He noticed her move the armrests up and down, then give a little bounce, testing the seat like a kid.
Stretching over, he moved the lever to activate the seat’s air cushion. She jumped, and her eyes widened.
“The air,” he said, quickly returning his hand to the wheel, “for the seat.” What did she think—that he was trying to cop a feel?
He returned strict attention to the road ahead. It felt odd to have her beside him. He had never had a woman in his rig, had always purposefully avoided it.
Lacey didn’t realize she was studying Cooper until he glanced over at her. Self-conscious, she jerked her head to look out the side window and folded her hands in her lap. Perfectly composed. Of course she was. And she didn’t care what Cooper thought of her.
It was cozy in the cab. The change in the seat when he’d moved that lever had surprised her. And now it was like an easy chair at home, though it rocked a bit more. She loved the lordly height of the truck the very best. They passed a Toyota, and she looked down to see the driver’s knees, which seemed an intimate observation.
The eastern horizon stretched orange, while faint stars still shone above. The sparse woods and dry land they passed showed signs of heavy frost.
“Looks like a sunny day,” Lacey commented. She loved sunny mornings.
“Radio says clouds ahead,” Cooper said.
“Oh.”
Then she spied a slowly pumping oil well draped with colorful Christmas lights. “Look! Aren’t they pretty?” she said, before she thought. She glanced at Cooper, who, with absolutely no appreciation at all, gave a grunt and kept his eyes on the road.
A man of few words, Lacey thought, feeling self-conscious and childish—and irritable because of it.
He pushed in the lighter, pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and tucked it between his lips. Oh, dear. It was his truck, after all. And for all the attention he paid her, Lacey noted, she might as well not be there.
Well, there was no reason she should receive his attention, she told herself, thinking of the hours and hours ahead of them. Jolene had said Cooper had a softer side, and Pate had said Cooper needed people at this time of year. Maybe he was just sour and distant because he was shy. She could try harder to extend a friendly hand.
“What’s a Jacob’s Brake?” she asked.
Cooper gave her a lazy glance. “What?”
“That.” She pointed to the switch. “What sort of brake is that?”
“A brake’s all,” he said. “I got a lot of wheels to stop.” He jerked his thumb back toward the trailer.
“Obviously it was something he felt that she, a mere woman, wouldn’t understand.
She took a deep breath and pushed away her irritation. “I had no idea these trucks were like this,” she said brightly. “So luxurious. It’s really a work of art.”
He grunted around his cigarette.
Lacey refused to give up. There’d been few people in all her life she couldn’t relate to, make friends with. All it took was being friendly first, and that didn’t cost much.
She continued to ask questions, and he answered—with one and two word sentences, or the now familiar grunt. He was hauling computer printers, Pate’s payload. He’d known Pate for twenty years. He lived not far from Pate in Santa Fe. Yes, he liked Santa Fe, as much as anywhere. When he showed no inclination to continue polite conversation, Lacey fell to silently staring out the window.
For some unfathomable reason, she wanted to smack him.
“Would you pour me some coffee?”
Cooper’s voice startled her. He handed her the cup from the nearby holder. “The thermos is right behind my seat,” he said.
“Oh…sure!” She was pleased that he asked her to do something. At least he spoke words she had not pried out of him.
She filled his cup with hot coffee, and automatically stirred in sugar from the packets she had seen tucked into the dash. “One sugar, right?” she said, handing the cup to him with a smile.
“Yeah...thanks,” he said, without a smile of his own, and seeming to pull back down his shield.
The only sounds in the cab for the next fifteen minutes were the engine’s low rumble and music from the radio. When there came a loud crackling static and a man’s voice calling out: “Hey, snappy maroon Kenworth,” Lacey jumped.
“Got your ears on, Kenworth?” came the call again.
Cooper’s hand reached up and got the CB radio microphone. “You got the Solitary Man.”
