Jewel leaned closer. “Yup, smells like a fighter pilot to me.”
Trudy remembered climbing onto her father’s lap when she was young. She thought all daddies smelled like airplane hangars and jet fuel and sweat.
Jewel went to the cupboard and pulled out the other wine glass from the O’Club. Lifting it to the light, she examined the military emblem. “I don’t drink much these days, but think I’ll join you if you don’t mind.”
Setting her glass down, Trudy cleaned the other goblet and poured wine and handed it back to her mother.
Jewel lifted her glass in a toast. “To the Flying Cutterbucks,” she warbled, her eyes dancing with memories.
They clinked glasses as the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.
CHAPTER 7
Hit the Bricks
Monday Afternoon
A DISTINGUISHED-LOOKING man about her age smirked back at her from the porch.
Sweet Lord, his dimples were showing! He looked better in person than the photo she’d seen of him on Facebook, not that she’d been trolling.
“Hello, Gertrude.” His blues eyes twinkled in amusement as if he enjoyed watching her jaw drop. “I heard you were in town.”
Trudy stumbled to find the words. Only one person outside the family knew her given name — her high school boyfriend. To Trudy, her first name always felt clunky, like she’d been born with thick calves and orthopedic shoes.
“Clay Cordova! You ought to be arrested.” She held the storm door open, catching herself gazing up and down at him. The edges of his square face appeared rounder, his thick neck framed by the open collar of a Western-style dress shirt. His light denim Wranglers filled out in all the right places. Damn, but he looked good.
Her face grew hot as she realized he was checking her out, too. Her hand flew to her throat. “I’ve aged.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice her neck, the lines on her chest from too much sunbathing poolside at too many hotels to count.
“We all have, Trudy. But time has been good to you.”
Try telling that to my ex, she almost snorted before she banished Preston from her thoughts.
Clay gestured toward the driveway where his late model Tahoe was parked behind her car. “I saw the Camaro with Texas tags. I figured it was you.” He glanced around and ran a hand through a head of silver bristles. “Your old man drove a ’69 silver Camaro. You used to worship that car.”
Chuckling self-consciously, she eyed his left hand. No trace of a wedding band. “Guess I still do. You have a good memory.”
He laughed, his dimples deepening. She could’ve sworn he blushed. He kicked at something on the porch with the toe of his black Ropers. “Remember how we used to sneak around back? Y’all kept his car stored in that old barn about to fall down.”
She scratched her temple and nodded. Of course she remembered. That’s where they went to make out. She tried to cover her embarrassment. “Momma Jewel sold Daddy’s car to another pilot a couple years after we graduated. I think she kept holding out that Daddy would come traipsing through the door after work one day and say, ‘Who wants to go for a spin?’”
Clay pressed his lips together and he gave a slight nod. “I’m sorry about your dad.” He peeked over his shoulder at the POW/MIA flag flapping in the wind. “I never met him, but I felt like I knew him through the stories you shared and the photos your mom hung all over the house.”
Trudy propped the storm door open with her hip, thankful she’d applied lip gloss and mascara and had slipped into her best white jeans, the ones that showed off her long shapely legs. “Nothing’s changed much. If anything, Momma’s only added to the clutter, er, I mean collection.” She pressed her fingers to her lips as if this could erase her slip-up. “I’m trying to convince her to get rid of stuff.”
“Good luck with that. Been there, done that, before my mother died.”
“I’m sorry, Clay. Your mom was always polite to me.”
Clay hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “You know she wanted me to become a priest, like her brother. Like that was going to happen.”
She studied him. “I bet she was proud of you. I heard you went to college. Became a cop. That’s what you always wanted to do.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, I’m the oldest detective on the force. They can’t get rid of me. Say, I was in Dallas last summer to attend the fallen officers’ memorial. I thought about looking you up. But I wasn’t sure…”
“I was probably flying. It’s terrible what happened. Five cops… shot dead. For what?” She paused, giving him time to answer. But he said nothing so she rushed on. “I sold my condo near Love Field a few weeks ago. Traded my old TrailBlazer for the new Camaro. Momma’s letting me crash here for a while. Until I figure out what I wanna be when I grow up.”
