Chapter Thirteen

Clint was content with the way things were for the moment. He and Renee tooled along in the Belly Nelle, The Tin Can rattling behind them, away from the high country of Wyoming and headed toward Texas. Just the two of them. Each weekend, he’d appear at one of the small rodeos along his carefully configured route. When they reached San Antone, he wanted to visit his mother for a few days before flying off to the big Ellensburg Labor Day rodeo in Washington State.

He had some concerns about Renee being lethargic in the mornings and showing no interest in food, but she usually perked up as the day went on. Clint thought the need for extra sleep and the lack of appetite made up part of her healing process. He prayed to God the symptoms didn’t point to depression.

Whenever they stayed in an area with cell towers that blasted phone her father gave to her would ring. Her sister or dad talked until the battery wore down. He’d had to stop at a store and get a charger to plug into the Nelle’s ancient cigarette lighter and hoped to hell it didn’t ignite the entire truck. They wanted her forgiveness. After the calls, Renee cried as she did so easily lately. If he could find that little pickpocket again, he’d have him boost the new phone and throw it away.

Back in Rainbow, Renee had restocked her suitcase with a fresh array of slinky clothes and shouldered an expensive leather bag. With her father’s credit card, she could buy more anytime—or use it to finance a plane ticket home whenever she became bored with him and their quirky road trip. Just when he thought he’d made some progress again, the old Renee might arise at any moment and take flight with a fancy suitcase full of new duds her guilty father would gladly pay for, no questions asked, no demands she return the stuff. Some people called a fat chance a flying pig. Well, he dreamed of flying tigers not of the fighter plane variety.

Not much sex went on, and that was fine for now as long as it meant she hadn’t lost interest in him. Sometimes when Clint held her in the evenings, gentle lovemaking would ensue, all the rage of the tiger gone. Often, Renee simply fell asleep, leaving him in the dark to contemplate his own lies to her and to himself.

He had to come clean soon about who he really was. He had to come to terms with the fact he’d told her pervert uncle that he loved Renee but never told the woman herself. Just what had he meant? That he enjoyed her ferocity in bed? That he admired how she protected her sister? That he saw her as a tough survivor of the ultimate betrayal? All of the above?

Renee dozed against his shoulder when Clint parked at a truck stop outside of yet another small town in New Mexico near the Texas border. They would reach San Antonio tomorrow, but for now, he still pretended to be just Clinton O. Beck, itinerant bullfighter. Renee roused when he turned off the ignition, and the Nelle shuddered as usual. The stop offered all the usual: hot showers, slot machines, huge convenience store with cheap cigarettes, caffeine pills, junk food, and hot coffee. The store fed into a restaurant called Mabel’s Good Eats. Clint had passed through here often enough, and he knew Mabel personally.

Mabel greeted him warmly, but Renee showed no jealousy as she had when he’d introduced her to Norma Jean Scruggs. Mabel, short, round, and grandmotherly, had hair obviously dyed black and bright red lips. Dressed in a cotton muumuu with a loud print of parrots and gigantic green leaves, she came running on crepe-soled shoes to give Clint a bosom-crushing hug. He swung her around, which took some effort, Mabel being no lightweight.

“What’s good on the menu tonight, dear?” Clint asked her.

“The meat loaf special. Comes with creamed potatoes, green beans, roll, and a trip to the salad and dessert bar.”

“That will do for me. Renee?”

“Just the salad bar. Does soup come with it?”

“Two kinds. Help yourself. Clint, you come sit at the counter so we can catch up. I saw that stunt you pulled in Glendale on the TV.”

Renee went over to the salad bar. She studied it. A big metal bowl of shredded iceberg lettuce floated on a bed of slightly melted ice. Containers of cherry tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, rings of purple onions, and green olives surrounded it like a colorful wreath. Vats of potato and macaroni salad dominated the display. Renee lifted the lids of the two soup pots. One contained clam chowder, probably not a good choice in New Mexico, and the other a vegetable beef that smelled like canned. She ladled out a cup of the vegetable soup, filled a small plate with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and olives, and added a few packets of crackers from a basket on the side. She drizzled some Lite Italian dressing over the salad.

