Rude Awakening (6 page)

‘Oral Roberts University,' Sarah answered. ‘You remember? The man who said he saw a nine-hundred-foot Jesus who told him to build his hospital?'

‘Oh, yeah. I know him. I mean, I know who he is. Mama said he used to heal people.'

‘That's what I hear,' Sarah said, laughing slightly.

‘You don't believe in healing?' Dalton asked.

‘Well,' Sarah was obviously thinking about it. ‘I do believe God can heal, but I don't think he does it by having some man make money by putting his hands on people and shoving them.'

Dalton thought about that for a moment, then started up his truck again and pulled back onto the road. ‘You're probably right.'

Saturday morning dawned beautiful and bright; a spring day right out of a picture book, more a Midwest spring than an Oklahoma spring, Jean thought. Knowing where she was, though, she knew that the spring would be shorter here than back home, and the heat would be all-consuming in less than two months. She doubted that she'd ever get used to an Oklahoma summer.

She and John had a noon birthday party to go to, held at City Park, which was certainly the right place for a day like this. The party was to celebrate the fifth birthday of one of John's classmates at day care, another pre-K student: a little girl named Arletta. Mother and son had already spent way too much time at Wal-Mart ‘discussing' whether Arletta would prefer the new Princess Barbie or a really cool Optimus Prime Transformer. Jean won with the Princess Barbie.

John was four now and insisted on picking out his own clothes. Jean knew she had to let him, realizing that her reluctance was merely her desire to keep him a baby as long as possible. Sometimes, she thought, knowing this crap is a pain in the ass.

John picked out his Transformer T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts, socks and his light-up, glow-in-the-dark Batman running shoes.

‘You're a vision,' Jean told him.

‘Huh?' he asked, slipping on his second shoe.

She laughed and rubbed his head. ‘Nothing, big guy. Go say 'bye to Daddy.'

Last shoe on, he ran through his bedroom door like his pants were on fire, running down the stairs, yelling, ‘Daddy!' at the top of his lungs. Jean cringed as she watched her young son bolt down the steep staircase, knowing she had to let him. ‘Keep him safe from the big boo-boos,' she told herself almost constantly. ‘The little boo-boos make him stronger.'

As John headed down the stairs in search of his father, Jean called out, ‘Don't forget Arletta's present, John!'

He stopped dramatically in his tracks and whirled around. He went running into the dining room, where the Disney princess bag, with glittery pink tissue paper sticking out, sat, awaiting its trip to the party. John grabbed it, swung it over his head, yelled, ‘Come on, Mom!' and headed out the door.

Sighing while she laughed, Jean followed. Even though the weather was perfect at that moment, Jean grabbed sweaters for both her and John, since late March in this part of Oklahoma meant the weather could change at any given moment.

Milt was outside, peering at the engine of his Jeep.

‘What's wrong?' Jean asked.

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘Kinda sluggish.'

‘Take it to a mechanic,' Jean suggested.

‘I did all the work on my fifty-five myself,' Milt said, not looking at his wife.

‘This isn't the fifty-five. This has a catalytic converter. A computer. This is an actual modern car.'

‘You really think this calls for sarcasm?' inquired Milt.

Jean raised an eyebrow as she lifted John into the back seat of her Volvo.

Milt walked over to Jean's car and helped buckle John into his car seat. ‘You gonna be good at the party?' Milt asked.

‘Yes, Sir,' John answered.

‘You gonna listen to your mama?' Milt asked.

‘Yes, Sir,' John answered.

‘You gonna fly home on a unicorn?' Milt asked.

John laughed and rolled his eyes. ‘Daddy!'

Milt kissed his son, then his wife, and closed her door. ‘Be careful,' he said, touching her hand where it rested in the open window.

‘Always,' she said, smiling at him. She finger-waved a goodbye and they were off.

It was a good five miles to City Park, once they were off the mountain. In Longbranch, five miles was a big deal. Jean pulled the Volvo up as close as she could to the picnic table that was spread with goodies and a sign reading,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARLETTA
. Grabbing her purse, her crutches, her son and the Barbie, Jean headed into the fray.

