Car Show Part Two

Car Show Part Two

by

Diana Walker

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. Copyright Diana Walker 2006.

TERRY
Diana comes bounding out of the house with her usual bon homie all over her before I can get the Merc’s door unlocked; one of the drawbacks in driving a succession of unsatisfactory new cars is not knowing where the door locks and window buttons are. I have given her a second laugh of the day with my frantic search for door locks. I resort to pulling the key from the ignition and using the keyless entry Unlock button to let her into the car. At least I could find that.

“I’m sorry I spit on you this afternoon.”

“And I love you, too.”

A smile explodes on my face. Diana’s exuberance and joy is infectious. She bounces in the seat and begins exploring all the nooks and amenities this newest offering presents.

She figures out how to wend her way round the gearshift without being poked to kiss me hello for the second time today.

“Can part of my test ride be a trip to the market? I need to get some fresh asparagus.”

“You had the Food Network on when you got home. Ina Garten?” I start the Merc and back it down the drive.

“No, she’s normally too frou-frou for me, though we will be having her Steak au Poivre. Rachel Ray gave me the idea for the asparagus.”

Diana gives the Merc a workout on the back way home, taking the curves on the paved cattle trails at speed, fiddling with the controls. Her comments on how driving the Merc compares to the Jag jogged my memories of my own comparisons. Every car is compared to the Jag – some favorably, some unfavorably, but all are compared to the Jag.

I broach my forming thoughts to Diana over a spectacular candlelit dinner. “There are some cars you drive because they are convenient and utilitarian. Others you drive and keep because you love them.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m dreading the day the Tahoe wears out. I’m as comfortable in it as I am on the couch.”

The truck is her second home even for the mess it is. She carries the basics to establish and stock a field hospital and kitchen in it for both humans and several species of animals.

I take her knife and fork from her hands and set them on her plate before taking her hands in mine. “What would you think about finding the Jag and getting it back?”

Her eyes search my face for the right answer when there is none. Her eyes study her wine glass, and she pulls her right hand away to fiddle with it. When she again looks at me, her eyes are troubled. “Are you asking my opinion?”

“I am.”

“All my memories of you are in the Jag. How it fits all the men you are. You haven’t had any of the parade of cars long enough for me to form any lasting ties to them.”

“That’s not your opinion. Tell me what you feel.”

“I loved the Jag. It’s classy, yet we’ve had such good, fun times in it. I started thinking of it as just another car without the pretentiousness of it being a JAGUAR. I got so I didn’t feel out of place driving it. Everything you’ve driven so far in auditions is …wrong.”

“Everybody, me included, has compared each car to the Jag. I’m calling Brad first thing in the morning and finding it. I’m buying the Jag back whoever has it. It should be easy to track down; after all, finding things is how I earn our crust.”

Diana’s delight is easy to read for the time it was there. Her eyes were alight; the corners of her mouth easily went half way up her cheeks, puffing them out. Her delight is short-lived; it fades from her mouth upwards.

“Mghch.” Diana’s sounds are articulate; that one is her sound of doubt. “You aren’t doing this on my input only, are you? You’ll be driving a used car. Granted a Jag, but it’s old.”

“I don’t think you can call a car you have leased and then converted, though it wasn’t an immediate conversion, a ‘used car,’ Diana. While we had it, its maintenance had been kept up; it doesn’t have that many miles on it; it stayed parked at the airport most of the time until you started being my car service.”

She smiles at my description. She should know about the maintenance; she had seen to most of it. I have a suspicion she has changed the oil herself a time or two. She had distrusted the electrical system thoroughly; I know she understands it. A technician’s manual and a supply of fuses resided in the boot when we cleaned it out; I know I hadn’t purchased the book. No one but Diana had the impetus to understand it.

“Don’t do it for me. You deserve a toy. Max has the Bentley; Dino has the Spyder. You don’t need to be driving something sedate if you don’t want to. Get something you’ll enjoy – something to get your adrenaline flowing.”

“You love the Jag. I really hadn’t considered driving anything else until Dino started harping on the expense. He even hated to see it go. When it was the company car, Sooze had dibs on it whenever it rained. Max is just tired of seeing a different car in the parking spot next to his. He knows where his fenders are; with a new car in the car park every week or so, he barely gets used to how the new car fits in the space before it changes.

“I’m not getting the Jag back just on your opinion; I want it back as well, and I do want a flash car. That’s the conundrum. I can’t justify both of them.”

“Which one do you want more?”

“I want them both.” The words sound materialistic and spoilt even to my ears.

Diana’s sigh reinforces my assessment. “I can’t, in all good conscience, tell you to get them both. On the other hand, I can’t tell you ‘No.’”

“Why not?” It appears Diana and I will have two challenging, personal conversations tonight.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we have a severe imbalance in financial status. In case you hadn’t noticed, you have more money than Croesus. I have no right to tell you how to spend your money; you work too hard for it. Every time your phone rings, you go on high alert until you see who’s calling. When you get up in the middle of the night to piss, you check your email and breaking news even when you don’t have the overnight. The travel, the stress when the Far East has a political upheaval, the worry when one of your clients isn’t following your instructions – I'm not saying I want you to change; I love that you care for others. You earn every penny you get. You ought to have anything you want – the things I can’t give you. I can love you, make your life easier, stand beside you, comfort you, but I can’t give you the material trappings. I’ll never tell you not to buy something for yourself.”

The blasted money talk turned on its ear. I’ve never known a woman who resisted being wealthy as much. I hadn’t expected her to go out on a buying spree but to resent it so?

“What you say has merit, but we need to talk about the money imbalance in a bit. I also expect you to kick my arse lovingly when I get out of line. Let's get the car situation sorted first. Part of me thinks I’m being outrageous; the other part wants to be self-indulgent. I need your input on this.”

“I think you deserve to be extravagant on this; I think you need a toy. I’d hate for all these cars coming and going to have been in vain. I do think the roadster and the Jag are too similar.”

“In what way?” Once we made the decision about getting the Jag back, I’d been mulling over the reasons why the Merc was unsuitable. I was interested in how close her reasons were to mine.

“Their performance is pretty similar.” Ah, yes. Diana had read the specs when she compiled the list. Somewhere in her analytical mind or subconscious, she had been comparing each car to the Jag as well from the beginning.

“Despite the difference in body styles, they’re both pretty sedate. Frankly, this isn't as stylish as some of the past Mercedes. You need some pizzazz. Since I can’t see you wearing gold chains or a diamond encrusted ‘T’ around your neck, you have to get it from what you drive.”

“My Brooks Brothers ties don’t count as bling?” I feigned a hurt look Diana could see through in a moment. She tugged on said tie, pulling me towards her for a light kiss and releasing me.

“No, they don’t. I can’t really see you being happy with the Merc as a toy over the long haul. Besides, I really can’t see me making fun of a Mercedes.”

