"I'll go with you. Hey, I was on my way to see the world when we met. It'll be much more fun with you at my side."
She snapped on the radio, punched the seek button and settled on the first strong signal it detected. They talked about the weather, the scenery and Mom's barbecue. For more than an hour, they played cows. Stan was winning until they passed a cemetery on his side of the road. He thought he was back into the thick of competition when he claimed fifty points for a white mule on his side of the highway but Dale wouldn't allow it, claiming that the animal was a horse, worth only ten points.
"You ready yet?” Stan asked.
"For what?"
"Marriage."
"Give it a rest."
He sulked.
"Try to understand, Stud."
"I understand. I love you but you don't feel the same way about me. It happens, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."
"I like you, Stud. Surely you know that. For most of my life, my heart has been filled with hatred. I'm not certain I know what love is."
"I don't think love is something you can learn. It's an experience more than anything else."
"You're probably right."
"What did you feel earlier when I told you I was coming back to Dot without you?"
"What did I feel? I felt like I wanted to go with you."
"Why?"
"To get my stuff and another taste of Mom's barbecue."
"The possibility of never seeing me again didn't bother you?"
She snickered. “It never entered my mind, Stud."
"Think about it."
She grinned. “I'm trying, but my imagination isn't that good."
Stan looked out his side window and smiled. “The pecan orchard has too many unhappy memories, doesn't it?"
She paused before answering. “Maybe not—not now. The nightmare began there, but that's also where it ended."
"One of the first things I want to do is fix up your tree house."
"I imagine it rotted away years ago."
"Nope. It's still there. How many children do you want, Dale?"
"One of each—a boy and a girl."
"I hope they're both redheads, like you. We'll call the girl Rusty and the boy will be Junior."
"Wait a minute. Who said you are going to be the father? You tricked me."
"You want to talk about it?"
"I've been trying to get you into bed since I met you, but I'm not ready to begin pumping out babies."
"I mean Jerry Smith."
Her eyes clouded. “What I want to know is how you and Borders wound up at my place."
He pulled a lever, pushed the seat back as far as it would go, stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles and told the story. She reciprocated.
Stan's silence disturbed Dale. She glanced at him and asked, “Something bothering you?"
He nodded. “Did Smith, uh..."
"He felt me up and planted one disgusting kiss. That was it."
"You can tell me, Dale."
"I just did. Is there something else?"
He nodded. “I left something out of my story and for some reason it's eating away at me. I told you that Lacy came up with the theory that you might be an imposter—Smith's accomplice."
"Yeah."
"She said that Dale Ryder was, indeed, a graduate of Wake Forest University, but Wake Forest has never had a synchronized swimming team."
Dale snickered and for just a moment rested her hand on his thigh. “I said I was a member of a synchronized swimming team while a student at Wake Forest. The team was sponsored by the Winston-Salem YWCA."
"You know, we were pretty good together. Are there any competitions for couples we can enter after we're married?"
Dale shook her head. “You're hopeless. Stud, if I were going to get married today and had my choice of all the men in the world, I'd choose..."
"Me?"
"Only if Tom Cruise turns me down."
"You're terrible."
"Stud, let me try to explain."
"I wish you would."
"Chronologically, I was a teenager, but I missed doing all the teenager things. I have some living to do before I settle down."
"Like what?"
"Well, for one thing, I never went to a prom."
"We'll go dancing tonight at Dad's Place. You ever tried line dancing?"
Dale chuckled. “My arms, legs and hips don't move that way."
"Sure they do."
"And you're going to teach me?"
"We'll take lessons. What else?"
"I've never been on a picnic or played softball with the gang."
"A picnic is now on our schedule beside the fishing lake at the Dollars’ Playground for tomorrow afternoon. We'll hang around one of the ball fields looking pathetic. Maybe some of the kids will have mercy and let us play."
"I've never been on a romantic canoe trip with a good-looking hunk manning the oars."
"One canoe ride coming up."
"I've never gone skinny dipping."
"Skinny dipping once a week in Dale's pond after we're married,” he said as he wrote an imaginary note on the palm of his hand.
"How do you know about my pond?"
"You mentioned it once. It's grown up now, but, after we're married, I'll hack down the weeds and restore the boat dock."
"You've seen it?"
He nodded. “Last night."
"Let's see now. You've seen the pond, the heavy equipment and my old playhouse. Did you get any sleep last night."
He smiled. “The flashlight burned out about four this morning. I napped for an hour or so in your porch swing. What else did you miss in your teenage years?"
"I never made out in the backseat of my boyfriend's car."
"We'll take care of that right after the prom. Remind me to buy condoms."
"You don't carry any with you?"
He laughed. “I used to and have the circular impression on my wallet to prove it."
"It doesn't matter."
"Oh?"
She winked. “Trust me."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. I've never had a handsome stud get down on his knees and beg me to marry him."
"So that's what I did wrong. I'll take care of that tonight between the prom and the backseat."
"The answer may be negative."
"Eventually I'll wear you down."
"Damn it, Stud. You can't have everything your way. I insist that Chris Norway perform the ceremony."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Dale read the roadside sign and slowed as it sank in. “Spartenburg—Exit 23—gas—food—motel."
