Lisa did fairly well in the sleep area that night. Two hours. She had thought she wouldn't sleep at all. Too many things running through her mind. Aunt Caroline's death and funeral, her trip, Uncle Charlie's sudden heart attack. She even thought about her father. She wondered where he was and if he even cared that she existed. And then there was her new acquaintance, Adam. She just couldn't figure him out. She fell asleep in the midst of her thinking. It was somewhere around four o'clock. And she woke up a few minutes past six.
After her shower, she blow-dried her hair and debated what to do with it. She usually just picked it and sprayed it with gel. But she had worn it up for Aunt Caroline's funeral, and she liked it. So she pulled clips and pins from her suitcase.
When the last of her red trusses were securely pinned atop her head, Lisa examined herself in the mirror. The hair-do was a little formal for jeans, but oh well. She normally didn't wear make-up, but she brushed on some blush and eye shadow, and dabbed on some powder to cover her freckles. Her clothes were a little wrinkled from their days in the suitcase, but she had no way to iron them. And they hung strangely on her slim body, she thought.
She had been slightly heavy growing up, but when she moved out on her own, she lost the extra pounds. This was mostly due to having no money to buy her favorite snacks. And sometimes dinner only existed of a candy bar or a rice cake. The fact of the matter was, she actually liked herself plump. At least I didn't look anorexic back then, she mused to herself.
She had her bags in her truck by a quarter 'til eight. She wondered what to do with herself for the next half an hour. I should go fill up my truck, she thought.
She stuck the last of the chewing tobacco in her cheek and drove the few blocks to the Texaco. After she paid for the gas, to her dismay, her truck wouldn't start. She kicked a tire, spat on the ground, and looked at her watch. 8:05. She went back inside and told the cashier what the problem was. She told him she would be back in a little while. He said "Okay."
She walked back to the motel and checked out. As she stepped outside, she saw Adam drive up. Her heart skipped a beat. But not at the sight of Adam. It was his car. A 1967 Corvette Roadster Convertible. Bright red. Wow!
"Nice wheels," she said after he climbed out.
"You like her?" he asked. "She's my baby."
"Like her?" she mimicked. "I love old cars. Especially Vettes. What she got, like a 427, 400 horse tri-power?"
"I see you know your cars." He seemed surprised.
"Know them, yes," she said. "Fix them, no." She pointed toward the Texaco. "In fact, my truck's broken down over there."
He turned that direction, and she spat on the ground. "Oh, I see how you are," he said. "Last night I was scum because I was a mechanic, but now that you need my services, it's not so bad."
"Okay, fine," she replied. "I'll call a tow truck and have them take it to a shop."
He slipped his hand in his back pocket and chuckled. "Joking. I was just joking. I would love to look at your truck."
While he fiddled under the hood, she went around to the back of the truck and spit out her chew. He hadn't said anything about it, so she guessed he hadn't noticed. And she wanted to keep it that way.
"Be right back," she said. She had forgotten that morning to get a new pouch of Red Man when she got gas. She went in and got it, and on the way out the door, she stuffed it in her shirt pocket the best she could.
"Figure it out?" she asked Adam.
"Yep." He wiped his hand on a paper towel and closed the hood. "Looks like you've got two problems here. The starter is shot—that's why it won't start. And the water pump has a crack in it. I wouldn't recommend drying it all the way back to South Carolina without getting it fixed. I'll call my uncle and have him come get it. We'll go eat and then go back to the shop. I'll call around and find you the parts. I'll have you out of here and on the road by afternoon."
She nodded once. "Sounds like a plan." She hoped his shop took credit cards. She was almost out of cash. And she hoped she had enough available on her Visa. She was nearing the limit.
"Coffee, black," Lisa responded to the waitress's query. Then she inspected the menu.
"What's in your pocket," Adam asked.
She pushed the paper pouch down as far as it would go. "Nothing."
"Aren't ya gonna share?"
She looked at him evenly. Was he serious?
"I've got a sweet tooth," he said. "What kind is it? Cherry sours? Lemon drops?"
She was confused for a minute. And then she smiled. He thought it was candy. "Um, neither," she finally said. "It's not candy."
He straightened his back to sit up higher to try to look in her pocket. She clapped her hand over it.
"Come on, what is it?" he asked again.
"I don't think you'd want to know," she said.
"What, drugs?" he joked. "You a coke addict?"
"Maybe." She made herself say it with a straight face.
