Promises to Keep

by Shirley Hailstock

  McKenna wore a long-sleeved blouse, so no one could spot the angry marks on her arms. “I stopped at the drugstore and bought some hydrocortisone. It’s made the swelling go down some and the itch isn’t as bad.”

  Parker drained the last of his coffee. Her cup was empty.

  “We’d better go and find a room for the night. We don’t want to spend it in another field.”

  He slid sideways on the bench seat, preparing to get up. McKenna knew she had to talk to him. And it had to be now.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  OUT IN THE SUNSHINE, Parker said, “I asked about a bed-and-breakfast or a motel in town. I got the names of several that are relatively close by.”

  He stopped and reached into his pocket. McKenna watched as he pulled out a piece of paper that contained the information.

  “If my directions are correct, the first one is about three streets down.”

  They walked the short distance, checking for street names and addresses until the found the bed-and-breakfast. It was a huge Victorian house with a wide wraparound porch and big windows.

  McKenna stopped Parker next to a short chain link fence. “Parker, do you mind if I bring up a touchy subject?”

  She watched his shoulders stiffen. He stood up straighter as if bracing himself for some kind of blow.

  “What is it?”

  “You can say no and I’ll abide by your decision.”

  “This is very intriguing, but what is it?” His tone was a little harder than she thought it should be.

  “You know when we were working at Sherry’s and we decided that we had enough money to get separate rooms?”

  “Yes,” he replied, elongating the word.

  “I’ve been thinking and doing some financial calculations in my head.” She swallowed. This was more difficult than she thought it would be. She’d never asked a man to share with her before.

  “I thought economics was my job.” She could tell by his grin that he was attempting to lighten the mood.

  “It is sort of economics. The economics of this trip and its future. There are a few things we want to do as we travel this road. Some of them a bit expensive.”

  Again he nodded, but remained silent.

  “If we are to accomplish them, we’ll need to be frugal in our spending.”

  “We’ve been doing that from the beginning.”

  “We have, but it’s not going to work if we continue to spend money on separate rooms.”

  A breath seemed to whoosh out of him.

  “You can say no.” McKenna rushed the words, thinking he might consider it going backward. He was protective of her, but he might also want his privacy. “It’s all right. We can get jobs and make a little more money. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “McKenna.” He tried to break into her tirade, but she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “It was a bad idea. You do probably want your privacy, and I keep you from being free to do what you want.”

  “McKenna!”

  She stopped talking and looked at him, her eyes wide in surprise at the strength of his voice.

  “I haven’t said no.”

  “Is that a yes?” she almost whispered.

  “We should discuss this, understand what we’re doing and what we’re asking of each other.”

  “I’m only asking that we manage the money we have or can earn wisely until the trip is over.”

  Parker was frowning as she spoke. “We’ve already passed a point in our relationship and we can’t undo it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Would you like me to show you?” he asked.

  She stepped back as if he might take her in his arms and kiss her the way he had before. She felt the heat flashing through her body.

  “I see you do.”

  “We already talked about that kiss,” McKenna told him. “I am aware there’s an attraction between us. But it won’t work and we both know it. I’m only bringing up the subject because we’ve had a couple of snags so far and I really want this trip to work.” She waited a moment for him to challenge her on snags. When he nodded in agreement, she went on. “Financially, I don’t think we have a choice.”

  “I understand,” he said. “If we don’t take measures to change things, we’ll be on this road until winter.”

  McKenna didn’t appreciate the manner in which he said that, but she thought she might have heard a yes buried in that comment.

  “Okay, so for the record, when we go inside, do we want two rooms, or one room with two beds? Whatever you feel comfortable with is what we’ll do.” She was going to let him make the decision.

  “I’m sure proximity to you won’t kill me.” He took her arm and she winced. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your pain.” He let her go. “Did I hurt you?”

  McKenna shook her head. At that moment she would try to speak. Had he hurt her? Somehow the answer to that question was yes.

  * * *

  AS PARKER HEADED off to work at the warehouse the next morning, McKenna went to the garage. Her car was no longer sitting where she’d left it. Her heart lurched and she began to run. She reached the first two bays, but the doors were down and she couldn’t see inside. Winded, she rushed inside.

  “Zeke,” she called, panic in her voice. She and Parker had been robbed before. She had thoughts that someone had taken the car.

  “Over here,” he called back.

  McKenna faced the sound and saw Zeke at the back of the garage with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Where’s my car?”

  “Where do you think it is? I told you that you could use the last bay.”

  She looked toward it. The truck that was in bay two still sat there. She walked behind it and saw the lift in bay three had been raised.

  “I thought you’d want to check the undercarriage.” Zeke spoke from beside her. “I looked at it. I don’t see anything. If you only drove across the grass at the old Milhouse place, then I don’t think you could do much damage if you didn’t hit a rock or a tree.”

  McKenna confirmed that neither of those mishaps had occurred.