Lacey thought he had named himself aptly. She listened as he exchanged information with the unseen driver, who was heading west, about conditions on the interstate. Lacey heard some terms she understood, and some that baffled her. Cooper said he had not seen or heard of the ‘bear in the air’ (a police plane) that the other driver had heard of, and both men concluded it was safe for ‘pedal to the metal’ (going fast). Then Cooper said, “Five bye-bye,” and hung up the microphone.
Lacey stared at him. “Do you know him—Mr. Zoo Keeper?” That’s what the other driver had called himself.
Cooper slid his gaze to her. “Just another trucker, is all.”
She looked at the road ahead and thought how he had actually carried on a friendly conversation with a total stranger. Something he apparently didn’t want to do with her.
Five minutes later, Jon poked a bright face around the curtain. “I’m hungry, Mom.”
Cooper gave his familiar grunt, and Lacey dug into her tote bag, pulling out a snack cake and handing it to her son.
“You know the danger of cancer is about tripled for passive smokers,” Jon said, waving at Cooper’s cigarette smoke.
“Then sit in the back so you won’t suffer,” Cooper drawled.
Lacey, turning her gaze out the window, vowed to curtail her son’s television news watching.
Lord, how she hated discord in any form. This thought came with a flow of memories of her father, and then unbidden scenes from her life, causing an uncomfortable realization that she didn’t simply hate discord, but she ran from it at every turn. She did everything she could to get along, and maybe this wasn’t such a good thing. Yet—she glanced at Cooper—she could not recall ever being in such close contact with a person who plain didn’t like her. It hurt and confused her.
“Mama, I have to go to the bathroom.” Anna’s young voice squeaked as she poked a sleepy-eyed face beside Jon’s.
Cooper looked at Lacey as if he wanted to scream. Very quietly he said, “There’s a rest stop up the road about ten minutes.”
“That will be fine.” She gave a pleasant smile.
* * * *
A little past nine o’clock, after the third time the kids said they were hungry, Lacey said to him, “I’m sure Mr. Cooper is about ready to stop for breakfast.”
“Oh, yeah,” he told her.
It so happened that a truck stop he regularly frequented was another mile up the road. He pulled in and over to refuel, since he as stopping.
Lacey and her kids went on ahead to the restaurant, while he lagged behind to give his brakes a thorough inspection. They’d been performing okay, but he had a sense of unease. Having passengers was putting him on edge, he thought.
The uncomfortable thought came across his mind that he had gotten set in his ways. That he was looking close at forty. Where had his life gone? What did he have to show for any of it?
He pushed the thoughts aside and paid attention to checking out the truck. Finding nothing amiss, he headed for the building, working his shoulders and forcing relaxation, thinking that nothing in his deal with Pate said he had to do anything but give these people a ride. He didn’t have to eat with them.
He paid for his fuel, then headed for the restaurant, his appetite kindled by the aroma of strong coffee and frying sausage.
The trucker store was strategically placed in the path of the restaurant entryway. A display of the latest in compact disc players for vehicles drew Cooper’s attention He paused to look at one.
&
nbsp; “Pretty slick machine,” came a voice from beside him. “Maybe Santa will leave one in your stocking.”
Recognizing the smart tone of voice, Cooper slowly turned his head to see the kid, Jon, at his elbow. The boy had slicked his light brown hair back from his face and had his hands stuffed into his fashionably baggy denims.
“Listen, kid,” Cooper said, “You have to work for what you want in this life. There’s no free ride. I learned it by the age of five—there is no Santa Claus.”
The boy’s easy grin seemed to melt and slide right off his face. He turned his head, and Cooper followed the boy’s gaze. A sinking feeling came over him as he spotted the red coat. The little girl, Anna, stood on the other side of the boy. She looked up at Cooper, her lower lip trembling.
“Anna…Jon.” Lacey appeared from the nearby ladies’ room doorway. Her eyes moved quickly from the children to Cooper and back again. The little girl ran to clutch her mother around the leg.
Cooper looked at the mother and her little girl, who was again regarding him as if he had horns.
