A Match Made in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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Curt had been granted the use of that pickup when he turned sixteen and he had planned to drive it to Las Vegas with no hesitation. As he recalled, he hadn’t even known the thing had no insurance. Not that something like that would have stopped him and Doris June back then. They were in love and impatient to be married. Practical concerns like insurance and finishing high school hadn’t entered into their minds.
Curt could still remember the intensity of the feeling though it had been twenty-five years ago. The only time he had come close to that overwhelming feeling of love was the first time he’d held his son in his arms.
Curt couldn’t help but wonder if Doris June remembered the feeling like he did. He swore they could have lived on that feeling for the rest of their lives if things hadn’t gone so bad so fast.
After he’d hit the stop sign while trying to steal another kiss from Doris June, everything had changed. The only part of it that he had ever been able to make right was to pay for the repairs to the fender of his dad’s pickup. He had sent the money home from the first pay he had received in the army. He knew his father might not use the money to fix the fender, but Curt felt good knowing he had paid for it anyway. He only wished the other problems of that accident had been as easy to resolve.
“Curt was kind enough to drive me in to get you,” Mrs. Hargrove chirped as Curt stepped down from the cab of the pickup and walked around the front of his vehicle. He wondered what made the older woman try so hard to be cheerful. The Mrs. Hargrove he knew never put on an act and he couldn’t help feeling that her upbeat voice was forced.
“I could have rented a car at the airport,” Doris June said stiffly. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to bother.”
“It was no bother.” Torture maybe, Curt thought, but bother? No.
If it was just him and Doris June in the pickup, Curt would have used the darkness of this ride to tell her that he was a hundred kinds of sorry. But, as sorry as he was, he wasn’t about to bare his soul in front of Mrs. Hargrove. A man had to have some dignity.
Mrs. Hargrove had about run out of things to say and the pickup hadn’t even passed the sign that signaled the exit from the airport. It was a bonus that the pickup only had the one seat and Doris June was forced to sit between her and Curt, but Mrs. Hargrove did admit that it made the conversation somewhat strained as Doris June insisted on looking straight ahead. On her lap, Doris June kept the large shopping bag that she’d carried off the plane, so it was almost impossible for Mrs. Hargrove to look over and see Curt’s face.
Charley would have been much better at this part of it, Mrs. Hargrove fretted as she remarked for the second time that the night was unusually dark and that it looked like the moon was covered with clouds so maybe it would rain tomorrow. Unfortunately, Charley was back at his ranch playing a board game with his grandson and so the conversation fell to Mrs. Hargrove.
Mrs. Hargrove was never one to shirk her duty, no matter how unpleasant, but it was very difficult to keep a conversation going all by herself. If it wasn’t so important to set the tone for Doris June’s visit home, she would have been content to let her daughter and Curt sit there without a friendly word between them.
“Curt has been helping me with the pansies,” Mrs. Hargrove finally said. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.”
“It’s no problem,” Curt mumbled.
“I wish you would have let me come earlier,” Doris June said with a quick smile to her mother. “I’m happy to help you with whatever you need.”
Mrs. Hargrove nodded and patted her daughter’s arm. “And I appreciate it. You’re good to me.”
“I’m sure we’ll be able to handle the pansies,” Doris June said. “Curt probably has other work he needs to do this time of the year.”
“I’m not that busy,” Curt said.
“Yes, but—” Doris June began.
“The pansies are too heavy,” Curt added. “We’re going to be digging them up and putting them in my wheelbarrow before taking them into the old house to put in baskets.”
“But they’re only flowers,” Doris June protested. “How heavy can they be?”
Curt grunted. “I’d never hear the end of it from my father if I let the two of you dig up those pansies and pack the baskets by yourselves.”
“Well, we will pay you then,” Doris June said crisply. “Let us know your rate.”
“I don’t have a rate. The baskets are for the church. And for Mother’s Day! You don’t think I’d take money for doing something like that, do you?”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Hargrove said hastily. She had tried to let the two of them handle the conversation, but they seemed determined to bury it. “And we appreciate it. Don’t we Doris June?”
Doris June murmured something that could be an agreement.
Mrs. Hargrove couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Everyone was silent. The only sound was the pickup engine as it kept humming along.
Doris June tried very hard not to move. She had worn the navy slacks that went with her suit, but the material didn’t seem heavy enough when her leg was pressed against Curt’s leg. It had been years since Doris June had ridden in the middle place in a pickup and she had forgotten how the gears forced the person in that position to lean their leg against the driver’s leg. She could almost feel the texture of the denim of Curt’s jeans.
Doris June used to love to ride this close to Curt. Back then, she’d snuggled even closer to him although there was no one sitting on the other side of her like her mother was tonight. For the first time that evening, Doris June found something for which to be grateful. She was glad her mother hadn’t just sent Curt in alone to get her from the airport. She wouldn’t have had a clue what to say to him if they had been alone.
Doris June hoped the darkness inside the pickup cab hid the flush to her face. She was a highly paid professional; she shouldn’t be caught in situations like this, stuck where she didn’t want to be. She had a feeling it was going to be a long time until the baskets were ready for Mother’s Day.
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