Pink Neon

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “No, you can’t,” he said. “I’ll order some for you.”

  As they waited for their food, Daniel made a phone call. He spoke in such rapid Spanish Cecily had no chance to follow it even if she’d known the language. She fiddled with her straw and sipped diet soda while he talked, self-conscious although he didn’t appear to be at all. When he finished, he extended his hands across the table and took her hands in his.

  “I called my mama,” he told her.

  “I figured maybe you did.”

  “I told it would be tomorrow before we show up, that we’ll stop at Amarillo or somewhere tonight.”

  “Does she mind you’re bringing me?” The question had niggled ever since he told her his plan. Maybe Daniel’s mother wasn’t pleased about her guest.

  “Mind?” he asked with a grin and one arched eyebrow. “Hell, no, she doesn’t mind. She’s planning to cook and the one thing my mama does best is cook.”

  “Is it for me or is she killing the fatted calf for you?”

  Daniel’s grin broadened. “Both, I think.”

  While they ate their burgers, Cecily noticed the bright sunlight outside diminished as dark clouds moved in from the western horizon. By the time they finished, the skies threatened rain and distant thunder rumbled. When they emerged from the restaurant, the close, thick heat swamped her. It’d been hot earlier but this humidity portended bad weather.

  “Is it going to storm?” she asked him, a silly question because more thunder growled and she saw the first jagged lightning bolt cut through the gray clouds.

  He glanced upward and nodded. “Yeah, a thunderstorm’s moving in fast. Maybe it won’t last long and we’ll run past it.”

  Cecily sighed. She hated storms and hated to admit they scared her. “Sugar, maybe I should’ve said something sooner but storms make me nervous,” she told him. “Maybe we could just wait awhile here.”

  “Querida, there’s no need,” Daniel said. “I’ve driven in all weather, it’s not a problem.”

  It is for me. “Maybe we could get a motel here for the night,” she suggested. After all, she’d noticed quite a few motels. “Give us a chance to rest and all.”

  “Climb in,” he told her as he opened the passenger door for her. “We need to get going. Don’t worry, Cecily.”

  But of course she did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Back on the highway, driving through sheets of heavy rain so thick visibility remained limited, Daniel realized three things. They wouldn’t end up in Amarillo but in Lubbock. Distracted by Cecily’s problems and her presence, he’d confused two routes. He also could see they wouldn’t drive out of the storm anytime soon. Instead, he figured they headed into an advancing storm front. And, he saw much the weather scared her.

  Cecily’s body language shrieked ‘tension’. She huddled in the seat, arms wrapped around her torso, separate from him and away from the door. With her head down, he failed to realize how frightened she must be until he asked her, “Querida, are you all right?”

  Her luscious lips, normally vibrant pink, appeared white as she shook her head. “No, not really – I just get so nervous when it storms. I can deal if I’m indoors but not out here, not like this.”

  In all fairness, she’d told him so but he hadn’t expected anything so extreme. “I’m sorry, Cecily.”

  Softer than he’d ever heard it, she said, “Can’t we stop till it quits?”

  He stared through the steamed-up windshield at the showers. “I can barely see the road,” he told her. “I can’t see to pull over safely. I have to keep going but it’ll be fine. I’m a good driver.”

  “I know you are.” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  “It’s only an hour to Wichita Falls,” he told her. “Maybe the rain will let up by then.”

  Her eyes met his, wild and huge. “How far is it to Amarillo? You said we could stop there.”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “Huh?”

  Damn, he hated to admit he’d been so wrong. “Amarillo’s on I-40 but I didn’t think about it and headed down this way instead. Don’t worry, we’ll still stop but at Lubbock.”

  “How much farther is it?”

  He had to think about it and hope his calculations were close. “Just three and a half hours from Wichita Falls.”

