Willobee's World

by Wendell Vanderbilt Fountain

“I drive truck.”

  “I think I could’ve guessed that,” she said.

  “Really?” He asked.

  “Yeah, you have that rugged look and sound like you’re from the south.”

  “Yeah, I was born in Georgia; I used to be on the rodeo circuit, and served in the military for a while.”

  “So you participated in Bush’s war?”

  “Cir, don’t think I follow. Never thought of Iraq and Afghanistan as anybody’s war in particlar. I went to that God-forsaken part of the world to help mah country.”

  “Is that what you thought?” Cir asked.

  “Yeah, me and a lotta other soldiers saw it that way,” Trent replied sternly.

  “Be it far from me to question your motives, but with all due respect, it seems rather naive.”

  “Guess that’s somethin’ me and you’re gonna have to agree to disagree about,” Trent replied.

  “Hey, guys, politics and religion are off limits among friends,” Luke chuckled.

  “I see the food comin’, and I’m ready to dig in,” Trent said.

  After they finished dinner, they all went dancing and partying. Haylee kept checking her cell phone just to make sure she hadn’t missed a call. Her concern for her mother really showed. It was around midnight when they finally returned to Luke’s place. He had two bedrooms. He and Cir went to bed just after they arrived, but Trent and Haylee were somewhat tentative about turning in. So, they just sat on the couch and talked for a while.

  “Sweetheart, I know this is awkward for ya, but we can sleep in the same bed without doin’ anything else,” Trent said.

  “I know, but I think we should just let whatever happen happen.”

  “Okay, let’s hit the sheets,” Trent said.

  Haylee put on a night gown while the light was still on, and Trent clicked off the light and climbed into the bed nude. It didn’t take long for them to become very familiar with each other. Within minutes Haylee removed her nightie, and they entered into passionate love-making. She spoke softly, tenderly, and lovingly to him, and he responded with such emotion that he could barely control his physical response to her. He’d imagined this moment before, but it was so much better than he’d thought. He’d had many sexual encounters over the years but nothing like this. This was not just having sex. It was truly making love, something with which he was unfamiliar. He thought back about the two women he had nearly married years ago and could not relate those experiences with Haylee.

  Sometime before noon, they had showered and were ready for the day. They said goodbye to Luke and Cir before their ride back home. Not long after, they were zipping down 95 south. They stopped for coffee in Searchlight before returning home. As they sat sipping their coffees, Haylee decided to ask him a question.

  “Trent, I know you’re a little apprehensive about meeting my mother, but I think it’s time. Would it be alright with you if I made that possible?”

  “If you think it’s okay, I think I’m ’bout ready to meet ’er, but she shor sounds tough ta me,” he said with a smile.

  “In a way, that really sounds funny. Here you’re such a big tough guy and concerned ’bout a woman who’s partially incapacitated, having to use a cane, walker, or a wheelchair.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya, but it’s not her as much as you I’m worried ’bout. I mean…she might not like me or want me ’round her daughter. If that happened, I don’t know what I’d do,” he said through moist eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Trent, things ’ill work out,” she said, reaching for his hand.

  Soon after Trent and Haylee pulled out of the driveway, Cir queried Luke. “Why didn’t you tell me about your waitress friend—Haylee?”

  “Why would’ve I mentioned her?” Luke responded.

  “You tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell ya don’t already know,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really, you must not’ve had your line a coke today—yet!”

  “You’re no better. Don’t give me that high and mighty attitude. You like it as much as I do,” she retorted.

  “What’s that have to do with being rude to my friends? Come on, Cir, let’s not fight,” he said, putting his arms around her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It hadn’t been long after Trent and Haylee returned from Vegas, that he got a call from her.

  “Trent, how much longer are you gonna be in town? I forgot to ask earlier.”

  “Got a few days before I hit the road agin, why?”

  “I want ya to meet my mom?”

  “Uh…uh…sweetheart, I’m not shor I’m ready for that,” he said, running his hand through his dark hair.