He cocked his head and stared at her. “I heard you retired from the airlines. I didn’t believe it at first.”
“Wow, word sure gets around.”
“Come on, Trudy. You know you can’t keep secrets in this town.”
She felt lightheaded.
“Okay, I confess. Lupi told me. Man, I remember when you couldn’t wait to get out of this place.”
She twirled a section of hair. “I decided I didn’t want to wake up dead in a hotel. And I finally realized I hate airports.”
Clay chuckled softly. “Hey, you wanna go get a Coke?”
She bit her bottom lip. “You mean, like when we were kids?”
His face broke into a dazzling grin. “Yeah, then we’ll hit the bricks. When’s the last time you dragged Main?”
A shot of adrenalin rushed through her. “Oh, in forever. Let me grab my purse and leave Momma a note. Today’s Pink Lady day at the hospital.”
Clay backed the Tahoe out of the driveway and they headed east into town on Seven Mile Road. Trying to appear at ease, Trudy glanced out the window as the scenery flashed by. One thought skated through her mind: What do you say to an old boyfriend you haven’t seen in forty years?
Clay glanced at her. “You comfortable? You can adjust the seat if you like.”
When was the last time a man, or anyone for that matter, asked her if she was comfortable? “I’m good, Clay. Thanks.” Her teeth chattered when she spoke. Why did that always happen when she was nervous?
“If you’re cold, you can crank up the heat.”
The inside of the Tahoe was nice and toasty.
“I’m okay, really.” She tucked her hands under her legs and willed herself to stop shaking.
With his left hand on the steering wheel, Clay twisted around and lifted something from the backseat. “Here, drape this over your shoulders.”
He handed her a man’s all-weather jacket with the words Pardon Police Department stitched on the back. “Thanks.” She shifted in her seat and snuggled into the warmth, breathing in a scent that could only be Clay’s. For a split second, her mind drifted to a time when she wore his letter jacket and chunky ID bracelet.
“Sorry about the dog hair,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
She glanced at the jacket then at him. “I lost my dog Skylar two months ago. She was my golden girl for fifteen years, but boy, was she a lousy retriever.” Trudy joked to cover the crack in her voice.
Clay eyed her. “I’m sorry, Trudy. Dogs are family.”
For the past fifteen years, Skylar was her only family in Texas. Trudy glanced down at her lap then over at Clay. “So…what’s your dog’s name?”
Clay lowered his voice and puckered his lips. “Hercules.”
“Hercules, huh? He must be a big dog with a name like that.”
Clay smiled. “Oh, he’s big all right, about the size of a football. My daughter gave him to me a few years ago. She thought I needed a companion.”
So Clay had a daughter. When he didn’t elaborate, Trudy decided not to push it. If she pushed too far, he might start asking her too many questions. The last thing she wanted was for Clay to snoop into her business. Him being a detective and a
ll.
Something ahead caught her attention. “Is that an airplane propeller hanging over the door of that old junkyard?” She pointed to a tired-looking structure where a faded sign read, Drake’s Salvage Yard. “I’ve never noticed that.”
“Been there as long as I can remember.” Clay wrinkled his brow. “Old Man Drake was a bomber pilot in World War Two. His son runs the place now.”
Trudy blinked. “How do you know all this?”
He shrugged. “It’s my job. To know things.”
She flinched, looking away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
Finally, she mustered, “I think I went there with my dad one time. My memory’s fuzzy. You’d think I’d remember a propeller, though. Surely my dad pointed it out to me.”
They passed by the ruins of an old drive-in theater. Clay gestured with his chin. “That place has been closed for years.”
“Now that’s one place I do remember. We went there right after we moved back here, before my dad went to Vietnam. We loaded up in the station wagon and Dad and Momma took us to see some western. Momma popped our own popcorn and we three kids crawled on top of the luggage rack, wrapped up in quilts, and we watched the whole movie under the stars.”
They fell into a comfortable silence.