He'd dumped her in a barn so far out in the country that Holly had no idea where she was. It was pretty – but everything looked exactly the same and had for the last half hour. Green trees, big hills and wild flowers, mile after mile after mile. All fairly foreign stuff to this Tulsa-bred city girl.

Once inside the barn, she saw camera equipment, some props, a cot, a couple of director's chairs and a table with an ice chest and water jug.

Holly had wanted to ask, ‘Hey, where you going?' when Mr Smith dropped her off, but Holly didn't think his demeanor lent itself to questions. She sat down in one of the director's chairs, head in hand, elbow on knee, and thought that what she'd always heard about acting was true: just a lot of sitting around and waiting.

Leaving his new assistant alone in the barn, Emil Hawthorne drove the rented van out to Highway-5 and up what he already thought of as the backside of the mountain – the end of the road closest to Tulsa. He drove up Mountain Falls Road and slowly past Jean MacDonnell's house. The Jeep was in the driveway, but her minivan was not. Emil smiled. This was the time. Things were going to work out perfectly.

He had already found a clearing about twenty yards from Jean MacDonnell's driveway, on the opposite side, if she was to be coming from Longbranch, which he figured she would be. The clearing was surrounded with trees and, having already checked during the day when both Jean and her husband were at work, he knew his van could not be seen by someone turning into their driveway, unless they craned their necks. However, from his location in the clearing, he could see her driveway perfectly.

He kept going in the direction that he was headed, down Mountain Falls Road toward Highway-5, where he turned right onto Highway-5, on to the other entrance to Mountain Falls Road and back up the mountain to his hidey-hole. He sat there in the van, shaking with anticipation. It wouldn't be long now, he thought. Not long at all.

Sarah directed Dalton to Riverbanks Park, on the banks of the Arkansas River that ran near the downtown area, and they parked his truck and walked along the newly renovated river's edge, passing the floating stage and amphitheater in the middle of the river. Although the sun was shining and the sky was blue, it was still only mid-March and there was a chilly wind blowing off the river toward them, blowing an odor of rotting fish and decay. Neither mentioned it, concentrating instead on the flowers in neat borders along the walkway, brilliant colors reaching for the sky.

‘I guess I never knew Tulsa was so pretty,' Dalton said, looking down at Sarah and wishing he had the nerve to hold her hand. That would be really nice, he thought, walking along the river's edge, holding hands with this pretty girl.

‘The city's been doing a lot of renovations over the years,' Sarah said. ‘I think they're actually getting it right.'

Making it back to the truck, they drove to Cherry Street and then walked along admiring the small shops and checking out the menus at the many restaurants.

‘Oh, look at this shop!' Sarah said, pointing in the window of a shop that seemed to specialize in eclectic items from all over the world. ‘May we go in here?' Sarah asked.

Dalton felt himself preening inside. He'd never been around anyone, man or woman, who said ‘may' instead of ‘can'. He knew the difference and knew Sarah had done it right! She is so refined, he thought. And what a great teacher she must be for little kids. He couldn't wait for her to start teaching their children the difference between ‘may' and ‘can'.

They walked into the store, the smell of patchouli incense almost knocking Dalton over. The store was so crowded, Dalton worried about knocking stuff over because of his size. He tried slipping sideways through the aisles so he wouldn't hit anything. There was stuff from the Middle East, stuff from the Orient and stuff from right there in Tulsa: home-made stuff. Candles and paintings and vases and sculpture and jewelry.

Sarah found a scarf, a big one, made of some silky kind of material and studded with sequins and beads and other doodads Dalton didn't recognize. It was black at one end and faded to an aqua blue at the other.

‘Oh, I have to have this!' Sarah said.

‘I'll get it for you,' Dalton said, wondering how much something like that would cost.

‘Oh, no! Never. I've got it.'