“Picky eater, is she?” Mabel asked Clint.

“Renee? She’s off her feed. Had a lot of upheavals in her life lately and watches her weight pretty closely, too.”

“You need a woman with some meat on her bones—like me. When are you going to settle down, Clint?”

“Maybe soon.”

“Her?”

“She has her good points.”

“Yeah, I see two of them sticking out of her chest. Can’t be real,” Mabel assessed.

He didn’t comment. Renee brought her food to the counter and took a seat on a red vinyl stool next to Clint. Mabel went off to pick up the meatloaf special and returned with a heaping oblong plate and a green plastic basket with two rolls.

“I brought extra bread for you, honey.”

“Thank you,” Clint and Renee answered simultaneously. All three laughed.

“Got to say you have a great laugh, nice and throaty, Renee. I hate those gigglers. Clint says you’re feeling poorly. Try the banana pudding for dessert. It’s soothing. Got vanilla wafers in it. My kids always loved that.”

Mabel continued to jaw with Clint about her children and grandchildren as he shoveled in the meatloaf covered in brown gravy. Pools of it cascaded down the sides of the mashed potatoes and mingled with the juice of the green beans cooked with bacon. The smell of the mélange of foods drove Renee over to the dessert bar for the banana pudding sooner than she would have liked.

She felt Mabel watching as she put a few scoops of yellow pudding covering lumps of brown banana into a cup. From the limited selection of green gelatin mixed with crushed pineapple and whipped cream or slices of apple pie and chocolate cake, it seemed the best choice for her jumpy stomach.

“You get yourself some of the wafers, too,” shouted Mabel from across the room. Renee obediently added a few soggy cookies from the side of the bowl. She went over to the coffee bar and poured hot water for a cup of tea. Mabel watched her closely.

“You sure she ain’t knocked up, Clint?”

“Renee? I’d be surprised. She isn’t shy about telling me to use a condom.”

“Men are always surprised.” Mabel waddled off to take care of other customers, topping off coffee and making small talk.

Clint finished up with the apple pie and coffee. He flexed his fingers and challenged Renee. “I think I saw a claw machine on the way in. Want to see who can get the most toys?”

“Sure, but I warn you, I’ve been practicing when you go to work.”

They spent the evening on the simple pleasure of grabbing toys with a metal claw and delivering them to a slot. The business side of Clint Beck knew he could buy a ton of stuffed animals wholesale to give away for half the price, but wouldn’t have the joy of picking his target and easing it on over to the hole. He called the penguin in the far right corner, a hard target in the time allotted. Clint got the bird by a flipper, moved the claw toward the slot—and lost the toy at the last second. Renee took her turn, lowered the claw, grabbed the penguin by the head and dropped it in the chute. She laughed as she presented it to him, her hazel eyes shining, her whole face alight, a few cinnamon freckles showing through her makeup.

“I moved it there just so you could get it easy,” Clint said.

“Yeah, sure. Sore loser.”

Clint leaned over, ran his hands through her silky dark red hair and brought her close for a kiss, a long one with lots of tongue and touchy-feely.

“Get a room!” Mabel called from the entrance to the Good Eats.

“Got one,” shouted Clint right back.

He gathered up their prey of penguins, sequined flamingos, and Roswell-style aliens in one arm and guided Renee back to The Tin Can with the other. They made a kind of love that involved much tickling and changing of positions. He’d never tell Mabel, but Renee could giggle if touched in all the right places.

****

What the hell happened overnight? Renee must have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. First, she’d pounded on the door of the bathroom while he was using the can and demanded he hurry up because she had to pee. Wrapped in the big terry robe he’d gotten from Bodey, Renee came out of the toilet and complained about the eggs he made for breakfast.