The closer they got to Pardon proper, the occasional pawnshop and diner gave way to ranch-style houses and flat-top stuccos with driveways crammed full of pickup trucks, late model sedans, and pop-up campers under aluminum carports. They passed small bungalows consisting of wood siding and a few porches occupied by sagging couches. A couple of trailer parks seemed to slide from semi-respectable into disrepair year after year. A few sprawling two-story brick homes with large circular driveways and attached RV garages boasted that not everything was going to seed in Pardon.
“Momma said y’all got some gully washers this past year.”
“Yeah, flooded parts of Pardon. A car washed away over on the northwest part of town…down by the ditch. Driver got out though.”
“That’s a far cry from a few years ago when y’all had those sand storms. I remember coming home one time and seeing sand piled up along the side of the road.”
Clay nodded. “Yeah, for a while there I thought we were headed into another dustbowl.”
Trudy listened to the hum of the engine and the tires on the road. Clay cleared his throat a couple of times.
Finally, she laughed and slapped her knee.
Clay looked over. “What’s so funny?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes skyward. “You know we are officially old, right?”
“Oh, yeah. How’s that?”
“Because we’re talking about the weather.” But even as she said it, her gaze kept roaming over his broad chest and shoulders. She couldn’t help herself. She giggled and punched him in the arm. He feigned hurt and their laughter broke the ice.
“How come you never came to any of the reunions? Rumor had it you were too good for us once you became a stewardess then married that fancy doctor guy. But I know that’s not true.”
Her vision blurred and she searched through her purse for a tissue. She would leave Preston out of this. “Wearing hot pants and getting hit on by drunk passengers isn’t as glamorous as it seems.” Her voice cracked again and she dabbed a tissue at the corners of her eyes and tried to make light of it.
Clay tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “I’ve always sensed you had other reasons for staying away.”
She sniffed a couple of times, her throat tight. “After a while it was easier to send Momma a pass and let her fly to Dallas. She’d drive to Lubbock or Amarillo and catch a flight into Love Field. When I did sneak into town, I never called anyone. But I did ask a few classmates on Facebook about you from time to time.”
She saw his Adam’s apple move like he was trying to swallow a hard piece of candy. He shifted in his seat but he stared straight ahead. “Can I tell you something? Promise not to get mad at me?”
She leaned against the passenger door, sitting more sideways than straight.
“One time back in the early eighties, I was at Seven-Eleven buying gas… I passed by the news rack where they keep the gentleman’s magazines. And there was this headline on the cover of Playboy: Stewardesses of the Southwest.” He scratched at something on his chin. “Man, let me tell you. I was half hoping to see you in that issue and yet dreading it.”
Leaning her head against the window, she gazed at his profile. “I almost posed for that piece. They offered me a nice sum of money but I turned it down.”
He jerked his head around. “Why?”
“Honestly? It might sound crass…”
“Try me.”
She fiddled with a loose thread on her jeans. “I couldn’t stomach the idea of millions of men getting their jollies drooling over my birthday suit.”
Clay almost choked.
“Nowadays they’d pay me to keep my clothes on,” she joked. But her comment was meant to throw him off, to make light of the truth. Her figure might be intact, even in the most flattering jeans, but when she stood nude in front of a mirror, no amount of makeup or miracle cream could resurrect the toned supple skin of her youth. The flaws Preston pressured her to fix.
Clay gave her a mock frown. “I doubt that. From my vantage point, I’d say you’ve taken good care of yourself.”
How she yearned to tell him the same thing. That he was looking mighty fine. That she’d thought about him many times over the years. But the last thing she wanted to do was give the wrong impression. What if Clay only stopped by to say hello and catch up like a couple of old friends?
As they drew closer to town, some of her apprehension faded away. She relaxed and took in the scenery, aware of an invisible current moving between them. Their shoulders were a few feet apart...they hadn’t even touched. But there was something there, and she knew he felt it, too. Who was she kidding? She felt it the second she opened her momma’s front door and saw him standing on the porch with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
They stole glances at each other. Clay drove and she fidgeted with the strap of her purse and they passed the old Burger Chef that now sold tractors instead of hamburgers. Everywhere she looked, even in certain parts of town, there was no doubt Pardon was a ranching and farming community.
