Truck Stop Jesus

by Storm, Buck

  Jake started to sip his coffee, then blew on it instead and set the cup down. “Paco contacted Gregory Jones’ lawyer. He said he’d never heard of the coin. If Jones did have it—and there’s no evidence he did—he could’ve sold it or even lost it years ago. No way to know.”

  “And so dies the great mystery of the Dos Escudos.”

  “Looks like it. I wish I could have taken a crack at figuring out what it was all about.”

  “If wishes were horses, right?”

  The bell rang again as the front door opened. Doc’s coffee cup stopped halfway between the table and his mouth as Lana Turner walked in.

  Right off the set of Two Girls on Broadway.

  A scarf held her blonde hair back. She wore a white cotton blouse and red shorts. Just like the movie poster. Even the shoes were right.

  Only it wasn’t Lana Turner. It was a girl. A girl like Doc had never seen.

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “What?”

  “I just changed my mind. I don’t want to be a priest after all.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Louisville Slugger

  In younger days, Doc often tagged along while Jake bounced from rodeo to rodeo, dragging their dad’s old Airstream behind Jake’s Chevy truck. There had been plenty of time to talk. The kind of talk only brothers know. Jokes and jabs until far past midnight, when the Big Gulps and jerky were long gone and the desert sky swirled with satellites and mystery. The time of night when things get serious. When thoughts turn to dreams and love and girls and God. Sometimes Doc imagined the bodiless spirits of his parents storming and swirling along beside the pickup, smiling and protecting, free from cumbersome flesh and blood, but every bit as real as the inevitable truck-stop sign on the horizon.

  One time—Doc never forgot it—somewhere between Lubbock and Abilene, Jake broke character and waxed eloquent on what it was like to have your guts pounded out of you while perched on the hurricane deck of a saddle-bronc. How everything comes into focus and time stands still. Eight seconds stretches out in front of you like a lifetime. When the chute opens and a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like a day. Doc tried hard to imagine the sensation but hadn’t been able to pull it off. Not even during his own rodeo, standing chest-to-chest with the Green Monster in Fenway Park.

  He understood now, sitting in a booth at Shorty’s. He understood with perfect clarity as God jerked the rug out from under him with a mighty fist. The calm in the eye of a typhoon and an NFL defensive line smashing every bone in your body all at once.

  Everything, just like Jake described—and in living Technicolor.

  The girl took a stool at the counter.

  “You all right?” Jake talked loud to make himself heard over the dinner crowd.

  “If you call not being able to breathe all right.”

  Jake turned and glanced at the counter and gave a low whistle. “And how the mighty fall. You gonna talk to her?”

  “Just a second, I’m deciding. Look at her. What do you say to a girl like that?”

  “You’re the smart one. Play chess, it’s like baseball.”

  Doc tapped his knife on the table. “She’s not from here.”

  “Brilliant. Hey, you were a Major League ballplayer. Any lady would want to talk to you.”

  Doc nodded toward the girl. “That one’s different. She’s no spring-training groupie. She doesn’t look like the type that watches ESPN.”

  “Yeah? Neither did Marilyn. And Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio didn’t do too bad.”

  “Why are you pushing me?”

  “Because you need a distraction. Something to drag yourself away from your pity party and old movies.” Jake nodded toward the girl. “She looks like she just stepped out of one. Might be just the ticket.”

  Honey stopped in front of the girl and pulled out her order pad. They spoke and Honey jotted down the order.

  “So go talk to her,” Jake said.

  “She just ordered. It’d be awkward now.”

  Jake sipped his coffee, eyes amused.

  “What?” Doc said when he couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Just enjoying the moment. What happened to Mr. Three Moves Ahead?”

  “Sometimes the board gets knocked over. You have to take a breather to reassess.”

  Honey walked over to the table. “You guys done or do you want something else?”

  “Not in a hurry. How about some more chips and salsa?” Jake said.

  “And a warm-up on the coffee?” Doc added. “Do you know the girl at the counter?”

  Honey raised an eyebrow. “What? The golden boy is interested in something besides baseball?”

  Jake grinned.

  “Nope,” Honey said. “She didn’t introduce herself, just ordered. Seems quiet.”

  While Honey and Jake carried on their usual, easy conversation, Doc watched the girl. Seated at the counter, her back was to him now. Blonde hair fell past perfect shoulders. She snuck a furtive glance toward the door—the third one in the last minute—and he caught the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

  Why keep looking at the door? Afraid of something?

  Her style and look drew him, made him curious, but there was something else. She had softness. Grace out of place in this day and age—or at least rare. She had sadness too. Maybe loneliness. A thousand questions crowded Doc’s mind. He wondered what her voice sounded like. Lana Turner?

  A tortilla chip bounced off Doc’s chest.

  “Earth to Doc,” Jake said, pulling him from his thoughts.

  Doc picked the chip up off the table, scooped salsa on it and crunched. “What?”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. What are you doing?”

  “You’re the king of talking with your mouth full. Trying to figure out her story. What do you think it is?”

  Jake shook his head. “Nope. I know you. You have a working theory already anyway. If you want to know, go ask her. She doesn’t look scary.”