Realizing it was already six thirty, they found a restaurant with a tantalizing menu (at least to Sarah) and went inside for dinner. Dalton knew how to read, but he just didn't understand anything the menu said. Not wanting to look totally stupid, he said, ‘This is your city. Why don't you order for both of us?' He heard that line in a movie once. It was the girl saying it, but still . . .

‘You sure?' Sarah asked, smiling at him.

‘Absolutely,' Dalton answered, smiling back.

And so she did. The appetizer they shared was called a ‘cauliflower latke' when she'd ordered it, but it turned out in real life to be a potato pancake with spicy green sauce. He'd told her he liked beef so she'd ordered him a steak and mac and cheese. Except the mac and cheese had lobster in it and the carrots were spicy hot and sitting next to some green stuff that tasted like licorice, something he'd never liked. His first instinct was to spit it out, but he'd stopped doing that in high school.

‘You don't like the braised fennel?' Sarah asked.

‘What's that?'

She pointed at the green stuff. Dalton shook his head apologetically, ‘Sorry. It takes like licorice,' he said.

‘You want to try some of mine?' she asked.

Dalton looked at her bacon-wrapped duck breast, sitting on what looked like baby food, and declined the invitation. As far as Dalton was concerned, the best part of the meal was the apple martinis Sarah kept ordering. They were, in his opinion, damn good.

When the bill came, Dalton thought he might pass out from sticker shock, but managed to put down his Visa card like he knew what he was doing. He figured it would take two months to pay off this dinner.

As they walked back to his truck, Dalton asked shyly, ‘Do you need to go home or be somewhere?'

Sarah smiled. ‘No,' she said. ‘Nowhere without you.'

Dalton smiled back.

Sarah directed him to a club she said she'd heard about. There they switched to mojitos. It was around midnight when Sarah took Dalton's hand in hers and said, ‘I never thought I'd find a man so understanding. So macho. So gorgeous.'

Dalton blushed. ‘Well, you're really pretty.'

‘Thank you,' Sarah said, smiling widely at him. Her shyness had diminished with the cocktails, Dalton noted. But then, so had his. Dalton reached forward and cupped the back of Sarah's head, bringing her face toward him, and kissed her. Closed mouth, since it was the first kiss, and tender, but not a peck.
Definitely
not a peck.

When he released her, Sarah sat back in her chair and fanned her face with her hand. ‘Whew!' she said. ‘Mama, buy me that!'

Dalton laughed.

‘You know,' Sarah said, leaning forward and taking Dalton's hand in hers, ‘you just don't seem the type to be into trannies.'

‘Well,' Dalton said, ‘I prefer working on an engine block, and even brakes, but trannies are OK.'

‘What?' Sarah said.

Dalton had almost forgotten Sarah's earlier mention in her emails that she was a ‘trannie'. A new word, Dalton figured, for people who liked to work on automobile transmissions. She seemed like such a girly girl, but you never could tell these days.

‘Transmissions are OK. Little detailed, you know, but maybe not as detailed as working on a brake system, or a catalytic converter, or something like that,' Dalton said, smiling at this beautiful girl in front of him.

Sarah took her hand out of Dalton's and fell back into her chair. ‘
Transmissions?
' she said.

‘Yeah?' Dalton wondered why she seemed so sad all of a sudden.

‘Excuse me,' Sarah said, and left.

Dalton watched her leave, taking her oversized purse with her, and his imagination went into overdrive – just like a well-built transmission. Her hips were a little on the small side, but he thought how small his mama was, and she had three real big babies. He figured Sarah could pop 'em out with no problem. And right away. He wanted babies right away. As she disappeared down the hall toward the restrooms, Dalton turned back to his table and finished his third mojito, holding up the empty glass to the waitress to signal for another. He wouldn't mention anything about babies right away, of course, not even about marriage. But maybe by the end of the weekend. That would be the time, he thought.

‘Put it on my tab,' he told the waitress – the same way that Sarah had for their last round. He giggled as the waitress walked off. ‘Put it on my tab!' he repeated, giggling some more.

Then someone came and sat down at his table. Someone he didn't know. ‘That seat's saved,' Dalton told him.