Promises To Keep. Shirley Hailstock
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you going to be all right?”
“I’m okay now. The doctor says my leg will heal just fine.” She smiled and McKenna thought Lydia was trying to put her at ease. By her expression, Lydia must have thought she looked panicky.
“I’ll be up and dancing again before you know it.” Again Lydia smiled.
“Why didn’t someone call me last night?”
“You couldn’t have done anything. I was in surgery and then I was asleep from the anesthesia. I had Parker call you this morning.”
“Adrienne called me.”
“Maybe he got to her before you. And you know Adrienne. She’s probably called everyone by now.”
“Can I get you anything? Are you in any pain?”
“I could use another pillow.”
McKenna pulled a pillow from an empty bed and lifted Lydia forward to put it behind her.
“That’s much better.”
McKenna settled into the chair next to the bed. Lydia’s face looked less pale than it had when McKenna had first seen her against the white sheet.
“I’m not going to be able to go on the trip with you,” Lydia said.
“Forget about the trip. You’re going to need help when you get home.”
“I’ll have plenty of help at home. Other than Sara and Adrienne practicing their remedial nursing skills, Emory was here when I woke up.”
Lydia had been on-again, off-again in love with Emory Woodson for as long as anyone could remember.
“I’m just sorry you’re going to have to cancel.” Lydia adjusted her pillows.
“Cancel,” McKenna said. “I’m not going to cancel.” The words had come out automatically, as if she were used to getting her way.
Even hearing that Lydia had fallen didn’t make McKenna respond with talk of cancelling her trip. Lydia was going to be fine. And besides, McKenna had planned to go alone and only agreed to let Lydia come to satisfy their friends. She’d be alone again, but she was going.
“You’ve waited this long—”
“I’m not waiting any longer,” McKenna interrupted.
“But I’ve gotten used to thinking of us both going. You know, Thelma and Louise.”
“Sorry. I was going alone initially. I’ll just go back to the original plan.”
Lydia pushed herself up a little farther. “I knew you’d feel this way. Even though you’d never think of doing this if Marshall was still alive.”
“Probably not. With Marshall we’d be involved in expanding the business. I don’t want to spend thirty years inside a factory, developing newer and newer products, and never see the world.”
“Why is that road so important to you?”
“It’s not the road.”
“It is,” Lydia contradicted. “If it wasn’t that road, would you take the highways or even fly? You want to take that car over that road.”
McKenna stared at the wall behind Lydia for a while. “It’s been a wish of mine for a long time. And Marshall’s, too.”
“Marshall never said anything about wanting to drive 2,400 miles, or wanting to drive that road.”
McKenna refrained from telling her that there were some things that husbands and wives shared that other people knew nothing about.
“Why do you think Marshall had that replica in his office?”
“He liked cars,” Lydia replied.
McKenna shook her head. “He didn’t just like cars. He loved cars. Loved everything about them—the smell of the oil, the sound of a perfectly pitched engine, the squeal of the tires against the road. Every year he couldn’t wait for the new models. Even the new paint colors excited him.”
“I know,” Lydia said. “Marshall lived and breathed cars.”
“I asked him once about the car. Why he had the replica on his desk.”
“Did he say he wanted one, wanted to take it on a road trip?”
“Not in those words. He said it represented a dream. He wanted the freedom the car represented. Not that he regretted marrying me. I wasn’t the tether holding him in place. It was the business. We had so much responsibility because of it, the welfare of our employees depended on us. He took that seriously and said driving away wasn’t in his plans any longer.”
“When was this?” Lydia’s voice was soft. McKenna felt as if she was trying to protect her from the memory of things she and Marshall would never do.
“Shortly before he died. You remember the business was taking a slight hit. We’d begun the custom work and we were pouring a lot of financing into it.”
Lydia nodded. “And then he was gone.”
McKenna felt her eyes tear up. “And then he was gone.”
“And you decided to fulfill his dream.”
She smiled at Lydia, a genuine smile. “It wasn’t just his dream, Lydia. It was mine, too. I didn’t build that car in memory of my husband.”
Lydia gave her a scant look.
“Well, not totally. Building it was my idea, only mine. It was a way to help me deal with Marshall’s death, take my mind off everything. Once I started, it became me. I wanted to do it. I wanted to put all those pieces together and complete it. And I wanted to take it on the road. Men aren’t the only ones who think taking off into the wild is their birthright.”
Lydia held her hand and squeezed it. Then she released it. “I’m sorry that I can’t go with you now.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have no problem being on my own.”
“Well...you won’t be going alone, actually”
McKenna raised her brows, curious. “I won’t?”
“Parker is going to accompany you.”
McKenna couldn’t believe her ears. “Parker!” She almost screamed. “Parker Fordum?” She stood up and took a step back. “You’ve got to be kidding.” McKenna’s stomach churned at the thought of Parker sitting next to her in the small car.
“McKenna, Fordum is on sabbatical. He’s a perfect replacement,” Lydia said.
“Lydia, he’s old, has no imagination and he wants to label and define everyone into a neat, little box. That’s not the kind of person I am or the kind of trip I’m going on.”
“He’s not that old. He’s younger than you are.”
“That’s not what I mean. He acts old, set in his ways. He’s too much of a by-the-book person. He would never fit into the way I want this trip to be.”
“McKenna, he’s not like that at all. Parker is a warm, funny individual who loves adventure. Give him a chance.”
McKenna was shaking her head before Lydia had finished speaking.
“You can’t go alone. It’s too long a drive and too dangerous. And Parker could help out if the car breaks down.”
“Is he a mechanic? Does he know the first thing about a car, about a ’59 Corvette, other than how to drive one? And it has a standard transmission. Can he even drive a stick?”
“You still need someone to help you,” Lydia insisted.
“No, I don’t,” McKenna said. She was sorry she’d ever mentioned the trip to her friends.