  “You don’t think so? Why are my palms sweating?”

  “Because she looks like she’s from 1950, and you have a thing for old movie stars.”

  Doc laughed. “A thing for old movie stars? Like Cloris Leachman? Or the lady from Driving Miss Daisy?”

  “You know what I mean. Besides, Cloris seems cool.”

  Doc glanced again toward the counter. “Look at her, Jake. It’s more than that. You see it, right?”

  “Nope. I’m a priest, remember? Made of stone.”

  “Give me a break. I’m not just talking about what she looks like.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “All right, sure, there’s that. But I mean look at her. She’s graceful.”

  Jake didn’t respond right away. When he finally did he said, “Sometimes God pokes you with a stick and says, ‘Listen up.’ If God’s poking you, pay attention.”

  “Does God ever use a Louisville Slugger?”

  Jake leaned forward. “Your move, Doc. What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t rush me.”

  Jake glanced up, then back at Doc. “Don’t have to. Here she comes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Two Girls on Broadway … Hypothetically

  The priest looked surprised but not unhappy to see her coming, giving Paradise the impression she’d been a topic of conversation. The other man watched her come as well, his face a bright question. His sun-bleached blond hair threatened to curl should length allow, in contrast to dark brown eyes that held a touch of both uncertainty and trouble. Still, not bad looking. Confident. Not shy, this one.

  But it was the priest who drew her. She’d been watching him in the mirrored pie cabinet since she sat down—well, watching both men, really. But it was the priest who had the kind eyes and easy smile. Very solid. Grounded to the earth in a Gregory Peck sort of way. He had a calmness she could almost physically feel. Could she talk to him? That’s what priests did, right? Listen to people? She knew nothing about religion except
what she’d seen in movies. She thought of Peck’s portrayal of Father O’Flaherty in The Scarlet and the Black—he was nice. And he’d known what to do, too.

  Yes. The man in the white collar eating chips and salsa was a young, slightly darker, Gregory Peck.

  Pull it together, girl.

  Ash would have a field day if she could hear the scattered thoughts ricocheting around Paradise’s skull. Questions pressed and flitted like moths around a light bulb. What was she doing? Why had she come to this little town? What did she think she’d find, some kind of history? Roots? Then again, where could she go? Here was as good a place as any, but how long could she run? What started as an adventure now felt ominous. If the whole thing were a movie, the orchestra would be building tension while the villain closed in.

  But this wasn’t a movie. No promised happy ending just before the credits. Paradise hated the thought. Worse than anything, loneliness enveloped her. And it had grown with every mile she put between the Olds and Los Angeles. Once, she’d even come close to calling Eve--she really was losing it.

  Butterflies swirled in her stomach. Why? The priest didn’t look scary.

  Shoot for the stars, kid. Here goes nothing.

  Paradise addressed the priest and ignored the blond man. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” he said.

  So, off to a swimming start.

  “I, um …”

  “Would you like to sit?” The priest leaned, and reached a long arm out for a chair at a neighboring table. He pulled it over for her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “You’re a priest, right?”

  “I am. Can I help you with something? Are you okay?”

  “Two Girls on Broadway,” the other man said.

  Paradise glanced at him. “Excuse me?”

  His eyes had sun lines at the edges. “Lana Turner. Two Girls on Broadway—the outfit, the look, the whole package. It’s perfect.”

  “You know the movie?” she said.

  “Sure.” He started to continue, but the priest interrupted.

  “I’m Father Jake. This is my brother, Doc.”

  She liked his voice. Slow, like a cowboy, and smooth. Yes—very Gregory.

  “Nineteen-forty. Directed by S. Sylvan Simon. Lana played Pat Mahoney,” Blond Hair said.

  “Wow,” Paradise said. “And did you like it?”

  He turned his coffee cup in increments on the table with short little moves of his fingers. Strong fingers she couldn’t help noticing.

  “Not a lot,” he said.

  “Me either. It was horrible. Except for the clothes. I loved the clothes,” Paradise said.

  He smiled, lifting an eyebrow.

  “What?” she said.

  “Your voice. It’s perfect.”

  “Thank you, I think.” She turned her attention back to young Gregory.

  “Was there something I could help you with?” Father Jake said. He did have very kind eyes.

  Paradise hesitated, then took a slow breath. Fear rose with a rush. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I came over. I should probably go. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

  Father Jake stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “It’s okay. Tell you what, why don’t you just sit and have a cup of coffee? We’ll talk. All right?”

  Such nice eyes. So brown. They calmed her. The fear eased, and she nodded her head. He called to the waitress and asked for another coffee. The front door opened and she jumped. No police, just a man in a John Deere trucker hat talking on a cell phone. Not looking for her or anybody else. Didn’t even know she existed. Just like a billion people in China. Or the whole world, except for creepy Burt and the police. And Ash and Arnie, maybe. The brother’s eyes shifted to the John Deere man, then back to her, but he didn’t comment. A cup of coffee appeared in front of her.

  What do you want, Paradise …

  “Excuse me?’ Paradise said, turning.

  The waitress smiled down at her, “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry. Thank you for the coffee.”

