Rest Stop, 2 miles the sign read. It leaned at a near forty-five degree angle on the shoulder of I-25, southbound to Pueblo. Rachel sighed, then squirmed in the driver’s seat of her forest green Subaru, attempting to awaken the sleeping nerves in her backside and simultaneously assuage the incessant ache of her full bladder. She glanced over, out of the corner of her eye, at an extra large travel coffee mug in her console. If her goal was to travel swiftly, so as to be home before her husband returned from work – that was her goal – she’d done herself a disservice by ingesting such an oversized beverage. Rachel never could hold her coffee; she often lamented that she’d been born with the bladder of a small rodent.

Approaching the exit, she checked the green numbers on her car’s stereo – 11:32. She was making decent time, but…