  “Go on and check it out.” He gestured with his coffee.

  With a smile that lifted her spirits, McKenna went to the car. There was nothing pouring out of it: no oil, antifreeze, brake fluid or transmission fluid. No danger hung from the downpipe and nothing was loose. Zeke had raised the car for his height which was only a few inches taller than her five-foot-five-inch frame. Her skin was tight over the disappearing welts. Stretching could be uncomfortable.

  Lowering the car to a point where she could see and reach it, she inspected it for cracks, holes, breaks and leaks. Running her hand over the pipes, she checked for anything she couldn’t see but might be able to feel. Other than pulling away errant grass, all was intact.

  “Thank the universe,” she said out loud. She could use some good news. Last night she and Parker were back in the same room, but unlike their sharing after the robbery, there was a strain between them. Both knew they had no choice and she had to say he was taking it well. Maybe better than she was. Several times during the night, she wanted to get up and apologize to him. Thoughts of heading back to Chicago or using their credit cards came to her.

  What was she really doing this trip for? What did she have to prove and who was she proving it to? It wasn’t for Marshall. She already knew that. Even if it was, he was gone and there was no way she could let him know that she was fulfilling one of his dreams. This was her dream, but she didn’t have to do it this way. Parker had logical reasons for them traveling using the conveniences of today, not just what existed in the 1960s.

  She liked traveling Route 66. She was glad she’d chosen it. Sure, it was a slower ride, but it gave her more tim
e with...she stopped. She was about to say more time with Parker.

  Why did that matter?

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. They were traveling as fast as the quality of the road allowed. Visiting some of the sights along the route and meeting people were high on her to-do list, and she wanted to do more than say hello and goodbye. So far circumstances had allowed them to do that without trying.

  Finding the control to lower the car, McKenna saw a red tool chest. The multilevel drawers were open at various stages. Inside there looked to be a full set of tools. Lying next to the tool chest was a clean set of blue coveralls. They had Zeke stitched over the pocket in white thread. McKenna whipped around and looked for Zeke.

  He was just returning to the garage. She heard the click of a bell indicating someone was leaving the gas pumps.

  “Zeke,” she shouted to him, holding the coveralls.

  He spotted her and started toward her. “Try them on. They won’t fit, but they’ll save your clothes.”

  McKenna slipped easily into the jumpsuit and slipped the sleeves along her arms and over her shoulders to protect what she was wearing.

  “You are a sweetheart,” she said.

  “Don’t tell anybody. I got a rep to maintain.”

  McKenna laughed. Zeke’s craggy, sunburned face broke into a grin.

  “I did some checking last night on a water pump for this type of car. Can’t find one. I even tried online. You can usually find anything there.”

  “How about a junkyard? Are there any around here?”

  “Not close by. Must be a hundred miles to the nearest car yard. Where’d you get this one from?” He pointed to the car.

  “I have some sources. Is it all right if I use your phone? It’s an 800 number, so there won’t be a charge.”

  “It’s in the office.” He led her to a room made of half windows and half wood—at least it was once wood. Now it was more oil-stained wallboard. Inside his office, she found a phone that must have been original to the day the building opened for business. It was black, weighed at least fifteen pounds and had a dial she had to put her fingers in and turn. There was a dial tone and when a voice answered on the other end, the sound was as clear as if she was speaking to someone next door.

  Within ten minutes she’d ordered the part. Looking at an invoice on the desk for a shipment of gaskets, she saw the address of the garage and gave it to the clerk she’d dealt with on much of the Corvette’s restoration. Then, breaking protocol, she had the cost of it put on the M and M Wellington Parts and Tools account. She had to consider this an emergency. If they didn’t get the pump fixed, they couldn’t leave Oklahoma. She’d reimburse her business account as soon as she could.

  As she left the office, a car pulled up to the full service gas pumps. She glanced around for Zeke or an attendant, but didn’t see anyone. McKenna knew how to work the pumps. She provided the gas, accepted a credit card payment and gave a receipt to the driver. Everything else was taken care of by the internal mechanism of the gas pump.

  By the time Zeke came within view again, she’d seen to three cars in need of gas, and stood back for a truck that was pulling in. The truck stopped at the self-service pump and got out.

  “Paul,” she called as she recognized him.

  “Well, hello again.”

  She reached out and shook hands with him.

  “How did you make out?” he asked.

  “We’ll be here for a while. Car needs a water pump. I had to order it, so it’s a waiting game until then.”

  Zeke joined them. The two men acknowledged each other.

  “Are you working here?” Paul asked staring at her clothes.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Paul, I suppose you don’t know who this is,” Zeke asked.

  Paul looked at McKenna closely without recognition. “Other than she was a stranded motorist, no.” The pump clicked. Paul moved to it and pulled the nozzle free. He reseated it in its cradle and waited for his receipt. “So, who are you?”

  Zeke answered, “This is McKenna Wellington.”