“Aren’t we out of that bacon grease yet? We haven’t had bacon since the first week we were on the road. It smells rancid.”

“It’s been in the refrigerator. I don’t think bacon grease can spoil, but if you want bacon, I’ll walk over to Mabel’s and get you some.”

“Good God, no! Just finish your breakfast and get out of here so I can get more sleep. You kept me up half the night.” Renee stumbled over his bag of bullfighting gear on her way to the folding bed and stubbed her toe. Obscenities flowed. “Can’t you put this stuff in the back of the truck? I’m always tripping over it.”

He’d planned to give her breakfast in bed, but now that deal was off. “I thought you enjoyed last night, lady. But sure, I can move my gear. I have errands to run. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Sleep all morning if you want to for all I care.”

Clint dumped his dishes with a clatter into the metal sink, left the can of bacon grease by the stove, and picked up his bullfighting equipment. He slammed the door of The Tin Can on his way out, but with the lock broken, it bounced open again. Renee snapped it shut sharply behind him. He threw his bag into the back of the Nelle and peeled out, leaving a small New Mexico sandstorm in his wake. He wanted to find a place to hook up his computer and didn’t want Renee hanging over his shoulder at the truck stop. His mother deserved a heads-up on the situation.

Renee wiped her face with a wet washcloth. She’d barfed as quietly as she could while running water in the bathroom, and all she wanted now was a hot cup of tea to settle her stomach and more sleep. Clint usually made her toast in the morning and tea if she desired it. Though quite willing to make cold sandwiches for lunch and salads anytime, she remained leery of the propane stove with its big whoosh of flame every time she turned a knob. Oh, what she would give this morning for an electric teapot.

Coming around the bed in the cramped quarters, Renee stubbed her other toe on the leg of the built-in table. Cursing, she rooted for her black cowboy boots and put them on. Ha, no more sore toes this morning! And, she didn’t need Clinton O. Beck to make her a cup of tea.

Renee found a small saucepan and filled it with bottled water. She sat the pan on a burner of the tiny stove, lit a match, and stood way back as she turned the knob to release the gas. She heard the hiss and tossed the match under the burner. It didn’t quite make it all the way in, but the gas caught and flamed up around the pan. She leaned over to turn the knob lower and knocked the damned can of bacon grease directly into the fire. The melted fat oozed over the knob she needed to turn off, bringing the flames with it.

A big rig rumbled by outside the trailer. The Tin Can vibrated. The door flew open letting in a gust of fresh air that bent the fire toward the thin, greasy drapes over the small window. They caught like dry brush. Renee tried to remember where Clint told her he’d stored a fire extinguisher—in the bench whose cushions had just burst into flames.

She began to cough. Time to bail. She grabbed those things most valuable to her and jumped out the door of The Tin Can screaming, “Fire! Fire!”

Truckers raced for water hoses. Others grabbed their own extinguishers. Mabel called the local volunteer fire department. A group effort kept the fire away from the pumps and the other rigs parked in the lot, but by the time the flames went out completely, nothing remained of The Tin Can but a hollow metal shell with a blackened and barbecued interior.

Mabel guided the shaking Renee into the cramped restaurant office and gave her a glass of water. “What did you save?” she asked Renee as a distraction.

Renee showed her the straw cowboy hat and shook out the two items inside the crown onto a battered wooden desk—a stuffed toy tiger and a very nicely crafted silver and turquoise Navajo bracelet.

“Interesting selection. Guess your clothes are all gone. I got a spare dress in the closet I can lend you until you get something to wear. Can’t go shopping in that bathrobe, now can you? Here you go.”

Mabel opened the closet door and took out a patio dress with a high, dark green yoke, many gathers, and a big ruffle around the bottom. The pattern consisted of gigantic slices of watermelon. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ll want it back. Go on, get dressed. It’s private here. I’ll close my eyes if you’re modest.”