  “I just thought it’s time for ya to meet her. She won’t bite,” she said with a giggle.

  “Ya know I’m not some smooth and slick fella, and I might be disappointin’ to ’er. Like I told ya before, she might not want me ’round ya, and I’m not shor I can deal with that.”

  “You worry too much. Trenton Willobee, I have something to say ’bout that, and I think I’ve proven that to ya. Haven’t I?”

  “Oh, yeah, you done that for shor!” He said as a smile crept across his face.

  “Would you come and have dinner with us tomorrow night?”

  “I can tell this means a lot to ya, don’t it?” Trent replied.

  “Yes, it does?”

  “Alright, Haylee-Girl, what time should I be there?”

  “Six okay?”

  “No problem, I’ll wear my best boots and Resistol cowboy hat. Anything you want me ta bring?”

  “Just you, sweetheart. I’ll see ya then. Have a good night,” she said and hung up the phone.

  After they ended the call, he thought about the way she had said the word “sweetheart.” It sounded like what he’d described to her before. He thought that just maybe he’d become special to her in a very special way. Trent walked over to the cupboard and retrieved a glass and a bottle of Scotch. After making that commitment to Haylee, he began to think he needed fortification. He flipped on the TV, because he liked to listen to the national news. When he was on the road, he didn’t get to view or hear much about what was going on around the country. After a few minutes, he could see not much had changed as he sat their sipping his drink: ISIS is still running around the world shooting people, decapitating, drowning people in steel cages, blowing up innocent folks, and generally terrifying the hell out of the planet and little is being done about it. He changed the channel only to find the presidential news dominating that station. All he could think was that if America didn’t get real presidential leadership in the White House soon, the country may be overrun by these uncivilized savages from the Middle East—not to mention illegal Mexican aliens.

  The next day Trent took a ride on his bike to Fort Mohave to check his post office box and picked up the package he was expecting. While out and about, he stopped at a liquor store and bought two bottles of wine: one white and one red, because he was uncertain if Mrs. Harper had a preference. After he got home, he did a quick check of the contents and sure enough there was $10,000 all in 100 dollar bills, even though he didn’t, nor did Dobson and his people know, if his DEA information was good. He guessed that what he had given them was sufficient.

  Just before five in the afternoon, Trent began to nervously get ready to have dinner with Haylee and her mother. He had a lot of trepidation about it, but he knew it would have to happen sooner or later. He also fully realized that something was happening to him when it came to Haylee that was new emotional territory. When he thought of her, it became an ethereal feeling. He knew it was not infatuation or serendipity, and he was apprehensive about what it was becoming. Suddenly, he was faced with just what he wanted and was not sure how to handle it.

  Trent arrived with wine bottles in hand just before six. Haylee greeted him at t
he door and invited him in.

  “Mom, this is Trent Willobee,” she said awkwardly.

  “Happy to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Harper,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Let’s not start off with a lie, young man, ya know you’re dreadin’ the hell outta havin’ ta meet me,” she said from the confines of her wheelchair. “Have we met before? Ya seem very familiar.”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t think so. Haylee-Girl says I remind her of a young Sam Elliott, the actor.

  “Mom, stop it, don’t be mean to Trent.”

  “Haylee, ya don’t need to correct yor mother ’cause she’s right. I been quite fearful ’bout this, for a while,” he said with a grin, “ma’am, just call me Trent.”

  “Me and you just might get along. Ya know how ta tell the truth,” she said with a glimmer of a smile.

  Trent thought she was an attractive woman for her age; other than her disability, she looked trim and fit. It was easy to see that they were mother and daughter.

  “Mom, let’s do this again. Trent Willobee, this is my mom, Kitty Harper, now how’s that for a formal introduction?” Haylee said with a nervous smile.

  “Well done,” Trent replied. “I have a couple bottles of wine, ma’am, I didn’t know what ya liked,” he said, handing them to Haylee.

