Promises to Keep

by Shirley Hailstock

  “We will,” Parker said.

  Both shook hands with the man and got in the car. He waited until they drove away. McKenna saw him still standing in place until the car turned the corner several blocks away. Not far from the Belvidere was the Ariston Café, also on Route 66, although the facade was reminiscent of The Alamo in San Antonio. The café had opened its doors in 1935 and was still operating.

  After the photo session, which McKenna repeated, she and Parker had lunch there before getting on the road and continuing their journey. During their meal, they didn’t mention the subject that was on McKenna’s mind. She wondered if Parker thought of it, too.

  When they were back in the Corvette, she finally brought it up.

  “Back there,” she began, not indicating where she meant on the road behind them or any of the places they had been since beginning this journey. “When the old man assumed you were my husband.”

  He glanced at her. Since McKenna was driving, she couldn’t look at him for more than a second.

  “Why didn’t you correct him?” she asked.

  For a while, Parker didn’t say anything. McKenna glanced at him twice.

  “He kept talking and he was so admiring the car, I didn’t think anything of it. Did it bother you?”

  “No,” she said. It wasn’t exactly the truth.

  “Why did you bring it up, then?”

  “Well,” she hedged. “I thought it was the polite thing to do.”

  “Then I’d have to explain to someone not of our generation that we were traveling companions, but not lovers.”

  This was not going the way she assumed it would. McKenna was sorry she’d made a point of it.

  “You don’t think he’d understand?”

  “I don’t think he’d believe it.”

  “Why not?”

  Parker didn’t reply. When coaxed, he said. “Let’s just say, you should look in the mirror once in a while.”

  McKenna was still wondering what he meant by that when the sun was going down. She knew he was married and divorced. She felt slightly uncomfortable that he hadn’t spoken up to correct the old man’s impression of them, but then, neither had she. And she had no reason that explained her own silence.

  “Are we going to drive during the night?” Parker interrupted her thoughts. “Or only while there’s daylight?”

  “During the day,” she said. “I want to see what can be seen and not have to wonder about the road.”

  “Good idea. Glad we’re on the same page with that,” Parker said.

  * * *

  PARKER MARVELED AT the feel of the car. He understood why people stopped them on the street and in parking lots to admire the beauty of this creation. What they didn’t know was what it felt like to sit behind the wheel, to drive this vehicle, to know what it meant to hug the road and corner a turn as if the car was one with the pavement. Parker felt confined with the speed limit. He wanted to open the engine up, give it its due and let it go as fast as it could.

  He thought of McKenna that night on the practice track. Her face glowed under the lamp lights as she emerged from this car. Parker had never been one for most of the things men liked in life, but he loved cars. The moment he saw it sitting on the track, he knew it was something he wanted to drive.

  The day was clear, and the road was theirs. If he and McKenna never agreed on anything, this car was definitely a point where they could come together. Checking on her, he saw she was watching the road. For both of them, Route 66 was a new experience. The top was down on the car and Parker felt the breeze.

  * * *

  THE ROAD WASN’T as bad as McKenna expected it would be, but they weren’t far from Chicago yet. She’d studied maps and checked on the internet, but there was no telling if they were current. Weather from the past winter could have washed part of the blacktop away or completely broken it into shards of gravel. There was also snowplow damage and the destructive Midwestern wind.

  The speed limit was lower than the highway speed, so if there was something in their way, they would likely see it in enough time to avoid it. At least she could. She didn’t know about Parker, but Marshall had told her he was a competent driver.

  Maybe, she thought. She had yet to experience it. He sat silently next to her tapping keys on a small computer. The computer was a concession. He was editing a book that had a deadline. She’d agreed to him bringing it along, but not to use it to look up things about the trip. Adventure came in not knowing.

  Still, she would rather talk to him than just drive. If she’d been alone, she’d play the radio, sing along to the popular songs and keep herself busy that way. With Parker, she felt as if she was being intolerant of his need to concentrate.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s something on your mind. I can hear it.”

  “Really? Then do I need to tell you what it is?”

  His laugh was more a grunt. “I’m not that psychic.”

  “I was wondering how your book was coming.”

  “You were wondering if I planned to stare at my machine all the way to the Pacific Coast Highway.”

  McKenna smiled and relaxed her shoulders. “I guess you are psychic.”

  He closed the top of the machine and turned in his seat to face her. That action caused a small flutter in her stomach. She wanted to talk to him, but now that he was giving her his full attention, she was unsure of what to say.

  “You’re just easy to read,” he said.

  “I am?”

  “When your mind is churning.”

  “I know you have a deadline for your book, so I don’t want to keep you from getting it done.”

  “But why look at a computer screen, when there is a world out there I’m missing?” He indicated the window on her side of the car.

  McKenna nodded.

  “There isn’t much out there. The trees and shrubs look pretty much the same as any along a highway, except these go by at a slower pace.