Diana is on a roll. She’s picked up one of the asparagus spears and is using it as a briefing pointer to emphasize her ideas. I lean forward and bite off the head as it passes my mouth.

“Hey, no fair!” She reaches over to my plate and snatches one of my spears to continue conducting. “Mercs are a dime a dozen in Dallas. You need something more unique.”

“Glad to hear you aren’t tied to the Merc. I’m not that fond of it.”

“So that leaves the Poor-shit.” She already has a nickname for it, a good sign. “What if you don’t like that? Do you want me to start researching the more exotics like a Lamborghini, Maserati, or a …Honda?”

I shake my head and laugh at her again. She knows me too well; a Civic would be an exotic for me. “I’ve driven a Porsche before. It looks to be the most likely.”

“We went through all these to get to the one you really want?”

“Yes, I save the best for last in cars as well as women.” I can see her face redden in the candlelight. I’ll let her blush and her hand on my cheek acknowledge the compliment I’d given her.

“I need to apologize for the nasty comment I made earlier about your money. It came out sounding more bitter than I had intended.”

My money? “Apology accepted. What’s this about my money? How did we get from ‘our holdings’ to separating finances again?”

“Pooling the day-to-day money is fine; I have no problem with that. Most of your investments,” at least she hadn’t stressed the ‘your’ in the subject, “are from before I was around. It doesn’t make sense that I profit from them.”

“You know I’m a planner in most things.” The twinkle in her eye telegraphed her zinger.

“Except when you sweep me off my feet and ravish me. Some might even say you’re a control freak about most things, but you’re getting better about letting me manage some things you see as your bailiwick.”

“Point taken and thank you for noticing the change. When Dino and I started the business and it became successful, at first I tried to spend my way into a good life; it didn’t work. I couldn’t spend fast enough. I was never home to enjoy it.

“I started the trust fund for Henry. I want him to know the satisfaction of struggling a little, failing a couple of times, but finding his life’s work.” I was rewarded with her soft whisper chuckle as she thought back to her own early days out of college. We still have her first piece of furniture, a body sized pillow she made herself, though it’s relegated to the tack room now. “I want him to be secure but not a snotty rich kid like so many of the public school boys are. The fund kept growing at a good rate even without me adding to it, though I do. I call it my G&A fund.”

“I don’t think you mean General and Administrative.”

“Guilt and Apology fund for I do feel remorse for my absence. I wasn’t around him for any advice I could have given him about careers to matter; I don’t know him well enough to advise him. I can tell him the mistakes I’ve made, but my professional choices may not suit him.

“What I do to earn our crust isn’t one of my mistakes. K&R suits my saviour complex. I swoop in looking like the hero, which flatters my ego immensely, and can make a family’s life a little brighter in some trying times. No one has to know much about me but for the appearance I bring. I like being distant in my professional life. What I do also suits my intellect and physical skills, not to mention being able to fund our good life.”

“Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself? Even before Max was taken, your clients knew your strength and care for them. Now, you have even more empathy for them.”

“Chalk it up to the tall poppy syndrome. Self-deprecation comes naturally to me, but I can be a right selfish bastard at times.”

“No …, do tell.” Diana’s gentle sarcasm can certainly keep me from coming the tall poppy.

“Once I had Henry set up and understood I would never be able to spend all that I made, I had to start planning for the future whatever it brought. I knew there would come a time when active fieldwork would be impossible either through losing a step or injury. I needed enough money to do something else and buy good care when the time came.” Her cocked chin tells me I’m on shaky ground. “I had hoped to be a frail old man someday who needed tending. I expected to be alone. I had no notion a beautiful, wonderful yet flawed woman who completes me would bounce into my life. I had no confidence of that ever happening to me.”

Her cheeky smile showed me I had redeemed myself. “Go on. I know there’s a point to this self-flagellation somewhere.”

Since the Merc is history, I might as well have another possibly uncomfortable convo in it. “I haven’t begun the self-abasement yet. I’m saving that for our after-dinner drive.”

“Oooh, kinky, and do I get to participate? Fits right in with my fetish.” Diana’s cheek is making a serious convo fun.

“We’ll see; you might be too rough on me.”

“OK, back to the woman bouncing into you. Actually, I bounced off you.”

I dropped my head, and my giggle joined her pre-cackle.

DIANA
The rat bastard! He’s using the giggle and his patented raised eyes peeking under the long lashes look. He knows he can get anything he wants from me with that combination.

“The long range planning for the investments only had to change the descriptor from ‘Old Age Care’ to ‘Living with Diana’. The investments are ours, Lady. Always were. I had the wrong title on it. I was building the nest egg for the only destiny I saw at the time; you changed my future for the better. I told you everything I have is yours; you just didn’t know how much everything was then. Why does being wealthy scare you so?”

“I did nothing to help earn that money. You worked your butt off for it.”

“Do you think TEO is being greedy?”

“I know you’re very competitive; I shopped around for insurance,” I confess sheepishly. “If anything, you guys are a little on the low side.” Terry sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll email you the spreadsheet so you can adjust your rates.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure Dino gets it. So we’re not overcharging.” He’s amused before he gently urges me, “Answer my first question.”

“It’s old baggage, Terry. It’s not that I’m not afraid of money; I’m afraid of gifts. They always have strings and criticisms attached. I don’t take care of them properly. I never use them. Your investments seem like gifts to me.”

“All righty, then.” He slides forward in his chair and reaches for his wallet in his hip pocket, opens it, pulls a twenty-dollar bill out, and tries to hand it to me, leaving his wallet on the table between us. I stare at the proffered bill. He leaves the table, gets the pen from the lounge, signs the note ‘Free yourself. Love, Terry.’ He finally pulls my hand from my lap and places the bill in my palm. “I’d give you a fifty but for my frugal nature. This bill is a gift from me to you. Do whatever you want with it. Bury it in the paddock, play tug of war with the dogs, burn it, use it as an arse wipe. Buy whatever you want with it. I don’t care. It’s a gift; it’s yours to do with what you will.”

“Are you serious? You would sit there and watch me burn twenty fucking dollars!?” I’m screeching by the time I get the ‘dollars’ out.

“Yes. If it will help you understand my gifts don’t come with conditions.”

He pulls one of the brass candlesticks between us. “Do it. You’ll not hear me say a word, not a whimper. Do it.”

He leaves me dumbstruck at the table and returns with an ashtray. “As I’ve never done this before, there’s no need to burn the house down to prove a point.”

“I can’t do this.” I’m on the edge of tears. “I can’t do this.”

“What can you do with it? What wildly absurd impulse do you have?”

I think for a very long time; no extravagant gesture comes to mind. “I have a hard time being impractical.” I blow out my breath sounding much like one of the horses. “I could frame it?”