  Cecily sighed, long and loud. A clap of thunder overhead rattled the truck and she stiffened. He wished he could stop the weather or that they possessed the luxury to hole up somewhere until the storms moved away but neither was a possibility. If she’d just calm down, it would be fine. His original irritation at her anxiety faded as his concern increased. Daniel wondered if she might be sick but when he asked, she shook her head. “I’m not,” Cecily told him. “I’m just a nervous mess.”

  She’s dealing with a lot, too much probably. His questions must’ve brought back unpleasant memories. They were on the run, she might be charged with a murder she didn’t commit, and in a short span she’d been divorced, moved, and began a new relationship. When Daniel considered all the factors, he decided it was a miracle she wasn’t ripping her hair out in handfuls or staring catatonic at a wall somewhere. She’s handled all this shit better than I would. And I’d give a lot to help her deal.

  Aloud, he asked, “Querida, what can I do?”

  After a moment, Cecily lifted her head and offered him a small smile. Her posture didn’t relax and he’d swear she looked as if she would burst into tears any second. “Talk to me,” she said. “It’ll keep my mind off the thunder and rain. Tell me about you.”

  Pleased he managed to evoke a response, Daniel said, “What’s there to tell? I’ve already shared what I do and where I live.”

  “There’s so much I don’t know,” Cecily replied. “We’re going to your mother’s house. It’d be nice to find out about your family. All I know is your mom lives in El Paso but you were brought up in Fort Worth and your dad died when you were a kid. I don’t even know if you have brothers or sisters.”

  Where in the hell did he start, he wondered. With a sigh he searched for something to say and plunged in with the first thing to surface. “I’m the oldest of five kids,” he said. “I have two sisters, two brothers. Sara, Anna, Tomas, and Michael. Mama moved to El Paso after we were all grown and gone to be closer to her sister, my aunt Rosa and to my grandmother, my dad’s mom in Mexico.”

  “Five?” Cecily said with more interest than she’d shown since the storm began. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Daniel said. “My sisters are both married. Sara and her family live in Los Angeles now. Anna and her kids are in Shreveport. Tomas is in serving in the military, career Army and right now he’s stationed in Germany. Michael, the youngest, graduated in June with his Masters degree. He’s going to teach at the University of Texas at Austin. I’ve got five nephews and three nieces so far. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  She shook her head with enough force to make her cornrows swing. “I’m a one and only, all that my mama ever produced. Nia’s the closest thing I ever had to a sister. Tell me some more.”

  God, where did he start, he wondered. Did he share his earliest memories or tell her about when each of his siblings was born? Should he tell her about his first day of school or how he played football for his high school? Would Cecily care how hard his dad’s death impacted the family or that his mama went to work in a hospital laundry so they could eat? Rain drummed with renewed force on the truck’s top as memories flooded his mind. Daniel dropped his speed another ten miles per hour because he couldn’t see more than two feet ahead. “On rainy days,” he said. “Mama used to make popcorn for us all. She did it as long as I can remember. We didn’t have a hot air popper so she made it on the stove with a skillet and lid. If anyone else tried to make it, they usually burned it but mama never did. She used real melted butter with a dash of salt until it tasted perfect, better than what they sell at the movies, better than any of the microwave crap. One day she’d pop
ped up a huge batch for us and we were watching some cartoons on our old television. I was twelve and Michael was almost two. We were laughing at the Road Runner, I remember, when the phone rang. None of the little kids paid any attention but I got a bad feeling in my belly. I turned around and watched my mama. When I saw a tear run down her face, saw her hands shaking, I knew it must be something terrible and it was.”

  Remembering gave him the same heavy sensation in his stomach. Cecily stared at him, eyes wide and lips open. “It was the day your daddy got hurt at the stockyards,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She’d remembered what he told her the night they stargazed.

  “Si,” Daniel said. “It was. After that, everything changed. Uncle Juan came to drive Mama to the hospital and she told me to watch the kids. A week later, my dad died from his injuries. I saw him one time, before, and I knew he wouldn’t make it. After that, Mama went to work, I took care of the kids a lot, and we ate a lot of frijoles. None of us laughed so hard for a long time and I didn’t eat popcorn again for years.”