  Wasn’t that just like him? He didn’t see the beauty of slowing down. McKenna contained her sigh. She may as well be alone for all the company Parker provided. For a while she thought they were going to be all right, friendly even, but he’d crawled back into the cubbyhole he’d built for himself and it wasn’t large enough for anyone other than him. Not that the right woman wouldn’t mind the tight squeeze.

  McKenna stifled a laugh. She never thought of Parker being affectionate with a woman. He’d been divorced for years and never dated since, as far as she could remember. McKenna supposed he was set in his ways, like old people get. Lydia had said he wasn’t old, but so far she saw no indication of that.

  * * *

  THEY HAD BARELY crossed the Illinois border into Missouri when the sun started to set. It would be dark in an hour. McKenna knew they could be farther along if she hadn’t stopped to take so many pictures, but she felt no guilt over the delay. This was how she envisioned the trip, taking her time, recording what she wanted, going down paths that looked interesting.

  Parker hadn’t complained since asking if they were going to drive during the night. He’d gone back to his computer screen, only offering an occasion comment on the landscape. McKenna felt he was letting her know he could both write and watch what was happening at the same time.

  When McKenna turned into the town of Carthage, he snapped the lid of his laptop closed and looked up. McKenna could almost see the coils in his mind assessing where they were and all aspects of the area around them. She stopped the car at a gas station and looked across at Parker.

  “Carthage,” she said, unnecessarily.

  “Missouri?” Parker asked.

  McKenna confirmed.

  “If we stop now, we could get something to eat and find a place to sta
y for the night?” Parker suggested. “There’ll be enough light for us to walk around the town and see some of it.”

  “Good idea,” McKenna said.

  They both got out of the car and Parker had the pump in his hands when two guys approached them.

  “Man, what I would give for one of these,” one of them said, obviously in awe. He was wearing a nondescript colored uniform that looked as if it was a combination of dark green and jet-black oil. Over the pocket the name Nick had been stitched into the fabric.

  Parker turned to her and raised his eyebrows as if they had a secret. McKenna nodded with a smile. Parker returned it and for a long moment she held it.

  “Where did you find such a treasure?” the man without Nick on his uniform asked. McKenna’s attention was pulled away from her traveling companion.

  She watched the two men admiring the car. The second man was wearing the same color uniform as the first, only the name on his pocket said Willie. Willie moved around the car, perusing it as if it were a spaceship that might take off at any second, yet the fascination was too much to ignore.

  “I didn’t find it,” Parker said. “The lady built it.” He turned to include McKenna as she came level with them.

  “Is that the honest truth?” Both of them stared at her, clearly assessing whether to believe Parker or not. Then their eyes went back to the Corvette.

  “She’s quite ingenious,” Parker said, still gesturing at McKenna. His gaze made her warm and she scanned the ground until Parker pulled the gas hose out of the car and replaced the cap.

  “What kind of engine does it have?” Nick asked.

  McKenna wasn’t sure if this was a test or not, but she decided to let them know she knew her stuff. Since both men had come through the door of the station and not one of the open bays, and they were both dressed alike, she was unsure if one or both were mechanics.

  “It’s a 283-cubic-inch engine. It has the power of 230 horses. The original Wonderbar AM/FM radio is installed along with a cassette player. The car is a soft top with the original Roman Red paint and white coves, T-10 transmission, 3.55 rear, stainless exhaust, sun visors, windshield washers, courtesy light, heater, seat belts, hubcaps and wide white radials. And she drives like a dream.”

  “Da-mn,” Nick said, stretching the word into two syllables. His voice was full of awe. McKenna knew he was imagining himself behind the wheel, speeding through the countryside, his foot to the floor as the mighty engine released its power on the straightaway. She recognized those feelings. They’d coursed through her own veins the first time she took it out and couldn’t resist not having it tap its full potential.

  “Is there a place around here we can get something to eat, maybe find a motel to stay the night?” Parker asked.

  They got directions, paid for the gas and set out, leaving two awestruck attendants in their wake.

  “We can probably expect this kind of reception anytime we park this car,” Parker said. He was relaxed, his arm across the back of her seat. It wasn’t touching her, but it might as well have been. McKenna could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. And the heat from his fingers tinged the air between them and caressed her neck. With her hair secured in a ponytail, she could feel the redness spread around her nape.

  “I know,” she replied. “It’s one of the reasons I chose to build it.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “A trip of this length means you need to meet people. The car is a way of doing that.”

  “You have everything planned out, down to the last detail. Are you sure you want to be Buz? You’re acting more like Tod.”

  “That was before we left. Now that all the planning is done, the execution is whatever comes.”

  She pulled into a parking space on the main street in front of a café with gingham curtains covering the lower part of the window. Before they were out of the car, people had begun to peer between the curtains at them. Parker exited the car and came around to open her door. McKenna was surprised. He offered his hand and helped her up from the low riding vehicle. Once she was standing, he dropped his hand.

  Inside, McKenna chose a table near the windows. Every eye in the place followed their movement.

  “That’s a great car,” a man of about thirty at the next table said before the waitress came over. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of those.”

  “’59 Corvette.” McKenna answered his unasked question.