“Hardly.” Renee dropped the robe and in no particular hurry, lowered the muumuu over her head.

Mabel got an eyeful and felt free to comment. “On my best days, and that was before the kids came along, I never looked that good. Sure, you got a little gut on you, but men like some flesh on a woman, no matter what the fashion magazines say.”

Renee sat in the swivel chair with half its varnish rubbed off. She crossed her long legs, snapped the cuff bracelet onto her arm, shoved the straw cowboy hat on to her head, and dropped the toy tiger into her lap. She folded her arms under her large breasts. Let Mabel stare all she wanted.

“You had surgery lately or maybe a baby? Sure itches when that pubic hair grows back,” Mabel continued, woman to woman.

“My Brazilian wax job is growing out.”

“Heard about those in Cosmo. Never seen one before. Bet it still itches.”

At least the overly intimate conversation with Mabel kept Renee’s mind away from the fire and what she’d done to The Tin Can, their home, their only home. What would Clint think of her now? Wearing no underwear and dressed in this hideous gown, she’d soon be on a plane heading back to Rainbow.

The door to the office smashed back against the wall. Clint Beck dashed in and stared at Renee alive, well, and wearing no make-up, but garbed in a dress covered with watermelons, black boots, a straw hat, and jewelry as if she were planning to attend some bizarre hoedown.

“One of the truckers saw the Nelle parked in front of the café downtown and stopped to tell me my trailer caught on fire. Thank God, you’re safe—and strangely dressed.”

If Snuffy saw her now, he’d find a place for her in the clown truck. Renee couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her full lips quivered and tears ran through the soot smudges on her cheeks. Clint knelt and wrapped her in his arms. “Don’t cry, Tiger. I’m going to buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

She lifted her head and gave Clint a wobbly smile. New clothes, the path to Renee Niles Bouchard Hayes’ heart. “There’s a Wally World along the way, honey.”

Renee began to cry again.

****

Clint believed her story about the fire, he really did. For just a moment when he’d first gotten the news, he did entertain the notion that Renee might have set fire to The Tin Can because she’d gotten tired of being on the road, sick of cramped quarters, and was through with him. Sure seemed that way when he’d left in the morning.

He considered the things she’d saved. The toy tiger sat all alone on the dashboard, the sole survivor of the inferno that had burned up its buddies residing in a plastic sack in the trailer because he didn’t want them slipping all over the place when he went into town. Renee grabbed without thinking the hat and the bracelet, all gifts he’d given her. His heart felt swollen when he thought about it. She hadn’t preserved the three-hundred dollar leather purse holding Daddy’s gold credit card. He’d think more about it later, but right now, another problem cropped up. She wouldn’t get out of the damned truck.

“Look, Renee. It’s only Walmart. I’ve seen worst-dressed women every time I’ve been in the place. If I must to go in alone, you’ll have to take whatever I pick out.”

“I’m not wearing any panties.”

“Don’t try to tell me this is the first time you’ve ever gone commando in a public place. I know you too well. Hell, half the time you don’t wear anything under your jeans.”

“It’s this dress. It bells out straight from my breasts. I look like I weigh two-hundred pounds. If a wind comes along, everyone will see—”

“Fine!” Clint stalked off leaving her in the Nelle.

He returned a hot half hour later and tossed a plastic package into her lap. “Now you have panties. You wouldn’t believe the checkout lines in there. I tried the self-checkout, but it wouldn’t accept my card.”

“You are probably overdrawn.” Renee tore through the plastic with her nails and held up a pastel pink pair of stretch-cotton bikini panties. She had a selection to choose from. The bag also contained panties in pale yellow, light blue, and mint green. She selected the mint green pair, took off her boots, and shimmed into the panties.

“I hope they fit. I got stretchy ones.”