“A frame it is.” Terry reaches for his wallet again and pulls a fifty out. He signs it with ‘Unconditional. Love, Boomer,’ sliding his wallet back in his pocket. He places the autographed bill with the other note in my hand, kissing my target spot, as he helps me from my chair. “I’ve never known a female who is so unwilling to take a man for every cent he’s worth.” I do love his joking, cranky grousing. “I’m all yours, Diana.” I appreciate his loving declarations more.

The little old lady at the art shop in the big mall is quite taken with Terry as she helps us find the correct sized frame for my signed US currency, but then name me a woman who isn’t impressed with Terry when he turns on the charm. The dear soul had gone so far as to do the actual framing for us. Well, not for us …for Terry.

I’m not too thrilled she’s doing the framing for him; I had planned on doing it myself until Terry correctly pointed out with my procrastination habit, paper money would be out of circulation before my framing task was done.

“Terry, she’s going to think I’m a hooker.”

“Why would you think that? If she takes the time to read the hand-written messages on the bills, there’s no way she could think that.”

“Free yourself? That sounds like you’re encouraging a hooker to break free from her pimp. And the second one …unconditional? You sound like a love-struck john.”

“The love-struck bit is right, but considering how loathe you are to accept any of my money ….”

“No, that’s over. I told you …now that we have the two bills framed, that argument is over.”

“Well, at least we have that sorted.” He pulls me into his arms.

“Can we get some ice cream before your humiliation starts?” He arches a brow at me.

“Who’s paying?”

“You are. You hustled me out of the house so fast I didn’t have time to put anything in my pockets.” He slides one hand in to the pocket of my shorts.

“This is payback for all the times you’ve snuck your hand into my pockets in public.”

“Maybe so …but I don’t have the same obvious response!”

“Give me two minutes.”

“It takes me longer than two minutes.”

“Not if I set my mind to it.”

“Terry!” I hiss that last because the little old lady is back. She simpers when she addresses Terry.

“Can I help you two lovebirds with anything else? There’s a lovely little remembrance shop just down the mall …they have lovely engagement announcements there.” The SOB smiles. I think the world is conspiring to make me Mrs. Terrence Steven Thorne.

“Thanks, Love. We’ll check it out straightaway once we leave the milk bar.”

REAGAN
“Terry and I had a rather difficult conversation this afternoon.” I took a sip of my cranberry juice. If I don’t get pregnant soon, I’m going to be haemorrhaging fruit juice.

“In what respect?”

“Were you aware of your role in an ongoing bone of contention between them?”

“Which one? The independence one? The fact that Terry has more money than Croesus? His occasional condescension, and the fact that I love poking a pin in the balloon of his ego?”

“None of those. You have a central role in their greatest ongoing difficulty.” Now that got my attention. What the Hell was he talking about?

“Really? You’ve lost me completely. Dee’s never said a word to me about being some sort of problem for them.” I put down my glass and automatically reached for the pack of cigarettes that was no longer there. Old habits die hard.

“I have long known of the attraction between you and Terry, and it does not distress me. The same is not true for your dearest friend.”

“Maximus, if Dee was worried that Terry and I were going to jump into the rack with each other, she’d have said so long since.”

“The possibility of a sexual liaison is not her concern. Her concern is that Terry refuses to acknowledge to her that the attraction is there. Until this afternoon, Terry refused to acknowledge it even to himself.” I couldn’t help myself …I glanced at his hands for skint knuckles and his face for bruises. Nothing. Thank God. At least he hadn’t tried to beat the crap out of Terry as he did Dino. Now I was getting worried as to why Dee hadn’t said anything to me about her fears.

“She has kept her silence because it is between the two of them. Terry would never have broached it to me had I not forced him to confront it. I also said I did not think his immediate initiation of a sexual relationship with Diana to be entirely appropriate.”

“I think you’d better start at the beginning.” He replayed the conversation with Terry to me and sat back to see what I’d say. I thought about it for a few minutes before speaking.

“Well, he’s definitely right on one thing. If I’d met him first, we’d have been an item …and it wouldn’t have taken me three months to get Terry Thorne into my bed. I would have done precisely the same thing Dee did, so don’t blame Terry for that one.”

“You would not have immediately initiated a sexual relationship with him.”

“Oh, yes, I would! We’d have come straight back to this house after leaving the bar at the Hilton, and he’d have dropped me off at Albertson’s to collect my car on his way to the office the next morning. The only hold up with you was your own sense of propriety, not mine. Terry can have any woman he wants, at any time he wants, just as you could. The difference between you and Terry is that Terry knows he can …and it never occurs to you that you could.” My husband gets a bit too full of himself on occasion. I see it as part of my wifely duty to occasionally deflate the balloon of his ego …of course I do have to be standing by with the patch kit to seal the leak. I don’t want him to lose too much of his ego, because that’s such an integral part of his nature. I find his ego strength to be extremely attractive, though I’m sure it – and my own – occasionally irritates the Hell out of others. He absorbed that, but there was something else still on his mind.

“What else did you and Terry talk about today?” He took a sip of his scotch and followed it with a deep breath.

“We did not discuss anything else, though I do have other concerns regarding Terry.”

“And those are?” Another deep breath.

“I have increasingly grave concerns regarding his stewardship of the firm.”

“And what might those be?”

“He has exhibited exceptionally poor judgment in recent days.” Jesus, this was like pulling teeth.

“In what respect? Can you give me some specifics?”

“He is exhibiting an unwillingness to acknowledge problems if he does not wish to see them. As CEO, he is responsible for our strategic planning. If he cannot address his issues with Diana, what problems may exist with the firm – and within our industry – is he also refusing to acknowledge? I have no answers, and that is more disturbing to me than if I did know of them. I do not know what else I may not know, and that is unacceptable.”

“Okay …what else?”

“He has made decisions I consider ill-advised, even precipitous.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“His immediate termination of Alex Ross without having consulted me. In conversation with Dino, I have learnt that Terry told him to draw up the termination contract; he did not seek Dino’s counsel, only issued an order. He did not see fit even to mention it to me. Whilst I concur that Ross can be intransigent on occasion, his knowledge and contacts in Latin American are an invaluable asset to Dino’s operations there. In time, we can replace Ross, though it will utilise assets in time and labour that we do not have to spare. Dino does not have the hours at this time to undertake such a search. Worse, the loss of Ross’s information could put Dino in a physically untenable position whilst he is in Latin America at some future point.” I digested that before speaking.

“You do see that the common denominator of your concerns is Dee.”

“I do …and that causes me even greater concern. I love her as I would my sister, but she cannot be a professional distraction for Terry. That is unacceptable.”

“Terry’s having a tougher time getting settled in with her than you did with me. Don’t judge their relationship and level of commitment – at any point in time – by ours. We all handle relationships in our own way, and they’re entirely different people than we are. She’ll eventually snap to what’s going on and go into business consultant mode …she’ll get him back on track.”