  “’59, huh?” Another man left his table and the woman with him to come over and stare out through the window. McKenna estimated his age at around sixty. He wore a short haircut and jeans and shirt that seemed as if they’d seen many days of hard work. “What a beauty. And she looks like she just came off the assembly line.”

  A small gathering of people had left the restaurant to get a better look at the car.

  “Almost,” McKenna stated, not explaining anything further.

  “Is she yours?” He swung his gaze between the two of them.

  McKenna nodded.

  “Wanna sell her?”

  McKenna’s eyes opened wide. It was the last question she’d expected. The idea of selling the car had never entered her mind. It had a purpose and while she’d put it together it had become part of her personality. Selling it wasn’t an option.

  “It’s not for sale,” she said.

  “Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and thrust it toward Parker.

  “It’s the lady’s car,” Parker said. “She’s done everything for it except date it.”

  McKenna gave him a startled look.

  “How’d you happen to come by a car like this?” the thirtysomething asked.

  “Always wanted a Corvette. I have a couple of brothers who were interested in cars,” she answered.

  “One of them restore this for you?”

  “Afraid not,” McKenna told him. “Restored it myself.”

  “You’re a woman after my own heart,” the sixty-year-old said. The woman he’d left behind at his table made a rude noise.

  “I love you, honey,” he tossed over his shoulder. “But this is a car.” He looked at McKenna with a quiet appreciation in his eyes. “When I was a boy, a guy down the street from me had one of these. We always knew when he was coming or going.” He shook his head, as if remembering a better time in his life. “Man, did the girls go for him.”

  “If you’ll all move away, I’ll take their order,” the waitress said.

  McKenna and Parker acknowledged the woman, dressed in a skirt and a tight T-shirt, and gave their order. While the café patrons moved back to their tables, the discussion remained on the car, with everyone participating as if they were all from the same family, discussing an amusing incident that had just occurred.

  “What’s your name?” a woman asked.

  “McKenna Wellington,” she said. “This is Parker Fordum.”

  “Y’all married?”

  “No,” Parker replied. “We’re driving buddies. This is Buz and I’m Tod.”

  “Yeah?” an old woman spoke from a dark corner. She got up and walked over to them. Pointing a finger, she punctuated the air in a staccato cadence as if she were tapping out a message. “Buz and Tod. And that car. Don’t sound real to me. I remember that television program. What was it?” Her question was directed inward. She was trying to remember.

  “Route 66,” Parker answered.

  “Are you one of them?” the sixty-year old asked.

  “One of them?” McKenna frowned.

  “Every year people come through here, driving Route 66. Some even claim they’re going to make it all to way to Santa Monica.”

  “That’s our goal,” McKenna confirmed.

  “Good luck,” he snorted.


  “What does that mean?” McKenna’s back went up.

  The man’s companion, at least his age joined them. He ignored her and glanced through the window again. “It’s a nice-looking car, but impractical for a trip like that. You’ll tear it up trying to stay on that road.” He scratched his head. “Now, if you sell it to me, I’ll do right by it.”

  He gave McKenna and Parker the once-over. Both were frowning.

  “The road is rough. The car is low to the ground. It doesn’t have front-wheel drive, much less the four-wheel drive you’ll need in many of the places where the road just fades into a field or the blacktop has totally disappeared. If it rains and the ground is muddy, you could be stuck in a place with no traffic or help.”

  “You paint a rather sullen picture,” Parker pointed out. “Have you driven the route?”

  “Took my daughter five years ago. We got as far as Oklahoma before giving up and getting on the highway.”

  “We intend to make it all the way, low carriage or not,” Parker said.

  McKenna felt a bubble of pride well up inside her. Parker hadn’t joined the ranks of the disbelievers, but supported her and her quest. She glanced at him, mentally thanking him for watching her back.

  She guessed he was thawing. He didn’t appear as stiff as he had when they’d started this trip. And they’d only been gone a day. Maybe by the end of the trip, she’d understand why Marshall was his friend and why Lydia insisted he was different from the person McKenna thought he was. Thinking of Marshall brought to mind other memories of him and Parker. Maybe there was something else she could find out.

  The waitress brought their food, interrupting McKenna’s speculation. Her stomach growled, letting her know how hungry she was. She’d ordered a chef’s salad and bottled water. One of her goals was to eat healthy and get exercise along the way, so she wouldn’t be tired and resort to terminating the trip. She and Parker were alternating driving every two hours.

  She remembered when he first got behind the wheel earlier today. They’d stopped at a gas station. Returning from the ladies’ room, she saw Parker eyeing the car as if it was candy. It was like sex at sixteen. All the boyhood fantasies came to life in the way he scanned the red interior. Like the two guys at the service station, he circled the car as if it were a living, breathing thing. It seemed to epitomize what he viewed as the ultimate beauty. Something so striking and so unattainable that he’d never thought he’d see it in his lifetime. Yet here it was, waiting for him to slide behind the wheel and turn the key. She’d told him to drive it alone for a few miles, then come back and get her.