“Clinton O. Beck, are you saying I’ve gotten fat?” Her eyes weren’t that sharp, green glass color anymore, but Renee could still stare a man down and make him feel an inch tall.

“Nope. I’m saying I’m not going into the bra department, so if you want one, you’d better get out of the car.”

Renee put her boots back on and slid out of the Nelle. They trekked across the huge concrete parking lot giving off heat like a griddle and into the vast, air-conditioned space of the big box store. Renee headed straight for the clothes, snatched jeans from a rack and a few tops as Clint followed behind. She detoured through underwear and picked up boxes of bras, next stop the dressing room. He waited by door. A few minutes later, the jeans came flying over the top of the divider.

“Clint, these don’t fit. Get me another style.”

He looked at the tags. Size six. Over at the racks, he picked out an array of jeans in size eight and carefully tore off and pocketed the tags.

“Here you go, honey.” He shoveled them under the door.

“Still snug, but better. You have a good eye, Clint.”

“That I do. You need more tops?”

“I always need more tops. Pick out some you like.”

He got a few of the ones with crisscross tops and high waists in blues and greens, a pale gray edged with white lace, and one wild swirling lime and hot pink print right out of the seventies. None of them fit tight, but they would show off her breasts without revealing too much skin. After all, their next stop was San Antonio and a visit to his mother.

Renee exited the dressing room carrying a mound of clothes but still wearing the watermelon dress. “If they weren’t so hard on shoplifters here, I’d wear an outfit to the checkout. As soon as this stuff is paid for, I’m changing in the restroom.”

Clint piled the purchases in a cart abandoned by a rack of cheap purses and started toward the front of the store.

“Wait, wait! This straw bag matches my hat.” Renee tossed it into the cart. “It’s kind of cute for the price. They have some nice things really cheap.”

“Right. What’s another $19.95?”

“Are you sure you can afford all this if your card is no good?”

“I’ll write a check. And my fucking card is good! It was just the damned machine.”

“Now who is the grumpy one?” Renee said, cheery so close to being decently dressed again.

They lined up behind a large, blonde woman with a gap-toothed smile and three small, tow-headed children, all clamoring for candy and bubble gum from the rack of impulse buys. As the clerk swished a huge sack of toddler pull-up diapers over the scanner, the woman asked Renee in a twangy voice, “When ya due, darlin’. You got that glow.”

“Due for what?” A waxing, a dye job, a better haircut, what? Renee shot her a perplexed and unhappy glare.

“When’s the baby due, sugar? Gonna be a pretty one if that’s your man.”

“I’m not pregnant,” Renee responded coldly.

“My mistake.” The fair woman colored up and turned her attention to prying a Slim Jim sausage from the toddler’s hand. The other two kids dumped chocolate bars and gummy bears packets on the counter. The mother put back all the chocolate, swiped her card as fast as she could, signed, and made her escape, the children following her like little yellow ducklings.

“Clint, do I look that bad?”

“It’s the dress, Tiger. It does bell out. Forget about it. We need to hit the road to San Antone. I told my mama we’re on the way.”

Renee could not forget. Not when they veered off in Amarillo to cut across central Texas, not when she started seeing signs for Dallas and thought wistfully of shopping in Neiman Marcus, not even as they approached San Antonio, and her hands grew cold at the thought of meeting Clint’s mother. No one took Renee Niles Bouchard Hayes home to Mama, even if Mama was just plain folks. If she did have a bun in the oven, she did not want to know about it right now. Enough stress ahead once they arrived at the family grocery store. Had Clint once told her the Becks lived above the business? Terrified about the meeting, she couldn’t quite recall. Her nausea returned. She slowed their travel with numerous demands for pit stops, but inevitably they reached San Antonio. Passing right through the city as quickly as she’d lost her lunch at a rest stop, they popped out into ranch country on the other side. Maybe Clint wanted to show her the site he’d picked for that doublewide trailer he wanted to buy. Any reason not to meet his family sounded good to her.