Pink Neon Dreams (25 page)

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.
 
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 said 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 said. “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 said.
“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 said. “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 Master’s 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 popped 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 a while.
 
My mama and I bonded back then.
 
The little kids—I shouldn’t call them that,
they’re all grown up—looked up to me almost like a daddy, especially
Michael.
 
I did the best I could.”

“Sugar, I know you did,” she said. “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 said. “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 end their travels for the day.
 

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 said. “A lot of people find it desolate. There’s not much out
here except for farms and ranches.
 
Some
people describe it 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.”