  “You bet,” she said over her shoulder, heading for another table.

  Neither Father Jake nor his brother pressed Paradise to speak. She added sugar and cream to her cup and stirred. The coffee continued to swirl for long seconds after she pulled the spoon out.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” she said finally.

  “Thanks for not leaving,” Father Jake said.

  Paradise searched his eyes, but said nothing.

  “Have you come a long way?” Father Jake asked.

  “Yes. LA … Um … Los Angeles.”

  Father Jake laughed. “I know what LA stands for. Are you an actress?”

  Paradise tasted the coffee. “It’s strange, isn’t it? They all call themselves actors now. Both men and women, I mean.”

  “Oh. Right. I think I knew that,” Father Jake said.

  “It’s ridiculous. Actor this, actor that. Why not an actress? What are they trying to prove? Actress has more glamour, don’t you think?”

  Father Jake glanced at his brother, then back. “I suppose it does … So you are? An actress?”

  “Yes. No. Well, not really. I mean I’ve been in a few things … Nothing good. There’s this part I’m up for, and Arnie thinks I’ll get it.”

  “Who’s Arnie?”

  “Oh … Arnie’s my manager. Do you know he talks like he’s from New York, but he’s really from Orange County?”

  Father Jake nodded with either gravity or confusion.

  “Ah. Well … good for you, about the part.” He left it at that, which made her feel grateful, though she didn’t know why.

  “Is someone looking for you? Are you in trouble?” Doc asked.

  “Doc …” Father Jake said.

  “No. It’s okay,” Paradise said. “Why is your name Doc?”

  She meant to throw him off guard, but he only smiled. He had nice teeth. “’Cause it’s better than Grumpy or Bashful. You didn’t tell us your name, by the way.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she answered. The reply sounded good. Firm. Very Hepburn. Katharine, not Audrey.

  “Ignore him,” Father Jake said. “I know it’s easier said than done. Listen, I’d really like to help, whatever the problem is.”

  Paradise dismissed Doc with a purposeful turn of her shoulder. Again, very Hepburn. Audrey this time, not Katharine. “My father died.”

  Father Jake nodded. “I’m sorry. Was it recently?”

  “Yes. Not long ago.” Why was she telling him this?

  “Did he live in Paradise? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. Well, yes. I mean he did. A long time ago. And, sort of … sort of that’s why I’m here, I mean. Actually, I didn’t know him very well at all.”

  “It’s still hard. Losing your dad. Whether you knew him or not.”

  “Have you ever lost someone? Like a parent? Someone close?” she asked.

  The men glanced at each other.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t pry. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Father Jake said. “Yes. Our parents died when we were young. Car accident.”

  “Oh. How young?”

  “I was fifteen and Doc was eleven.”

  “So who raised you?”

  When Father Jake shrugged, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Everyone. It’s a small town. And we come from a big family. Some of them own this place. The Moraleses. Our last name is Morales, too.”

  Paradise looked around. “It’s nice.” It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Visions of Gregory’s of Malibu flashed through her mind. Come to think of it, she liked this place better. “My father was in a car accident, too.”

  “In Los Angeles?” Doc asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How about your mother?” Father Jake said.

  “She lives in Malibu. They haven’t been together for years. Since I was a little girl.”

  “So you came here to see where your father grew
up?” Doc said.

  Paradise surveyed him. He had eyes the same brown as his brother’s, with deep crow’s feet. But instead of the priest’s calming kindness, this one’s gaze spoke something else altogether.

  He was handsome.

  Not now, Paradise Jones…

  “Why don’t you look like brothers?” she said.

  Doc shrugged and grinned. “Maybe God likes me better. But probably because our dad was Mexican and our mom was Welsh.”

  “Well, your brother’s much more handsome. Like a young Gregory Peck.”

  Doc laughed, surprising her—a nice sound. “That’s true.”

  “How did you know?” she said.

  “How did I know you thought Jake was handsome?”

  “Of course not—pay attention. About Lana Turner and Two Girls on Broadway. Are you really that into old films?”

  Doc leaned back in the booth, still smiling. “Do you always answer questions with questions?”

  Paradise considered this, then said, “Paradise Jones.”

  “What?”

  “Paradise. You asked me what my name was. Remember? Which means I just answered a question with an answer. So, no.”

  “I thought I asked you about coming to see where your dad grew up?”

  “You really need to learn to focus.” She turned back to Father Jake. “If I talk to you, is there confidentiality? Like doctor-patient?”

  Father Jake scratched his Gregory chin. “Did you break the law?”

  “Technically, yes, I suppose. But I wouldn’t take it back. At least, I don’t think I would.”

  “Technically? It’s a yes-or-no question.”

  Honey stopped at the table and refilled the coffee cups. The waitress’s pretty eyes lingered on Father Jake a little longer than Paradise or Doc. A customer called for a check and she moved off.

  “Do you like being a priest?” Paradise asked.

  “Why do you ask?”

  She glanced at Honey, totaling a bill on her waitress-pad. “No reason. All right. Yes, I black-and-white broke the law. Technically and every other way. Yes, there’s someone looking for me. And yes, I’m in trouble. Does that cover it?”