“I am sure she will …in time. In the interim someone else might be able to perform more effectively.” Ah …now we were getting to the crux of the situation.

TERRY
We’d got our ice cream and driven to nearby Lake Ray Roberts just in time for the hourly sweep by the park patrol. I raised my cone in his direction as he passed and waved.

Diana giggled. “This is a little different from your last experience by a lake, isn’t it?”

“I doubt anyone has ever been arrested for eating ice cream in a state park, and the company is much more to my liking.” Diana began eying my butter pecan choice covetously.

“Now …there are several humiliating things I could have you do that entail ice cream. Are you ready to start?”

“That was to be self-expiation, Diana, not that inflicted by you. But if you must, get on with it.”

She considers several options, some lewd by her look, and rejects them. “Nah, I won't spoil your kink. Besides, I don't think you’re limber enough to lick your own ….”

Diana is still playing when I needed her to be serious; I'm not sure it's possible to be serious eating ice cream cones. “Finish up. Then we'll talk.”

We sit on the park bench watching the moon's reflection on the lake in peaceful, wary silence. I can feel the tension in Diana's body as she sits beside me, not that mine is relaxed. We aren't moulded to each other, and Diana attacks her Fudgie Nut Brownie ice cream with a purpose. My own Butter Pecan certainly has lost its flavour.

I start the conversation slowly. “Do you recall a conversation we left unfinished …one you said I’d have to be the one to broach if it was ever discussed again?”

“Oh, yes …very clearly.”

“It’s time.”

“It’s been so long I thought you’d forgotten about it.”

“It’s not that I’d forgotten; I’d ignored it. Max made me look at it today.”

“Oh, shit!” I’d need to calm her down a bit …the last bloody thing I needed was for it to get back to Max that I’d caused her yet more ‘distress.’

“There’s no need to be upset about it, Diana. It was a very rational conversation. I don’t fault you for having mentioned it to Max. I ignored it for a long, bloody time because I didn’t want to go there. The fact that I am attracted to her makes me feel unfaithful to you, and I couldn’t bear to look at that.

“You’re spot on. Reags has a lot of qualities that I find very attractive. And on thinking of it, the qualities I find attractive in her are the same ones I find attractive in you. Further, the qualities that I find annoying in her are qualities you don’t have, and that’s why I’m more than just attracted to you, Diana. I’m in love with you. I finally get that what made you so angry that day was my total unwillingness to even consider your point of view as valid. You were holding the mirror up in front of me, and I didn’t like what I saw. My reaction was to break the mirror so I wouldn’t have to look at it.

“Max took me to task for taking so long to resolve this with you, and I’m sorry for that.”

She finally smiles. “Terry, it takes as long as it takes. And I apologize I ran my mouth off to Max. It never entered my mind that he’d mention it to you.”

“In truth, I think Max has bit of a crush on you, not that he’d ever acknowledge that to me or Reags, and certainly never to you. If he ever considered his feelings for you as he forced me to do with mine for Reags, it would be far too close to incest for him.”

“Right …Max has a crush on me.” I put my arm round her shoulders.

“Seriously. The day after the storm when you were out settling the horses, Max and I took a break from working on the trees, and he just stood there and watched you. He was concerned that the paddock might still have debris in it – I reassured him that was the first place you dragged me to check that morning – but he’s totally entranced with your way with horses. He watched you for 20 minutes and finally spoke. He said that he’d never seen anyone better with horses in his life, not even his Master of Horse when he was in the Army. And though it’s grudging in a way, he even likes the way you face him down. He respects you, Diana, and for a man like Max – or me – respect equates to an almost physical attraction.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack.” She mulls that over for a bit.

“I don't think I can handle that. I think I'll pull a Thorne and choose to stick that away for a while.”

“Fair enough. But at least you didn't dismiss it out of hand.” She returns to my earlier comments about Reags.

“I’m kind of glad it took you so long to get your head wrapped around it because it gave me more of a chance to think about why it was so important to me that you see it. All of you had been pretty dismissive of my background because I’ve never been in the field. I was in the middle of feeling dismissed, extraneous. I was feeling like 'the little woman,' and I HATE that role. I've been on my own too long to be your or our family's tag along. It’s important to me – to everyone – that I be RIGHT about something on occasion, that you all shut up and listen to me. I needed you to realize that I was right about your feelings for Reags, and that’s where I made my stand.”

“After reading your notes in the safe, I know better than to be dismissive of you any longer. And it won’t happen again …or if it does, you have my permission to kick me in the arse to get my head out of it.” I’d finished my Butter Pecan, but Diana holds out her Fudgie Nut to me for a lick …a peace offering.

DIANA
“Max also said something else today …he gave me a bit of relationship advice.”

“So he finally had the ‘what-are-your-intentions’ talk?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, yes. He brought up his expectations for my behaviour where you’re concerned. The words he used were love, honour, cherish, and comfort.”

Terry’s working on me subliminally …that love/honor/cherish bit is in the wedding vows. Now, is that in his subconscious? No, not a chance. Marriage is in the forefront of his mind. He has a conscious plan, and he’s planting his ideas into my subconscious.

“His precise words were that comforting requires taking your feelings and concerns as my own, rather than allowing them to be an ongoing source of distress and discomfort for you. I think he said it rather well. I promised I’d do a better job of comforting you, Diana. I think you know that I already love, honour, and cherish you.”

“I do.” Son of a bitch …he set that up so I’d have to answer ‘I do’ and engineered me into using words from a wedding ceremony. He's sneaky that way. At least he doesn't let his satisfaction show.

“I need to work on the comforting bit …that’s something I’ve only done with clients in the past. I need to bring it home. I only ever learnt how to comfort when I started with Luthan, and I never applied it to my personal life until now. It’s a skill you practise with every breath you take. You’re so good at it that I never realised you were doing it; I never saw the grace notes for what they were.”

I’m so glad he finally gets it, but it’s complimenting me, and I don’t do compliments well. I never know what to say in return. I buried my head in his shoulder.

“Thank you for telling me, Terry. That means the world to me.”

As soon as I picked up the phone Terry started talking – no hello, no kiss my butt, no nothing. Just, “Hey, I just got off the phone with Brad …made the switch. The Jag’s in its rightful slot in the car park.”

“Mabel’s coming home?”

“Mabel?”

“Well, if she’s going to be a permanent fixture, she needs a name.”

“The truck doesn’t have a name.”

“Yes it does. It’s Truck.”

“I see. Truck and Mable …may they never reproduce!”

“How’d you find her so fast?”

“Brad hadn’t sold her; she was sitting on the back lot.”

“Is that the only reason you called? To tell me about Mabel? I’m glad you did, but ….”

“What’s going on?”