"Hungry? Need a potty break?” he asked when she turned onto the exit.
Dale shook her head. “There's one other thing I've never done. I've never made love to my man in a motel room under an assumed name. How about it, Mr. Jones? Are you with me?"
He grinned. “They say the Ramada Inn is nice."
* * * *
The motel clerk watched the nervous couple beat a hasty retreat and glanced at their registration card. “Have fun, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Jones.” He settled into his chair, propped his feet on the counter and resumed reading his paperback novel.
Fifteen minutes later a high-pitched scream penetrated the air. He chuckled and continued reading. A few minutes later the primordial scream again reached the lobby. He closed the book and went looking for his wife.
The End
Of David O. Dyer Sr.’ Saga of Dot, Sintown, USA
SPECIAL BONUS NOVEL
Whatever
By
David O. Dyer, Sr.
(Writimg as “Dale Doty")
Chapter One
With misty eyes, Jodi surveyed the living room of the furnished apartment, now devoid of any evidence she once lived there. There's no turning back, Jodi. It's now or never, she thought as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She descended two flights of steps, checked the mailbox one last time and moved t
hrough the complex door into the early morning blackness.
"You don't look so bad in the dark,” she said to her ancient, faded blue Ford Econoline van. “It's just you and me, baby,” she said, patting rusty the top of the vehicle as she opened the door. She checked the cargo area, illuminated by the automatic interior light and reached under the dash to make certain the manila envelope containing a cashier's check for ten thousand dollars and five hundred in cash was still in its hiding place.
Shouldn't have worn these tight jeans, Jodi thought as she tried to make herself comfortable behind the steering wheel. “Come on, baby, you can do it,” she pleaded, listening to the starter struggling to crank the four cylinder engine. She paused, turned the ignition key again and smiled as the engine sputtered to life. Pulling out the headlamp switch, she glanced at the gauges. “Half a tank, sweetheart,” she mumbled. “That'll get us to the Jet station in South Carolina where prices are usually much lower than they are here.” Pulling out into the darkness, Jodi wished she had replaced the burned-out headlamp. The low beams both work and dawn will break in a couple of hours, she assured herself.
After merging with traffic on the highway, Jodi slapped the top of the dash, trying to make the AM radio play, but a red palm was all she got for her efforts. There was nothing to do but drive, listen to the flapping sound of the tires as they passed over section dividers in the concrete highway, and think.
It's not your fault, Jodi. You had no control over the car when mom and dad died. You were only fourteen and sitting in the back seat. You're lucky to be alive, even if you were torn up internally. A hysterectomy is not the worst thing that could have happened. Be grateful you're not dead.
She wiped tears from her eyes and reached for the thermos, drinking coffee directly from it. She screwed the top back on and tossed the container in the empty passenger seat. It's not your fault you didn't make it through college either. You were completely on your own. You should be proud of the two years you did complete.
She glanced at the flashing blue lights in the rearview mirror. What now? Do I have a taillight out? The patrol car whizzed by on its way to an unknown emergency. Thank God for small favors.
The eastern sky began to show rosy hues. The marriage failure wasn't my fault either. I told him I couldn't have children long before he proposed. He said it didn't matter. Yeah, right. It didn't matter until that big-breasted teenager showed up in his life.
Jodi sighed and pulled at the binding crotch of her jeans. Why can't I keep a job? I work hard. I've never used a sick day in my life. She chuckled. I don't even have sexual harassment to offer as an excuse. I became a good masseuse—might have wound up a chiropractor if the old goat hadn't died on me. Let's see, I've worked as a clerk in Wal-Mart, Kmart and three drug stores. The grass always looked greener on the other side, but never was. I've been a secretary twice now and both times was laid off when the companies merged with another. What are the chances of that happening two times in succession?
Flashing blue lights ahead caused Jodi to remove her foot from the accelerator. “Must have been speeding,” she muttered as she passed the two vehicles on the side of the road.
Unlucky in love, too. First, there was Danny. He didn't want children, but now has two. Then there was Guy. Jodi snickered. He was gay and used me as cover. I wonder if the coward ever came out of the closet. Chancel turned out to be a sadist and when I mentioned marriage to Buck, he ran faster than a jackrabbit. I was so sure that Jonathan was Mr. Right. God, how I loved him. She smiled. He was good in bed, too. I wonder if he's still cheating on his wife. Men! Who needs them? “I do,” she muttered aloud.
Flapity, flapity, flapity, the tires continued to sing. Jodi glanced at the gas gauge. “Jet station, I need you,” she grumbled. “Where are you, sun? You should be up by now.” She reached for the coffee.
If I am destined to be a failure, I may as well do it in a place I love. Myrtle Beach, here I come!
By the time the towering sign of the Jet station appeared, Jodi realized it was gathering storm clouds that blanked the sunlight. “Zero percent chance of precipitation,” she said sarcastically. “That's what the man on TV said last night. Zero percent chance."
She eased the van next to a regular pump and shut off the engine. “Big place,” she mused, opening the door. She stood beside the van, stretched and observed six tractor trailer rigs at the far end of the station. “A watering hole in the concrete jungle,” she joked, “with dirt cheap prices."