  Cecily slid across the seat beside him. Her hand rested on his leg. “I’m sorry, Daniel,” she said.

  “De nada,” he replied. “It was a long time ago now and things got better after awhile. But my mama and I bonded back then. The little kids – I shouldn’t call them that, they’re all grown up – looked up at me almost like a daddy, especially Michael. I did the best I could.”

  “Sugar, I know you did,” she told him. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. Tell me something happy you remember now.”

  Daniel noticed she’d relaxed and her face, as she turned toward him, lost the tense expression. To calm her fears, to keep the look on her face caring and without fear, he’d cut out his heart and slice it for her. “Sure,” he replied. “We had plenty of good times. On my sixth birthday, my parents had a party for me with all the family, aunts, uncles, dozens of cousins, grandparents, friends from school, and neighbors. Someone brought in a little pony for me to ride and my mom has a picture of me on it. If you ask her, she’ll show it to you. We had cake and ice cream and the biggest piñata ever. I busted it on the third swing, too.”

  Cecily laughed. “I want to see that picture.”

  “You will, querida,” he promised. “If my mother has her way you’ll see more than just one. Be careful or she’ll show you all the picture albums.”

  His lady leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’d like to see them, Daniel.”

  “Then you will,” he said.

  Within a few minutes they rolled through Wichita Falls and although the rain diminished a little, it still came down too thick and fast for him to point out anything but the Red River when they crossed over it. He would’ve liked her to see the Native American statues near the river but it could keep until another time. Three and a half hours, probably four with the weather until they stopped for the night and his weary body told him he’d be more than ready to stop. Conversation kept Cecily calmer and as they traveled west on Highway 82 toward Lubbock, the rain stopped. Daniel shared more childhood moments and moved on to his college years at San Marcos. Cecily chimed in with a few memories of her own and he enjoyed listening to her tell about old times.

  Once the sun emerged from a bank of clouds with a burst of early evening glory, she gasped at the beauty of the wide open plains. “It’s lovely,” she exclaimed.

  Amused, although he agreed with her opinion, Daniel laughed. “This is part of the Llano Estacado,” he told her. “A lot of people find it desolate and there’s not much out here except for farms and ranches. Some people describe it out here as eighty-five percent sky, fifteen percent grass.”

  Her hand trailed up to touch his fingers on the steering wheel. “But you like it, too, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said. Daniel didn’t know how to begin to describe his deep feelings for this land or the sense of kinship it evoked. His maternal great-grandmother, a tough woman who didn’t quite top five feet in height, had been born out here somewhere during the Comanche’s last period of freedom. “I’m connected to this land.”

  “Tell me.”

  So he did. “I’m part Comanche,” he said. “My mom’s grandmother was Comanche and the Llano Estacado was part of the Comancheria. I’m descended from several different peoples but there are times I feel connected to one over another. Most of the time, I’m just a Texan with some Mexican roots but out here, I identify with the Comanche warriors.”

  “Did you know her, your great-grandmother?”

  “I met her once,” he said. “I wasn’t very old but I remember it. She was ancient, her skin so brown and wrinkled she didn’t even look alive until I saw her eyes. They were as alive, vital and bright as anyone’s and we connected, somehow. I can’t explain it.”

  “You’re lucky,” Cecily said, her voice matter of fact. “You’ve got a family history and you know it.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I don’t,” she answered. “Oh, I know my mama and her parents and a little about them. My great-grandparents left Georgia and sharecropping to come to Chicago for work. That’s about all I know about them. I don’t even know my father’s name, let alone where he came from or who he was. If my mama knew, she didn’t say and I never asked.”