  The name didn’t register for Paul.

  “She’s the owner of M and M Wellington Parts and Tools.”

  “Really.” Paul’s brows rose. “I’ve used a few of those in my time. I never knew it was owned by a woman.”

  “My husband and I owned it. He died a few years ago.”

  Again Paul frowned. “Parker,” he said, seemingly searching for the name. “I thought you two were married.”

  She shook her head. “We’re traveling together, taking Route 66 all the way to the coast. He’s working at the factory.”

  “That was fast,” he said.

  “They needed help. Apparently, he was in the right place at the right time.”

  He nodded as if he understood something, when McKenna knew he had no idea about their relationship. The truth was, neither did she.

  * * *

  MCKENNA WAS at her wits’ end. So far Paul and Zeke were the only people she knew here other than Parker. She didn’t know what to do to fill all the hours. The part wouldn’t arrive for at least three days, maybe a week.

  In the meantime, she’d pumped gas and talked to several people who were surprised to find her employed by Zeke. She wasn’t working for him, technically. She was helping out. But maybe she should look for a real job.

  Zeke went to get some lunch and she was alone in the gas station. Business was slow. Walking into the bay where Zeke had his Studebaker, she wandered over to the car. Like her, he was restoring the 1939 vintage automobile to its former glory. He didn’t have an engine in it, so he still had a long way to go.

  “Hello,” someone called.

  McKenna turned around. “Here,” she said. “Need some gas?” She started walking toward a man in a suit. McKenna didn’t often classify people, but this man fit a type.

  He was clean cut. His hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Not a smudge nor a wrinkle. He was someone who likely went to a men’s salon rather than a barber. He probably drove a BMW or a Maserati. Although she wouldn’t be surprised to find a Silver Cloud parked outside the bay door and him asking where the local classic car dealer could be found.

  “I need some service, not gas. Is there a mechanic here? My car is making a funny sound.”

  “He’s not here at the moment. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see if I can help you.”

  “You’re Zeke?” he questioned.

  McKenna had a flashback to asking the same question and smiled. “No, but I can help you out,” she said. “Now, what’s the funny noise?”

  “It’s coming from the front. I can’t tell if it’s on the right or the left. It’s a crunching er-er-er sound.”

  “When does it happen?”

  “When I’m driving over forty miles an hour. It doesn’t happen under that.”

  “What about turning?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t happen then, either.”

  She walked outside. He fell into step with her. Sitting next to the open bay was a Jaguar. It was a work of art.

  “This is a very expensive car,” he began, confirming McKenna’s assessment of him.

  “I know,” she said. “It’s a Jaguar F-Type silver coupé, 2014, I’d guess.”

  “You know cars?” He looked at the antiquated garage.

  “A few things,” she said, noncommittal on purpose. “From your description, it sounds like you need your wheel bearings repacked.”

  “You haven’t even looked at the car.”

  “I’m sure that’s your problem. You can still drive it, but it’ll wear your tires and reduce your gas mileage.”

  “Do you know where there’s a Jag dealer or a classic car repair shop?”

  “Not a clue,” she said.
“But I’m sure you have a device that will search and find the nearest one. Oklahoma City is 120 miles southwest of here. There’s a very good one there.”

  “Will the car make it?”

  “I can’t say without taking the tire off and looking at the bearing. The noise will continue if you drive it. You could make it, or you could have a tire blow. It depends on how bad the bearing is.”

  His expression showed the dilemma was weighing on him. “I’ve never had anyone work on my car except a certified Jag tech.”

  “There is another option.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Towing.”

  His face scrunched into a mask. “Tow it 120 miles.”

  McKenna understood. It wasn’t the distance or the cost. It was him sitting in a tow truck for more than two hours in his thousand-dollar suit.

  “I take it you don’t have the parts here.”

  “I doubt it. The bearing can be repacked, then you can take it to Oklahoma City and have it redone or replaced.”

  He didn’t seem to like that option, either.

  “You sure there isn’t anyone else here?”

  “By anyone, you mean any man here?”

  “Frankly, yes.”

  “I’m sure. I can spot a man from a mile away.” At that point, she saw Zeke crossing the street. “Look, here comes one now.”

  The man followed her gaze. Zeke carried a brown paper bag and had a cup holder with two cups of what looked like soft drinks balanced in his right hand.

  “Zeke, this guy is looking for a man who knows cars.”

  Zeke looked at the Jag and then at the well-suited man. “How can I help you?”

  “The lady says I need bearings.”

  “Wheel noise at high speeds, doesn’t happen on turns or when you’re going slow.”

  The guy nodded, smiling for the first time.

  “She’s right. It’s probably the bearings. Need to look in the wheel to find out for sure.” He turned to McKenna. “Here’s your lunch.”

  She took the bag and the drinks and headed for the office. Before she got to the door, she heard Zeke tell the guy. “Want me to take a look at it?”

  “Have you ever worked on a Jag?”