.
Stopped cold.
Then smiled.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said. “That’s the dog that saved Carl Jensen.”
Alicia blinked. “You knew Carl?”
“Knew him well. I’m Benny. I used to run deliveries between here and Brownsville. Carl was my best customer back when insulin was still cheaper than rent.”
He nodded at Reggie. “He told me about the dog. Said he’d bark when Carl was crashing. Like he could smell danger.”
Alicia stepped forward. “This van—this whole thing—it’s part of a mobile clinic. And I need it to start.”
Benny scratched his beard. “I got jumper cables. Ain’t got a car, but I got cables.”
She laughed. It burst out of her like a cough, surprised and grateful.
Benny disappeared behind the church and returned ten minutes later in a beat-up Chevy that might’ve been older than Alicia. The hood creaked open like it had bones.
They clipped the cables.
Turned the keys.
Nothing.
Benny climbed into the Chevy and gave it gas.
Alicia tried again.
Click.
Click.
Then—whirrrrr-chug—the engine caught.
Alicia let out a ragged cheer.
Reggie barked twice, tail spinning like a windmill.
Benny grinned. “Ain’t no problem that can’t be jumped with a little help and a stubborn battery.”
She turned the van off and on again. It held.
They sat on the tailgate for a while, Benny sipping from a dented thermos, Alicia offering a half-melted granola bar. Reggie patrolled the parking lot like it was his personal territory.
“You know,” Benny said, “I’ve seen a lotta people drive through Honcut. Most don’t stop. You did.”
Alicia shrugged. “The town needed a nurse.”
He studied her. “And you needed saving.”
She smiled, tired and warm. “Maybe I did.”
The next morning, Alicia posted a sign on the bulletin board outside the laundromat
“THANK YOU HONCUT — Mobile Clinic Will Return FRIDAY. — Nurse Alicia & Reggie”
She taped a drawing underneath—Daisy’s latest sketch of Reggie in a nurse’s cap.
Someone had to make it official.
As they drove back toward the orchard, Reggie leaned against her leg, tongue lolling. The radio crackled in and out, but it didn’t matter.
The wind through the cracked window smelled like rain and peaches.
Alicia reached down and scratched his ear.
“You’re more than a helper dog, you know that?”
Reggie closed his eyes.
He already knew.
When they pulled up to the orchard, Vernon was on the porch with a cup of instant coffee and an unlit cigar tucked behind his ear
“Took your time,” he said. “The kid drew you six pictures. You’re riding a unicorn in one.”
Alicia laughed. “I’ll hang it in the ER one day.”
Vernon’s smile faded. “You really think this… this clinic of yours, this life—it’s gonna hold?”
She looked out at the orchard.
At the sagging house, the single peach tree still bearing fruit.
At Daisy in the doorway, waving, grinning wide.
Then down at Reggie.
Still watching. Still ready.
“It has to,” Alicia said.