Clay wheeled into the Sonic and they placed their order.
While they waited for their drinks, Trudy said, “Remember that time we called in a large order from the payphone down the street? Said we were a church bus, full of kids passing through town. We ordered like twenty-five hamburgers and fries.”
Clay gave her the look. “Yeah, and those poor carhops came skating out with two trays piled high and no church bus.”
“I feel kinda bad.”
Clay leaned his head against his headrest and gave her a lazy grin. “You laughed so hard you peed your pants.”
Their eyes met and she looked away first. “We were such juvenile delinquents back then.” Heat rose to her face as she felt his gaze linger.
After a second, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Speak for yourself. If my memory serves me correctly, that prank was your idea.”
His smartphone buzzed and he glanced at the display. “Sorry, I need to take this.”
She fidgeted with the contents of her purse and acted like she wasn’t eavesdropping.
“Lieutenant Cordova speaking.”
Lieutenant Cordova!
She smiled to herself, taking in the sound of his Tex-Mex accent, not quite Texas, not quite Mexican. He sounded polite but self-assured. Gone was the boy with the dark hair barely touching his paisley collar, the Puka shell choker matching his pearly white grin, the hip hugging bell-bottoms and platform shoes paid for by working afterschool jobs. The popular boy accepted by all the groups from jocks to goat ropers to freaks to the guys in chess club and band. Clay Cordova, homecoming king...the only boy she ever let feel her up before she left town.
Clay continued to make
small talk and nodded and glanced at his watch. “Seven tonight? You got it. See you then.”
He placed his phone back on the console.
“Do you need to go?” She suddenly realized he had a life and his job wasn’t to drive her around town for old time’s sake.
“Naw. We’re good. I took the afternoon off, but I have a meeting tonight.”
The carhop delivered their drinks. Trudy tried to pay but Clay waved her off. “Your treat next time.”
Next time. Two little words lingered between them as Clay exchanged a few bills for two drinks.
After the carhop left, Clay removed the lid of his drink and took a healthy swig. Trudy sipped from a straw, enjoying the sweet syrupy burn of carbonation hitting her pallet. She didn’t drink sodas much these days, but when she did, she enjoyed the real thing. No diet drinks for her.
As she sipped away, guarding herself against some God-awful Coke burp, she thought about Clay’s explanation that he took the afternoon off. And then it hit her…he took the afternoon off to come see her. A detective with an important job, a detective sipping his drink the same way he did when they were kids. Peel the lid off, take a polite slurp, and then crunch the soft flakey ice.
“I try to reach out to some of our local youth,” Clay offered, setting his drink down and starting the engine, “especially kids who might be susceptible to joining a gang one day. I try to show them there’s a better way.”
“Is this part of your job as a detective?” She stole glances at him, trying to act nonchalant as Clay backed out of the parking slot.
He shrugged and turned right onto Seven Mile Road and headed toward Main Street. “It’s volunteer.”
This is not what she came back to Pardon for. To hook up with an old flame and all because he looked hot in his jeans and had a soft spot for kids.
Sitting inches away, with the console between them, she realized Pardon didn’t look quite as drabby as before. When she drove around town with Momma Jewel, everything looked brown and baked. But not with Clay.
“Okay, boss lady. Let’s hit the bricks.” At the corner of Main and Seven Mile Road, at the intersection that boasted the strawcolored Quivera County Courthouse on one side and the Greek Revival Methodist Church on the other, Clay took a right and they rolled south toward Hotel Pardon and the red-tiled buildings of the old Santa Fe Train depot. The western sun crept lower on the horizon and long shadows from nearby rooftops slanted across the wide four-lane brick road where Trudy and Clay and their friends had once dragged Main. This was Trudy’s favorite part of town, where historic turn-of-the-century buildings mingled with art deco and terra-cotta rooflines, as if mimicking the more cultured parts of The Land of Enchantment.
The Flying Cutterbucks Page 6