He stared at her trying to decide if she was bluffing. The waitress walked up to take their orders. Lisa ordered an omelet. Adam got waffles and bacon. She forgot about her tobacco.
Adam sipped at his iced tea. "Could you pass the sugar, please?"
She reached for the sugar, and he reached for the envelope in her pocket. He had it in his lap, unfolding it before she realized she'd been fooled.
He wrinkled his brow. "You use this stuff?"
"No," she said evenly. "It's for my boyfriend back east. A little memento from Oklahoma."
He stared at her again.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, okay. I use the stuff. Or more honestly, it uses me. But I recall something someone once said about tobacco. Once you start something like that, it's hard to quit."
"How did a nice girl like you get hooked on chewing tobacco?" He tossed the pouch on the table. "That's a man's vice."
"A man got me hooked. A long time ago."
"Your dad?"
"My uncle."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-five. And maybe I'm not a nice girl."
"Oh, I had you figured for about twenty-eight. And yes, I believe you are a nice girl." He stirred his tea. "You never did tell me why you're here—why you're in Oklahoma."
"Funeral. My aunt's funeral was yesterday.
"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere.
"Thanks."
The waitress brought their food. She then returned to refill Lisa's coffee cup. Lisa hadn't had good coffee in quite a long time.
"Any other family here?" Adam asked between crunchy bites of bacon.
She shook her head. "No, no family anywhere. Aunt Caroline was it. Unless you count my dad. But I have no idea where he is or if he's even still alive." She stopped. That was too much information. She was telling him too much.
"Where did your Aunt Caroline live?"
"The corner of Dallas and Main."
"What are you doing with the house?"
She sighed. "You sure ask a lot of questions."
"Sorry." He smiled.
"I gave our lawyer power of attorney. He's going to settle the estate, sell the house, and mail me a check."
"Oh." He stuffed a rather large bite of waffle into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "So what do you do for a livin'?"
She didn't want to answer that question. She tried to think how to best put her past four years of job-hopping into words. "I'm a cleaning lady."
"Like at a hotel or something?" he asked.
"Yeah." It was actually an apartment complex. But she had worked at a hotel once.
He finished his waffles and gulped down the rest of his tea. He sure does eat fast, Lisa thought. She wondered if he read her mind.
"Seven years in the Army," he explained. "Sometimes we only had about ten minutes to eat."
She nodded and took another bite of omelet. She swallowed. "How old are you?"
"Thirty." He fiddled with his pocket.
She nodded again. "You can smoke if you want to."
He shook his head. "It bothers you."
"It's okay," she insisted.
He smiled and pulled out his Marlboros. "You're not as bad as you seem," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your bark is worse than your bite," he added.
"How would you know?" she asked. "I've not bitten you."
He laughed.
"I'm ready when you are," she said as he lit his cigarette.
"He pulled out his wallet. "Uh… Can you catch the ticket?" he asked. I don't have any money on me."
I knew he was just like every other man, she thought. Nothing like inviting a girl out and then making her pay for it. She thumbed through her decreasing stack of bills. When she looked up, Adam was at the register paying.
As Lisa stood to her feet, she was crippled by, well, she wasn't sure. She thought at first that it some kind of noise, perhaps a dog whistle. Her sensitive ears always betrayed her. She sat back down and closed her eyes. But as hard as she tried, no matter how deeply she concentrated, she was still immobile. Something was terribly wrong.
She was used to dealing with pain, dealt with better than anyone she knew. But never with pain this excruciating. She opened her eyes and tried to look around. The pain almost blinded her, but she was able to see that Adam was still at the register. He didn't seem bothered. No one else seemed to be bothered. She bit her lip as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She fell to her knees, grasping at invisible lifelines on the tiled floor. Piercing, stabbing, clawing pain seemed to rip her mind from her soul. She felt her presence within her, but her mind plummeted downward, downward to a never ending firey pit. The flame licked at her. Shouts echoed in her ears.
Then, as abruptly as it had started, it stopped. The pain was gone. Lisa managed to get to her feet just as Adam realized something was the matter. She walked straight to the door. Adam followed her outside.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She didn't answer and walked rapidly to the Vette.
He grabbed for her arm. "What was wrong with you in there?" he asked again.
Before she could answer, he cringed in pain and fell against his car.
He held his head and moaned. She knew that he was now experiencing the same stabbing, the same throbbing she had experienced a few minutes prior.