As she filled the tank, a red Taurus, so shiny it looked as if it just came from a dealer showroom, pulled up opposite her. The dark haired man smiled as he emerged from his vehicle. She looked away but could feel his eyes devouring her body. She glanced back. He was now filling the tank, his eyes still undressing her.
"Middle aged jerk,” she muttered and then she chuckled as she replaced the hose. I'm middle aged too. Why do I still think of myself as a teenager?
Jodi grabbed a paper towel from the rack, propped open the hood of her van and leaned forward to check the oil level. She realized the fender pressing into her stomach caused her jersey to tighten against her breasts. She glanced up. He was staring—and smiling broadly.
She scowled at the man, wiped the dipstick clean and forced it back into the filler tube. She wished she owned a credit card so she could pay for the gas at the pump and get away from the man's leer. Never again. It was credit card roulette that almost drove her into bankruptcy. Still, they were convenient.
She retrieved the thermos from the passenger side of the van and walked stiff-leggedly towards the building, trying to keep her buttocks from swaying in the form-fitting jeans. She shrugged her shoulders and gave up. I'll never see the jerk again. Give him a show. She resumed her normal gait, entered the building, paid for the gas and complained silently at the cost of a coffee refill.
The man was returning the hose to the pump when she returned. He smiled. “Morning, ma'am,” he said with a wink, his voice barely audible over the noise of an incoming eighteen wheeler. “You have a great bumper on your chassis."
Jodi shot him a bird and opened the van door.
"Wait!” he shouted, running towards her.
She slammed and locked the door and reached for the key as he banged on the side of her van.
"You forgot to replace your gas cap, ma'am,” he shouted through the closed door. “I'll get it for you."
Jodi realized her face was flaming red. How do I get out of this one? She rolled down the window, stuck her head out and watched the stranger screw on the filler cap, marveling in spite of herself at the bulging muscles his crisp, short-sleeved white shirt revealed.
Knowing she was inviting an unwanted conversation, she simply said, “Thank you,” when he headed back towards the front of the van.
"You're welcome,” he replied.
"I, uh, look ... I didn't..."
He grinned, displaying perfect white teeth. “Whatever,” he said with a forgiving shrug of his shoulders. He turned his back to her and continued on his way to the building to pay for his purchase.
That was embarrassing, Jodi thought as she turned the ignition key. She chuckled, realizing she was watching his buns move inside tailored slacks as he had watched hers wiggle.
"It's going to start raining any minute now,” she said to her van, pulling back onto the highway. “I sure hope your wipers work.” She tested them and frowned as they smeared her windshield. That was a stupid thing to do. She reached for the thermos. Should have used the restroom back there. Oh, well...
She resumed highway speed and, taking her eyes off the road for just a second, screwed the cap back on the thermos. Her heart leaped to her throat as a fork in the road appeared. Which way? A small road sign registered through her peripheral vision. She tapped the brakes and turned the steering wheel hard to the right.
The front wheels locked. The steering wheel was useless. She heard and smelled screeching tires. The roadway seemed to come up to the door window and then
disappear. She clung to the steering wheel as her body felt weightless, floating above the seat. There were sounds of crunching metal and then everything became deathly quiet.
"What happened?” she cried as she lay against the passenger door. “God, help me,” she screamed, realizing the van was on its side. She could see nothing out of the passenger door window. Boiling clouds appeared through the driver side window. She tested her arms and legs. Except for a dull ache in her stomach and thighs, she seemed to be okay.
"Get out!” a male voice was shouting.
"I'm okay,” she replied, “but I can't reach the door."
"Me either,” he replied. “Cover your face."
She obeyed and heard the sound of shattering glass. He's trying to remove the windshield. “Wait,” she shouted. “I think I can help from in here."
She grabbed the thermos and used it as a battering ram. Gradually the right side of the windshield popped loose. She saw male fingers wrapping around it and covered her eyes as he ripped it away.
"Grab my hands,” he demanded.
She saw his arms and reached for them, recognizing the urgency of his voice. He pulled and she pushed with her feet. “No! Wait!” she demanded, freeing herself from his grip.
"Lady,” he screamed, “it's gonna blow!"
Her fingers searched under the dash. Thank you, God, she prayed as she stuffed the manila envelope into the front of her jeans and again reached for his outstretched hands.
He groped blindly for her. His fingers closed on her right breast. Realizing his mistake, he found her arm, traced it to her wrist and tugged her through the opening.
He pulled her to the ground, clutched her waist and lifted her. “Move, damn it!” he demanded.
Jodi tried, but it was hard to run with him clutching and pushing her. Suddenly he threw her to the ground and fell on top, covering her with his body. She heard the explosion and felt the sudden rush of heat. Minutes passed before he rolled off her.
Jodi sat up and watched the fireball in disbelief. “You picked a dreadful way to feel me up,” she mumbled.
He clutched his knees with his arms, also watching the conflagration. “Every cloud has a silver lining. Are you okay?"
Sintown Chronicles III: In Dark Corners Page 30