  Daniel said nothing, unsure what to say. Family meant everything in his world and although he might not see his mother or siblings often, he knew their ties were unbreakable. Before he could summon up some words, she asked, “Can I call Nia when we get to Lubbock? I’d like to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Your throwaway phone shouldn’t be easy to trace if it can be at all. I don’t mind if you keep in touch, Cecily. I want you to have peace of mind.”

  “Good,” she said. “I will, then. For now, let’s enjoy this beautiful country.”

  The hours passed faster than he could’ve imagined as they shared the wild, untamed wonder of the region. Most of the way, the highway remained two-lane and time seemed to have come to a standstill sometime in the late 1950’s. They met little traffic until they came closer to Lubbock and by then, the sun streamed through the western sky. The city came into view far ahead in the distance and the closer they came, the heavier the traffic. Daniel skirted around the worst concentrations and kept an eye out for a suitable motel. He wanted something upscale enough to offer a few amenities including a comfortable king size bed and an onsite restaurant with decent food.

  Although he wasn’t as familiar with Lubbock as he might’ve liked, he found a Holiday Inn located on the 289 loop, situated near the Pyramid Plaza. Daniel pulled in and they went into the lobby together. After hours on the road, his right leg ached deep in the tissue from an old injury, a gunshot wound and he favored it enough to create a slight limp. He didn’t think about it until he saw the puzzled frown Cecily wore. She said nothing, though, as he booked a room for a single night. He paid with cash which created a stir and required an additional deposit but he didn’t want to leave a trail the FBI could pick up.

  “Go on up to the room,” he told her as he handed her the card key. “I’ll go bring up our gear.”

  “All right,” Cecily said. He watched her gaze shift to his leg.

  Ten minutes later, after moving the truck to a guest parking slot, he knocked on the door. Behind him, the luggage trolley carried their few bags. She opened it and moved back to let him enter the large room. A king size bed rested against one wall but Daniel noted a sofa, a work desk, a large television, and an armchair where she sat. “Looks nice enough,” he commented. “Is it all right?”

  “Its fine, sugar,” Cecily said. “But are you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Her quizzical expression told him she didn’t believe him. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “Nothing,” he told her. Daniel didn’t like to think about the injury. He hadn’t worked for the bureau long when it happened and he blamed himself for being shot. He endured a long recovery and managed to regain ful
l use of his leg, something doctors failed to predict. After eight years, he seldom had any problem but if he sat in one position for too long, the pain often returned along with the limp.

  “You’re limping.” She stated the obvious. “You haven’t been before.”

  He sighed. “I am, a little but it’s no big deal.”

  “You’re in pain.” It wasn’t a question but an observation.

  “A little,” he admitted. “I got shot a long time ago and healed just fine. Once in a while if I’m really tired and don’t keep it stretched out, I limp. It’ll be gone by tomorrow morning after I get some rest. Don’t worry. I’m good.”

  Cecily uncurled from the chair and walked to him. “I can’t help it, Daniel. I don’t like to see you hurting. Would it help if I rubbed it or anything?”

  Her concern moved him and he touched her cheek with one hand. “Probably not, querida. I’ll take some ibuprofen and we’ll go downstairs, get something to eat.”

  She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and cuddled up against him. Daniel held her, loving the way she fit into him embrace. “Okay,” she said. “Just hold me for a minute, would you?”

  He’d hold this woman forever and past if he could. “Sure.” Even with his leg aching, his body exhausted, his cock stirred with interest at her proximity. If I start now, we’ll never eat and I’m hungry. Daniel put his desire on hold. Both needed some sustenance and he sure as hell wouldn’t mind a drink or two. Tequila would dull the pain quicker than ibuprofen and after the long drive, he’d earned it. After a few minutes, he released her and starting digging through the luggage to find the pain reliever. Cecily located them and handed him the bottle.

  “Can I give Nia a quick call before we go eat?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  To provide privacy he headed into the bathroom but he left the door ajar and eavesdropped without any shame. Without any noise distraction Daniel heard the series of beeps as she dialed the number and listened.