“No one went out for lunch today?”

“No, we had it brought in. What’s up?”

“Well, you might as well plan on staying at the office and getting anything and everything that anyone hasn’t done caught up because the freeway’s shut down five miles below our exit.

“Some guy hijacked a truck and has been doing an OJ. He's been on rims for the last hour or so; DPS put out spike strips almost immediately. The truck’s parked at our exit. The guy got out and took off into the woods.”

“Sooze! Telly! NOW!” I wish he hadn’t shouted in my ear. “How long has this been going on?”

“Let’s see …the first cop knocked on the door right after I started hearing the sirens.”

“A cop knocked on the door?”

“Yeah, he wanted me to secure all the out buildings. He walked with me and cleared them before I locked them down. The horses are really annoyed they can’t take their mid-afternoon naps in the barn aisleway. I hope this guy isn’t the one who gets interviewed. He likes horses, and Rabbit slimed the front of his shirt.”

“Jesus, Barney Fife is running this operation?”

“No! Remember Steven, the DPS trooper who lives across the road from Max and Reags? He’s the one with horse snot on his shirt. I’ve already called Reags and told her to get his shirt and wash it for him when he gets home tonight. His wife won’t have any idea how to get horse snot out of it.”

“Hang up …I’ll call you right back.” Now what? Oh, right …they only have hard lines at the office, and he can’t see the TV from his office. He's heading for the conference room and the TV; he'll call on his cell. He calls back in less than a minute. It is a little hard understanding him – his cell has conference and speaker phone capabilities, and he was utilizing its capacities – with Max, Dino, and Sooze talking in the background and the TV blaring away.

I shout, “ATTENTION ON DECK!” I hear Max laugh. At least I'm not having to talk over them now; the TV is the only impediment. “You are not to go into commando mode. I think the Texas DPS Troopers, the Texas Rangers, and the local boys have it well under control. Do you understand me?” I do hear ‘Yes, Ma’am’ from all of them but Terry, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm. “Terry, you can take me off speaker now.” I hear the click, and the TV sound becomes muted.

“I’m glad you called back because I have a question. I’m pretty sure there’s a weapon in your gear bag in the closet.”

“It’s the Walther you had in Cairo.”

“Good. May I have your consent to get into the bag and get it?” I don't know if Terry catches his breath from me asking permission or if the reality of my situation strikes home.

“You remember where the safety is?”

“Yes.”

“You can get in the bag, and I’m on my way home. And if you have an accident with the weapon, try and hit Okie rather than Holly.”

“TERRY!”

“Is there a police presence on our road?”

“Yep, Steven’s still patrolling our road.”

“Go out and tell him I’ll be there in 45 minutes.”

“You can’t get though, Terry. Even if you could get within five miles, the backup on the freeway is all the way down to 635.”

“Then tell me the back way. I’ll get as close as I can and hike in.”

“OK, I know it’s useless to argue. Get to the Boy Scout Camp on Oak Grove Road, and come in from there. They don't have enough manpower to patrol there.”

“Go out front and flag Steven down. Tell him I’ll be hiking in from the south. I’ll be wearing jeans and my blue Polo shirt …shoulder holster will be clearly visible. I’d appreciate it if he’d not shoot me. Tell Steven that if I encounter the bloke, I’ll fire a warning shot and hold him until back-up arrives.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Where are you right now?”

“In the bedroom with the dogs …I have the TV on.”

“Get back there as soon as you talk to Steven.” Like I would do anything else?

“Terry, the guy has five miles of open farmland to cross before he even gets close to us. They’ll catch him long before he gets here.”

“He also has adrenaline working for him. How long has it been since he left the truck …45 minutes? He could be in the tree line right now.”

“I really wish you hadn’t said that. Terry, I need to go …I can hear the choppers overhead, so this is probably a safe time to run outside. I love you. Be careful; if the cops stop you, do what they say. I'll be fine.”

“I love you, too, Diana.”

TERRY
The bloody freeway is backed up south of 635, so I take the back roads to the Scout camp and start walking. I unholster my weapon and keep it close to my belly. I can see the black and white choppers from DPS circling widely and close to the ground; the news choppers from the local telly stations are off in the distance.

Just as I clear the tree line, the choppers that had been circling above me break away and head toward one of the open fields a mile or so away. I watch as they drop low to the ground and hear the loudhailer from one of the DPS units as they tell the bloke to drop his weapon and lay face-down on the ground. I holster my weapon and speed up to a jog, climb over the fence, and put my key in the lock, calling to her as I open the door.

“Honey, I’m home! Don’t shoot me!” I hear the click of the safety; I can only hope she is putting it back on. She comes running from the bedroom with the dogs, placing the Walther on the dining table as she runs toward me.

“I know. I saw you from the Chopper 5 feed.”

The Jag finally came home late that night once the police presence evaporated. Diana may insist on calling it 'Mabel;' anthrorpomorphasising an automobile is one of her traits I hope I do not pick up.

Brad has the screaming yellow 911 Turbo, the last in the line of cars, waiting for me to drive home. This started out as an adventure but has become tiresome. I am a creature of habit, and the constant change this has shifted into is now annoying. The final straw encouraging me to end the car game was when I couldn't even let my shiela into the Merc because I couldn’t find the bloody switch to unlock the doors.

There is method to my madness in driving one last car. As far as I know, Diana has never driven a standard shift. If she’s to strip the gears on a transmission, I would prefer it be on a loaner, not my toy. Dino has politely declined my offer – he reads it for what it is …a plea – for him to teach Diana on the Spyder.

“Mate, give her a thrill; she loves Baby. Save our relationship. I don't know if it will survive my teaching her to drive a standard.”

His look of horror and outright fear answers long before his litany begins. “There is no guarantee The Bitch will start again the first time Diana stalls it, and you know she’ll stall it – numerous times. It'll be better if she learns on the same model you'll be getting; the feel will be more similar. You have far more patience than I do; I'd freak Diana out. There was a reason you were a training officer in the service, and I wasn't. I'd forget to tell her something important. Besides, she'll probably be in shorts, and I'd have to run my hand down her leg to be sure she had the tension right on the clutch.”

The picture of Dino crouched in the floor checking Diana's legs scotched the deal. He knew it would.

“Right then. If our relationship can survive this without devolving into tears and hatred, it will be a miracle. I want no comment on my red, puffy eyes when I come in tomorrow as I will be the one reduced to tears when Diana hisses at me.”

Dino holds up his hands in a belaying gesture. “I'll be glad it's not me reduced to tears. You won't hear a word from me.”

I will hear mocking words from him about my ability to drive a stick. It's been a bloody long time since I've driven one, and I manage to stall the beast on the upslope out of the car park. I hadn't planned on telling Diana that at all, but as I get it restarted on the incline and pulled away, I could see Dino reared back in laughter at my plight in the rear view. At least Max wasn’t there to see it; his bloody Bentley is a stick, and he shifts it like a hot knife through butter. I'll use the story if she becomes frustrated tonight before Dino has a chance to tell her.