  “Oh, I’m not fussy ’bout what I drink, but I think I like red better. Hay, that’s what I call her, seems to like white.”

  “Yeah, Momma, remember what dad use to tell you ’bout callin’ me Hay?”

  “Of course I do. He didn’t like it, ’cause he said that hay was the first stage of horseshit; pardon my A-rab, Trent. Ya know I used to say pardon my French, but nowadays we got so many of them Muslims scattered ’round the country I’ve had ta change it. Hay, all your daddy, Asa, did was spoil you from the time you were a baby.”

  “What about you, Mom? Daddy treated you better than a queen.”

  “Yes…yes…he did,” she replied, smiling with a faraway look in her crystal blue eyes.

  “Everything’s ’bout ready, would you two like to have dinner?”

  “If the food’s ready, I am,” Trent said to Haylee.

  “Come-on to the table.”

  “Like for me to wheel you over, ma’am?” Trent asked.

  “Yeah, that’d be fine, but no more ma’am. Call me Kit or Kitty.”

  “I shor will, Miss Kitty.”

  “Call me Kit, I’m not Amanda Blake on Gun Smoke; although, you look nearly big enough to be Sheriff Matt Dillon, ’cept for that mustache.”

  “Momma, behave yourself. I’m sure Trent would like ta have a good meal and good conversation.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I meant nothin’ by what I said.”

  “Though Gun Smoke was before mah time, I did see reruns of it, and I really liked Matt Dillon,” Trent said as he rolled Kit up to the table.

  They sat down to a wonderful meal of pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy, and biscuits. Kit said grace.

  “Dear God, thank you for this and every day, the company of this young man, and for this food we’re ’bout to receive for the nourishment of our bodies. We praise you in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior—amen.”

  “A-men.” Trent added, and then began opening the wine.

  As they passed around food, Kit began a conversation. She was known to be candid and frank about most things. It didn’t matter if it was politics, religion, or whatever, she spoke her mind.

  “Pass the mashed potatoes, please,” she asked Trent, “I’m pleased you’re here. We don’t get much company. It’s usually just me and Hay. It seems like she don’t know how ta get a boyfriend.”

  “Momma, that’s enough. I don’t think Trent’s interested in my love life.”

  “I’m not so shor, Haylee-Girl, maybe I am curious ’bout that,” Trent said with a big grin.

  “Young man, I bet we ain’t had a male eat with us in more’n a year. Guess that’s why I’m surprised you’re here,” Kit said.

  “Kit, I don’t think of mahself as a young man anymore. I’m 39 and holdin’, and that ain’t young ta me. Please just call me Trent,” he said.

  “When ya get my age, anybody under 50’s young, but I think ya just told me ta call ya Trent.”

  “Well, spose I did, but I shor do ’preciate the compliment. If yor Kit, I’m Trent,” he said with a smile.

  “Fair enough, Trent. From what Hay told me, you’re a truck driver who came from Georgia. Guess that’s where the southern drawl comes from—Excuse me, Trent—Hay, pass me some beans please.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s right. I been drivin’ truck for ten years and ’bout four years ago, I bought my own rig, and I do hail from Macon, Georgia.”

  “Hay said you live here in Oatman, that right?”

  “Yep, right agin.”

  “Do you consider yourself to be a southern gentleman?”

  “I’d shor like ta think so, uh, Kit…for some reason… I think ya got somethin’ ta ask me,” he said.

  “Yes, guess I do. Ya got good insight. Trent, Hay is about all I have, and I don’t want her hurt or used by anyone, does that make sense?”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course it does. I have no intention of ever hurtin’ Haylee or just usin’ ’er. May I have some more pot roast, Haylee?” Trent asked.

  “Yes, yes,” she said, passing him a large bowl of pot roast.

  “You outdone yourself agin! This food’s terrific!” Trent exclaimed.

  “I didn’t know Hay cooked at the restaurant, I thought she was a waitress,” Kit said.