He said, “Better get some breakfast, ‘cause I’m leavin’ here in thirty-five minutes,” and made an immediate exit toward the dining room.
Puzzled, Lacey watched Cooper stride away. She looked down at Anna.
“Mama,” Anna said, her lower lip trembling and eyes tearing, “he said there’s no Santa Claus.”
Uh-oh. “I’m sure he didn’t mean exactly that, Anna.”
“He said it,” Anna pronounced logically.
“Aw, Anna,” Jon said, “you know some people like to say stuff like that. Cooper, he don’t know. He’s just like that Scrooge guy in the movie we saw. He can’t enjoy Christmas so he’d just as soon spoil it. Now, come on—I’m starved.”
Believing in Santa
Lacey sent her son a grateful look. She was for the moment saved, but as they ate, Anna pressed her again about Santa Claus. “How does he get all over the world in one night, Mama? Mia says that isn’t possible,” she said, quoting a school friend.
“Well, sweetheart, Santa Claus is a special man,” Lacey said, feeling she was digging her hole deeper and deeper, but she wanted Anna to have the fairytale as long as possible. “He is magic...and he doesn’t ever get tired.” Oh, dear, Anna was regarding her with her big brown eyes.
“Well, for one thing,” Jon said, “Santa don’t go…”
“Doesn’t go,” Lacey interjected automatically, her attention on Cooper, who had gone to sit at the counter. Like a child, she thought. Although what he did was no concern of hers. She just found it awkward to see him sitting across the room. Here they were traveling in the same vehicle but weren’t friendly enough to eat together.
“…doesn’t go to all the people of the world. Christmas came from Jesus’s birth, you know, and a lot of people don’t believe in Jesus...don’t even know nothin’ about Christmas.”
“They don’t?” Anna frowned, turning this piece of information over. “They don’t know about Christmas?”
“Well, I guess most ever’body knows, but they don’t celebrate it. You got your Jewish people, and your Islamic people, and the Buddhists—none of them celebrate Christmas.”
“Really, Mama?”
“Yes, honey.” Lacey was thinking: She wasn’t friendly enough with Cooper to even ask his full name. Did they have to be friends for her to ask that?
“They don’t get presents?” Anna’s voice trembled.
“Oh, they have their own celebration times with presents,” Jon said quickly. “They have people and things to celebrate, too. But they don’t have Santa, so the most he has to cover is Europe, and that’s not too big, and North and South America, and these spotty places in the rest of the world.”
“Does he only go to those children who believe in Jesus?” Anna clearly had a new concern.
“Well, yes, mostly,” Jon answered, although he did see trouble. “But like I said. It is okay, because the other children, they have special people of their own and special times to get presents. They get lots of presents, just not from Santa Claus.”
Anna looked a little worried over the matter..
“Anna, here, blow your nose.” She should tell Anna the truth. Finding out her mother lied to her would likely cause Anna to question everything Lacey said. Probably that was where everyone’s trouble started.
And this entire trip was not going to work, she thought, having a sinking moment. The situation wasn’t fair to the children, nor to Cooper. She did not think she could remain all sweetness and light for the remainder of the trip, not to mention coming back. “Finish your milk,” she said to both children.
After a minute, Anna said, “But how does Santa get to the all people in all the countries? I just don’t see...”
“The time difference,” Jon put in.
“Jon, don’t bolt your food. We have time to eat.” Lacey wasn’t about to have her son choke just to please Solitary-Man-Cooper.
“You see,” Jon continued, his voice taking on the quality it did when he was gearing up for a long-winded explanation, which he made as he continued to shovel food into his mouth, “it’s the time difference. When it is Christmas day here, it has already been Christmas day over in France, so Santa’s already been there. See, the world turns this way…” he illustrated the turning with his glass of milk, “and Santa’s going this way, which gives him three days to complete his job.”
Anna stared at him. “It’s gonna take us three days to get to our grandma’s. Will Santa miss us?”