DIANA
I'd dug out the shoes I'd worn when I took flying lessons and changed into them before Terry got home. Not that my flight instructor was a stickler or anything, but he’d gone with me to buy shoes since he had deemed all my then current shoes, or to be more correct, the soles on all my then current shoes, unacceptable. Some had too grabby a sole, some not enough. So I had ended up with a decent pair of canvas Mary Janes with slight ribbing under the ball of my foot and slick on the toes and arch. If they worked on a Cessna's rudder pedals, they certainly would be fine for a Porsche's clutch though lacking in style for a Poor-shit.

I start getting nervous the closer it got to time for Terry's arrival. It dawned on me that I now expect him to pull in the drive when he's in town; I don't know when that happened.

When he is in town, he calls if he will be later than 7 PM. I do worry about his calls from the car. I HATE drivers who are on their cell phones and their speed drops 10 MPH; I have been known to mime taking a phone from my ear and hanging it up as I go around them, mouthing the words, “Hang up the phone and drive!” Maybe I harped on it too much to Terry as when I have been with him I've noticed his normally lead foot gets heavier when he is on the phone.

His business travel has him home intermittently; when he’s out of town, I know the phone will ring at 10 PM or an email will have already arrived. I never asked him to stay so closely in touch; he does it of his own accord.

My own communication with him has gone through several stages. At first, I never let him know where I was or what I was doing. I thought it was terribly presumptuous; why the hell would he care? After a few nasty encounters with his worried anger, I called if I wouldn't be home when he normally got here. Then I went through being incredibly resentful of letting him know when I wouldn't be home. Like a bratty kid I intentionally didn't call; I wasn't going to be tied to some man, even if he is the love of my life. When I hit the calculated no call phase, Terry didn't get angry with me; he'd look up from what he was doing and say, “You're home.” I got over the long term sulk I was in when I noticed the book he looked up from was upside down. I think I've now hit the happy medium and found some balance. I must have gotten lost in those memories because I didn't hear the car pull in – only the unmistakable 'Beep' of a Porsche. How can such a sleek, powerful car have such a wimpy horn?

Loaner Porsche

A pleased, smiling Terry stands beside the open passenger door of a school bus yellow 911, his arm draped over the door. I make a great show of locking the front door to make him laugh before going to him. I greet him with a long, sensual kiss. His open mouth invites my tongue to join his.

I leave my lips on his. “I'm sorry.”

“I love you as well.” His lips lightly brush mine with his words, kissing me with them.

“No, really, I mean I'm sorry. I've led you on a merry chase settling into this relationship. Sometimes I've been intentionally spiteful and worried you. I'm sorry for that. I was afraid of losing myself in you. Now I can't imagine a better place to get lost.” I am lost in his embrace, once again not knowing where I end and he begins. It doesn't matter to me anymore.

He looks at me intently with his big paw cradling my head. “I don't know what brought that on, but you can still be you. You know where you’re headed. Please take me with you.” He kisses me deeply as he slowly separates us. “You needn't have a driving lesson tonight if you don't want.”

“I'm not trying to get out of a refresher course.”

“Good.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and walks us to the driver side, opens the door for me, watches me get comfortable in the seat, and crouches down to adjust it for me.

I catch him mid-adjustment with my words. “I expect you to come home to me now. I thought you should hear me say it.” His eyes have a film on them as he puts his hand on the side of my face; I turn my head and kiss his palm.

TERRY
I pause fiddling with her seat adjustment to look into her eyes. Her short statements overwhelm me. They are deceptively simple but carry such a depth of emotion and her profound truth. They are a distillation of her wisdom. With her comment of expecting me to come home to her, she’d done it again. Just when I think she’s given me that last little bit of herself, she gives me a little more. In truth, I would stay here on the apron with my hand on her face looking into her eyes all night without another word.

A thought from Max's chat crosses my mind, and Diana reads it quickly. I am close to being on one knee; a flicker of doubt flashes across her eyes so I rise and lean back in to kiss her cheek. The right time and place will come.

“We're fine as we are, Lady.”

Diana listens quietly as I have her step on the clutch of the parked car to run through the gears. She stomps down on it. “Easy, it doesn't require that much pressure to engage the clutch.” She lets it up and steps down again, this time without as much exertion.

“I practiced today. As I accelerated Truck, I let up on the imaginary clutch. I was quite smooth.”

“I'm sure you were. A precision piece of engineering takes a lighter touch.”

I put her hand on the gearshift under mine so she gets the feel of where her hand needs to move to shift; she is looking down. I look down to see her foot between the gas and brake pedals poised as if to accelerate. “Diana, look out the windscreen. You need to see what the other drivers are doing whilst you shift.”

“Oh, OK.” She follows my instructions, but her eyes immediately drop to the gearshift when we move into second.

“Keep looking up,” and her eyes drop to find third. She really shouldn't look down at all, but I don't have the heart to pick at her on her first time through the gears. Her small downward glances can't be much worse than the distraction of changing the radio.

Her left leg is quivering from the exertion of holding down the clutch. She may have lost some of her need to power down the clutch pedal now.

“Ready to go down the drive?” She nods her head strongly once; it seems I am not the only one who has picked up the other's mannerisms.

“Check the parking brake is off. Keep the clutch engaged as you turn on the ignition.” She yanks on the parking brake without looking down, reengaging it before releasing it again. I'll have to be sure to tell Brad to check both the braking and transmission systems when I return the car.

“Keep the clutch engaged …softly.” Her tongue is peeking out of the corner of her mouth. I think I do that when I'm intent. Her left leg is fully outstretched.

“Make sure you’re in neutral.” She looks down and wiggles the shift. She looks back up and glares out the windscreen.

“Turn the key in the ignition.” From the roar of the engine, Diana had her lead foot on the gas when she started the car. I can only hope she isn't that heavy on the gas when we begin to move. She shot back into the seat.

“Whoa, some injection system.”

“Whoa will not stop the car like the horses, Diana. You'll downshift and let the lower gears slow the forward momentum. Unless the traffic is heavy, often you won’t even need the brake. The transmission will do it for you.” She didn't stop glaring through the windscreen nor take her death grip from the shift knob.

“Now check to be sure the parking brake is disengaged.”

“Will you do that for me just this once? Please,” Diana whines, her voice at the same octave as when the Porsche gets truly wound. “If I do it, I'll never find the gearshift again.”

“You can do it. If you’re having trouble finding the gearshift, I'll help you.” She checks the brake without looking and drops her eyes to find the gearshift. She knows what is coming next as she does not bother to look up again.

“Slide into first.” She moves the gearshift and resumes her hateful glare at the non-existent drivers in front of her.