  “As far as I know, old Jeb is the only one that does the cookin’.” Trent responded.

  “But you said, again.

  “Okay, okay, if the invisible object that I am, sitting here, may join this conversation, I think I can clear this up for you, Momma.” Haylee said.

  “Not long ago, I went over to Trent’s place and made him a country-cooked meal, and he liked it, and apparently, he liked what I cooked today.”

  “Hay, hon, I had no idea the two of you were that close,” Kit said with a look of consternation.

  “Kit, I was outta town, and Haylee-Girl and I talked by phone, and she told me she wanted to make me a meal like I used to have back in the south. When I got in, she came over and cooked for me. It was great—fried buttermilk-chicken, turnips, real cornbread, and that kinda food. The truth is, it was just like home. I really ’preciated that,” Trent said with a smile.

  “I’m surprised. I didn’t know that Hay could do that type of cookin’.”

  “Well, Kit, all I can say is Haylee-Girl shor knows how to cook for a country boy.”

  “Guess, that’s what I’m curious about,” she remarked, adjusting herself in the chair.

  “Hay, just how much cookin’ you plan on doing for Trent?” She said, looking over at Haylee.

  “Momma, what kind of question’s that?”

  “I know I’m gettin’ old, but I have a good memory, and I wasn’t born yesterday. It seems ta me that you and Trent here are gettin’ a bit serious,” she said, nodding toward Trent.

  “Momma, I don’t think we should be discussing this right now,” she said with a look of displeasure.

  “Why not? This is the first time you ever had a fella over to dinner with us, and Trent seems like a good man.”

  “Ma’am, if I may butt in, it’s gittin’ late, and I better git back home,” Trent said, checking his watch. “I thank you both for havin’ me over. It’s not often I git home-cooked food—restaurants, truck stops, and such most the time,” he said, getting up from the table.

  “I’m sorry you have to go so soon,” Kit said.

  “Haylee,” he paused as his eyes met hers. “I’ll stop in for lunch ’round noon tomorra, and Kit, I’m glad I got ta meet ya. Thanks agin for
lettin’ me break bread with ya. With that, ladies, I must say goodnight,” he said and then departed.

  Haylee went to the sink with some dirty dishes and stood there listening as the sound of his motorcycle faded into the night. She was afraid her mother had overstepped the bounds of propriety.

  From 11:30 on the next morning, between taking orders and waiting on customers, Haylee kept an eye on the clock and the door of the restaurant. She was very anxious about whether or not Trent would come in. She felt sure her mother had really made Trent too uncomfortable. Time continued to move and the clock confirmed it. It was now ten minutes after 12, and no Trent. He walked in the door at 12:20, and she was partially relieved. She immediately met him at the counter.

  “I thought you said you’d be in at noon,” she blurted out.

  “Sweetheart, that’s not what I said. If ya remember, I said ’round noon, and it’s only 20 minutes after. To me, that’s ’round noon,” he said with a smile.

  “You left so abruptly last night, you had me worried.”

  “Purdy soon, I gotta git back out on the road, and I had some things I had to do.”

  “Can I take your order now, ’cause I got two more customers?”

  “Shor, Haylee-Girl, I’ll have a buffalo burger with them burro ears and a Coke.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  When Haylee returned with his food, she tried to have a conversation with him in between waiting on other customers.

  “When you plan to leave and where’re you goin’?”

  “I leave day after tomorra, and I’m makin’ my next to last Tijuana-Albuquerque run for the year.”

  “You really enjoy the truckin’ business, don’t ya? Don’t answer that yet, I have another order, I’ll be right back,” she said hustling down the counter and then turning in the ticket.

  “Okay, back now,” she said with a smile.

  “You asked me ’bout the truckin’ business and if I like it. It’s a livin’, and I don’t do work I don’t like. Pays purdy good, too. That answer your question?”

  “Yeah, I was just wonderin’ if you’d ever thought about doin’ a job that didn’t take you outta town all the time.”