“No,” said Jon with impatient. “Santa don...doesn’t miss anybody. He’s got electronic devices that tell him everything. And we’re goin’ by truck, but Santa has this super, high-velocity sled, and then there are stations all over, where he stops for the presents and to refuel…you know, like the space station. And Santa moves sort of like the speed of light, like those stealth airplanes, so fast that you can only see him once in a while when he slows down at a house.” Jon was getting into this very much.
“The weather man sees him on radar.”
“Yeah, radar can see him…but only sometimes.”
“But what about when he stops at houses to put the stuff under the tree and eat his cookies?” Anna’s eyebrows came together.
“Some people see him then, but he’s still pretty fast.”
Lacey saw Cooper rising from his stool. He glanced over at them.
“Come on, children.”
Jon saw Cooper leaving and hurried after him, tossing over his shoulder to Lacey, “I’ll go see if I can help him with anything.”
Digging into her purse for a tip for the waitress, Lacey started to call him back, but then shut her mouth. Her son needed an outlet for his boundless energy, which was just going to grow as the day went along.
“Mama, why is Cooper so grumpy?” Anna asked.
Lacey, buttoning her daughter’s coat, stopped and looked into her deep brown eyes. “I’m not certain, honey. A lot of times a person gets like that from sad things that have happened in their life.”
“Maybe he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus because Santa doesn’t bring him anything—because he’s too grumpy all the time.”
“Oh, sweetie, Santa brings everyone presents. Even grumpy people. He loves everyone...but maybe Cooper can’t see the presents, so he doesn’t accept them.” She took Anna’s hand.
“That’s one of those things I’ll understand when I’m older, right?” Anna said very seriously.
* * * *
They had traveled thirty minutes down the road and the children were taking a nap, when Lacey finally worked up enough courage to tell Cooper that she intended for her and the children to make the return trip by bus. She would borrow the money from Beth. She could even borrow from her father, providing her father was speaking to them. She would do something, anything, but she could not ride back with him. She even toyed with the idea of having him let them off in Oklahoma City at the bus station. But this presented the problem of findin
g the bus station, and besides, she did not have any money for tickets.
She had expected the announcement to give him relief, but he did not seem relieved.
“Pate said the trip was both ways.” He was scowling.
“I know, but Pate didn’t tell you about the children. I think us returning by bus will work out better.”
H said, “Suit yourself,” and pushed the cigarette lighter in with a hard thump.
It was nice to see that he was not happy about it.
The seconds of silence that was louder even than it had been before ticked past. Lacey began to feel like a foolish child. Now she was so embarrassed, she really would have to get them back home on the bus. She had dug her own hole.
* * * *
The miles rolled along beneath the massive Kenworth wheels, and they pushed on across the miles of open Texas panhandle. Anna had just required her second rest stop in less than two hours, and Lacey was handing each of the children a juice drink she’d purchased from a machine when Cooper grab one of the cans right out of her hand, set it on the floor and got the other, too.
“If we continue to make every rest stop between here and North Carolina, we won’t get there till Easter,” he said, definitely in a harsh tone.
“When are we goin’ to get some lunch?” Jon asked. “I’m hungry.”
“We don’t get lunch,” Cooper said. “We’ll eat dinner tonight when we stop.”
Lacey retrieved the cans from the floor. “If you’re not plannin’ to stop for lunch, these children need something to drink.”
She fixed her eyes on him and silently dared him to argue. He didn’t.
Reminded ten minutes later by Jon about a growing boy’s hunger, Lacey produced homemade cookies from her tote bag. As she passed the sweets back to the children, she considered offering some to Cooper. But he was the one who’d refused to stop for lunch, she thought smartly. Let him smell the cookies and drool. Minutes later she was shamed by her own six-year-old daughter.
“Mr. Cooper, would you like a cookie?” Anna asked in a hesitant voice, her hand extending a cookie as far toward Cooper as she dared.
Miracle on I-40 Page 5