“You're doing fine. Do you think you are ready to move the car now?” I’m fighting to control my laughter.

“No.” Diana is sounding like a petulant child. “But I don't suppose I have a choice.”

I ignore her impression of Henry at three years of age. “Start letting up on the clutch and LIGHTLY press down on the gas simultaneously as you practiced in Truck. Try to keep them in tandem.” After the longest shift in the history of the world, we start moving. Diana is sitting at attention in her seat; the only parts of her touching the lovely leather are the bones in her bum and her upper thighs. In case she forgets to steer and misses the slight curve in the drive, it will be wise if I have my seat restraint on when we knock down the big crepe myrtle. At the speed we’re going, I doubt the air bags will inflate.

“What are you doing!?” Diana shrieks at me.

“Fastening my seat belt.”

Diana is religious about always wearing her seat restraint, but there would be no way her white knuckled grip on the steering wheel or gearshift would come off to put it on now. Check steering wheel and gearshift for imperfections goes onto my mental list for Brad.

“Oh,” was all she could manage.

Surprisingly, Diana doesn’t stall the Porsche down the drive though she is loathe to give it much gas. We miss the trees when Diana jerks the steering wheel hard to the left to make the gentle sweep in the drive. She finally takes her hand from the gearshift, finally trusting it not to jump out of gear and bite her.

“Which way do I go?”

“At the end of the drive? Either way.”

“Which way!?” It’s clear she’s not up to making a decision about direction just now.

“Right, go to your right,” I manage to get out. Diana has the 100-yard stare some of the lads in Marksmanship classes got right before they turned their weapon in my direction when asking a question.

Diana makes the right turn at a screaming ½ mile per hour with both hands on the wheel. I have seen her take sharp, unknown corners in Truck with her index finger at 50 when the roadway is posted at 40.

“You can give it more gas now.”

“What do I do with the clutch?” Her left leg is stabbing for the pedal. Best be quick with the answer.

“Nothing. Just step lightly on the gas pedal. Try to get it up to 10 or 15 miles per hour. You'll shift to second when the tach gets to 1500.” Her leg remains outstretched, but it’s no longer searching for the clutch. Now I think I understand how that device got the name 'clutch' though with Diana the word could be substituted for steering wheel and gearshift.

We’re now traveling at sufficient speed that the turtle who lives in the bar ditch is not pacing us. “You're doing fine. Speed up a little more. Try to get up to second before the end of the road.” The cul de sac has a nice wide roundabout that I know this car can handle at 45 – I did it earlier before pulling in the drive – probably faster, but I wanted more time under the wheel under varying conditions before I tried it at speed.

“Second!?” She's back to screeching. “The end of the road is coming up fast!” At least with her last sentence she had to breathe. The Porsche is starting to feel like it wants second gear. We have ¾ of a mile before the roundabout.

“You can shift to second gear now. It'll be fine. Let up on the gas and press down on the clutch simultaneously. Once the clutch is completely engaged, shift to second, straight down. Then let up on the clutch and accelerate at the same rate you let up on the clutch.” I wave at Bill who is making a hasty retreat. He smiles and waves from the safety of his porch.

Diana has dropped her eyes to find the shift, and we are drifting to the right. I won't make the steering correction for her until absolutely necessary. Surely she'll raise her eyes before the mailbox I can barely make out down the road.

The clutch engagement is very smooth. “Good.”

She slams the gearshift into second, hitting the back of the bracket, brings her eyes up, and begins the second slowest shift in history, but it is smooth and no chugging. “Very nice. Now move us a little to the left.” We might as well take up the middle of the road, as there are no more houses this direction.

“What do I do when I get to the end of the road?”

I've learnt not to give her options. “Move back to the right and make the turn in second at the same speed you are going now. You don't have to shift.”

“This fast!?”

“This will be fine.” She is still ramrod straight, but her driving hand is slightly more relaxed. Her death grip on the gearshift is still there. “Diana, you can take your hand off the shift.”

“Oh.” I'd take her hand, but I fear ending in our newly turned field axle deep in dirt.

Her tongue is peeking out again at the large hurdle before her, the dreaded left hand turn. She begins accelerating half way through the turn; her muscle memory on how to drive is returning. A slight smile is at the corners of her mouth; she is enjoying her sense of accomplishment.

“Speed up a little more. Good. Now shift whenever you’re ready.” The feet part is done before she looks down to find third. The shift is faster. We are now traveling at normal driving speed toward home.

“Terry, I've done enough for today.” Oh, no, you haven't, Lady, and I have sense enough not to voice that sentiment. My goal for today is for Diana to drive this 480 horsepower conveyance with as much ease as she rides a single horse at the same rate of speed. She's done the speed, but the comfort is not there.

“Slow down a bit, and then shift into second.”

She sighs in relief and does as I’ve instructed but not without looking down. “Now turn into the drive.”

“At this speed!?”

“This Turbo sits so low to the ground, it can turn at twice this speed safely.”

Just to be safe, Diana down shifts again, and we creep into the drive. She stalls the car for the first time when she enters the drive. Not bad for her first go.

“Good. Now you can learn to back up, and we'll go again.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Her plaintive cry reverberated through the small cockpit; she sounded a great deal like Holly when she bays at the emergency sirens.

BILL
Dee is kinda like the daughter we never had. Doesn't know a lick about how to get a crop in the ground but can look at a hay bale and tell if a horse'll eat it. I always wondered about her, livin' alone like she did, but it suited her; not my place to butt in. Not in the beginning.

When Nancy took sick soon after she moved in, Dee was there. She was still workin' long hours, but soon as she got home and saw to the horses, she came in to spell me. When Nancy got better and said she wanted a horse, I found her one. Since neither one of us knew spit about horses, Gillie moved in with Dee, and Nancy started learnin'. Once Nancy got her strength back and knew how to keep a horse, it seemed a shame to take Gillie away from her friends, so she stayed put down the road. It was good for Nancy, too; she needed a woman friend close even though Dee is so much younger ‘n us.

Don't know how Terry makes his money, but there seems to be a goodly supply of it, enough for fancy cars, sharp clothes. What I never could figure was why a man like him who's used to $30 haircuts at some high falutin' salon started goin' to the local barber shop. Not my place to ask but sure was glad he was there when Gene Bowen started talkin' bout sellin' his place. The sale was worrisome even though my 300 acres puts what little was left of the Bowen place to shame. If Gene had sold his place to developers, sure ‘nuff those city people who think they want the country life woulda been complainin' about what it takes to get a crop to grow. Haven't heard bout the financing Terry took on to buy the old Bowen place, but sure glad he did. Farming doesn't pay enough for me to have bought it.

Bein's how Dee's as close a kin as we have local, when Nancy and I go, Dee gets it all. Neither Nancy or I have told her yet since she'd try to talk us out of it; let her find out at the readin' of the will. Sure hope Terry's still around then, not that she'd need him to run a farm, but I like the fella. Wish he'd make an honest woman of her, but it's not my place to talk. Except for that one slip when Dee went eventin' that one weekend, he seems like he's settled.

Nancy and I had a good time that night watching Dee learning to drive Terry's new Porsche. I thought I heard Holly howling, but no lights and sirens showed up; I musta been wrong.

Before they quit that night, Dee had been all the way down our road several times, looked like she got all the way to fourth, taken the circle faster than a snail's pace, and had settled into the seat some. Terry seemed to take it all in stride, much better 'n I did when I taught Nancy to drive, and we were just kids who didn't know no better in my shot to hell pickup.

He even left that pretty yellow thing for her. Had it facin' out so she wouldn't have to back up down the driveway or tear up the yard gettin' it out to the road. Don't know how the suspension would do goin' through the bar ditch neither. Last three days she drove up and down the road in it. She's bound to wear out the transmission, shiftin' as much as she does. When she gets finished, she drives it to the front of the garage, and every mornin' he turns it around facin’ the road so it’s easy for her to get out. Today she went out on the main road – didn't go down the hill though; she headed to the windy, back road. I’d give a lot to be watchin’ the first time she has to stop on a hill …I wouldn’t want to be the guy in the car behind her.

Nancy gets the phone always; I don't like talkin' on it. I did too much plowin' on an open tractor for too many years; my hearing's shot to hell. I was in for dinner and a nap durin' the heat of the day. Nancy brought the phone to me with a smile on her face.

“It's Terry.”

Nancy had already turned up the hearin' booster for me; married 42 years, and she still looks out for me. “Whatcha need, Son? Can't be a car.”

He's got a good laugh and don't take himself too serious. I'd still hate to run into him in a dark alley even if I were younger.

“I do need to ask a favor. Diana,” you can almost see his goofy face over the phone when he says her name, “needs to do some freeway driving in the Porsche, but I'd like for traffic to be lessened for her.

“Would you mind blocking traffic for her?”

“You want me in the combine or the truck?”

“The truck will be fine. I'll bring home radios so we can time when she enters the roadway.”

“As long as we head out of town, you won't need us for long.”

“Thanks, Mate. We'll stop for dinner, my shout. See you in a bit.”

Like I said, he's a good fella, but he talks funny.

I could hear 'em fussin' outside. We learned it ain't serious.

“Terry, I am not driving on a hill! I found a way to 75 today where there are no hills. I will plan my routes when I drive the Poor-shit so I avoid hills.”

“You tell me you've found the sweet spot on the clutch. All I'm asking you to do is prove it. Holding the car steady on a hill is ….”

Someone rang the doorbell. With those two, you never could tell who was takin' the lead. Nancy and I have an ongoing game 'bout those two; we call it 'Who's Leadin'. It was Nancy's turn to guess first; she guessed Dee. This time it was a draw. Terry still had his finger near the doorbell; Diana had the keys in her hand.

“Hi. I hear Terry roped you guys into my final lesson.”

“Glad to do it. Wouldn't want our two favorite people gettin' hurt.”

“It's been forever since Bill took me out for a drive. I'll get one however I can.”

“Don't forget dinner's on me by way of thanks. Who's handling the radio?”

Nancy held up her hand. “I am.” Terry showed her how to operate it as we started walkin’ to the cars. My bird dog, Pete, came around the corner and flopped down when he didn't see any shotguns in hand. Good bird dog, not good for much else.

“See, Diana. That's how good dogs should act.” Terry pulled her in and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. Downright chaste. If he'd really wanted to shut her up, he'da kissed her on the mouth. I think he likes pickin' at her.

“Pete's older than either Okie or Holly by four or five years.” I could hear her say back to him as they took the hike across the road. All I had to do was head out behind them, go to 75, head south one exit, and come back north; they wait until they got the word from Nancy, and Dee could get on in front of me. No one argues with my old truck.

Dee's gotten speedy in that thing; they was stopped at the end of our road, waitin' on us. “Nance, can you read me?”

“Four by four.” Nancy's response musta surprised Terry from his giggle; wasn't his barber shop laugh at all. “We were married when Bill was in the Air Force. I learned military.” She did that at the same time she was goin’ to college.

Terry turned off the radio; I could see him pointing left, and Dee had the right blinker on. We sat for a couple of minutes watching the discussion. If you were to cut off Dee's hands, she couldn't talk; that car is too small for her hands to talk too loud. Terry sat facing her, still as could be.

“Doesn't that remind you of us last Friday?” Nancy asked me as she slid over on the bench seat.

“It does. I ain't goin' to tell the boy the bickerin' will go on as long as they live. Don't want him to get discouraged.”

Terry made a move, quick as could be, and kissed her the same way Nancy had ended our last discussion. He sat back, and the left blinker came on with Dee still bendin' his ear with a smile on her face; I could see the smile crinkles around her eyes when she looked in the rear view mirror.

Sometimes on the way to the highway, you get lucky, and the light is green at the top of the hill. Dee didn't get lucky. Be damned, she has found the sweet spot on the clutch and held the little thing still without a brake light to be seen. That is, until she killed it, trying to come away from the light. I saw Terry reach over and set the brake. I could see he was talkin' to her; I saw her shoulders rise up and then slump. All five cars at the light stopped, and folks started waving her through the red light. That's the nice thing about little towns. If you're havin' trouble, folks will do all they can to let you work through it yourself, and if you can’t, they’ll help if you’ll let ’em. Everyone wanted to get a look at the little yellow thing; they'd heard all about it, but not many had seen it yet since it hadn't been much off our road.

Dee started the engine again, and when she had the clutch hooked up, Terry released the brake. Those two make a good team.

“Remember when the stop sign first went in, and you stalled the truck? It took you five tries to get through. You should tell her.” Now why did I know Nancy would bring that up? Because we've been married 42 years, and I know she doesn't want Dee to be embarrassed.

We got to the highway with no more problems other than Dee zippin' off and leavin' me in her dust. When we passed the on ramp, they was pulled over with Dee's head on his shoulder. He was lookin' in the rearview for us, and Nancy could see him talkin' so she flipped on the radio quick; his was off so whatever he was sayin' was not for us, as it should be. God knows, Nancy and I had several talks on the side of the road when she learned to drive.

Nancy left the radio on, and we heard his crackle back to life. “Nance, where are you guys?”

“We're just south of where the semi stopped. There's nobody looking like they want to get off so you should be fine.”

We heard the engine start, and the next thing we knew, a yellow streak flashed way ahead of us.

We heard Dee's voice. “Thanks, guys. I got it from here. We should be back in an hour or so.”

Nancy looked at me. “Not a chance if they have a roadside chat like we used to ….”

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