“My grandmother had a boyfriend for a while that had a Chris-Craft 21’ Triple -Cockpit Runabout.  Kept it out at Lake Leon,,” Lucinda said as she refilled all the CMC mugs around the big table in the middle of the cafe.  She said it is nonchalantly, like it was something anyone in the Grounds for Divorce could have claimed without batting an eye.  She started to walk away when HairlessB29 said, “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!  You don’t just drop a nugget like that and then walk away.  Pull up a chair and tell us how we ever missed hearing about this before.”

She looked around to be sure nobody new had come in while she was in the kitchen, and made sure the mugs on all the other tables were full.  Then she sat down, tucked her hair behind one ear and started the story.

“He wasn’t from around here.  Not even from Texas.  He was Australian, if you can imagine.  His name was Robert McLaren.  Back during The Big One, he got captured by the Japanese.  But he wasn’t going to let them get the best of him.  The dude had spunk,” she said.  “That’s what Granny said, anyway.”

Of course, by then we were all sucked in.  There are only one or two things Lucinda has at her disposal that are able to capture our attention more than her ability to tell a story.

“So he figures out a way to escape from the prison camp.,” she continued.  “He’s out there on his own.  In the heat and humidity of the jungle. All of a sudden it struck him!”

“The Japanese found him?!” New Guy exclaimed, like he’d already heard the story.

“No,” she said with just the right amount of suspense and drama.  “Appendicitis.  He knew he’b be a goner if he didn’t take drastic measures.”

“He didn’t operate on himself, did he?” asked Captain Nemo.

“Have I told this story before?” Lucinda replied, disappointed that perhaps everyone had already heard it.

“No!” Nemo said.  “It was just an educated guess!”

“You’d think that someone who’d fought as a teenager in the First World War would have never signed up again.  You’d think he’d just live the rest of his days as a retired armed forces veteran and veterinarian in the Outback,” she said.  “But that wasn’t Robert McLaren.  He was one tough sumbitch.”

She started to get up and walk away and Cornfield Dave called her back and insisted she sit down and finish the story.

“So anyway, he enlisted again.  Didn’t take long for his entire outfit to be surrounded and taken captive, despite their best efforts.  They get put in a prison camp.  Many of them are worked plum to death,” she went on.

“So that’s why he made a run for it?” Angushopper asked.

“Damn straight,” Lucinda says.  “So he’s out there in the jungle, in pain, knows he has no chance if he doesn’t operate on himself.  With only a mirror and a pocket knife, he lays out a bed of big palm leaves and operates on himself.  It was excruciating.  He told Grandma he almost passed out from the sheer pain several times during the four and a half hours it took him to perform the operation.  But he was able to finally get through it and stitch himself up.”

Everyone around the table looked at each other, trying to see if they could tell who amongst them would have had the courage to do such a thing.

“Two days later, he’s on his feet again, moving through the jungle, hunting for freedom, only steps ahead of the Japanese trying to recapture him” Lucinda continues.  He makes it out of the jungle and finds his way back to Allied troops.  Goes on to command The Bastard, a whaling ship.  Went on to receive a handful of military awards.”

“Where does your grandmother come into the story?” I had to ask as she was about to get up.

“She worked at the USO.  Met McLaren at a dance.  Grandma was pretty good at keeping her secrets, but if I know her, she and McLaren ended up dunking the dingus after the dance if you know what I mean,” Lucinda winked.  “My guess is, it was torrid.  Anyway, it comes time for everyone to go home.  Granny gives him a note with her name and address back here in Fort Stockton.  She tells him if he’s ever stateside to drop by, that there would always be a place for him to drop his anchor.”

“Sounds like he took her up on it,” Cornfield said.

“About a year later, McLaren showed up at Granny’s place here in town.  He’s driving a Buick woody wagon and pulling a Chris-Craft Triple Cockpit Runabout.  The sly devil swept Granny off her feet all over again,” Lucinda said.

Now normally the group of ol’ guys at the GFD aren’t what you’d call a gang of rose colored glasses romantics.  But Lucinda’s tale had even Hairless on the edge of his seat.

“They spent the summer together.  He had a room over at the Cattle Baron Hotel, but I doubt he ever saw the inside of it.  Granny said they were together morning and night, out on the lake in the Runabout, or back at her bungalow on Broad Avenue,” Lucinda explained.  “Be right back . . .”

A couple came in and needed to be seated and given menus.  Everyone around the table looked a little flush in the cheeks.  When she got back over to the table, Carunch asked her how it ended.

“One day they loaded up the Runabout with fishing gear, a picnic lunch, and a couple bottles of wine and headed out to Lake Leon.  They dropped anchor in the middle of the lake, took off their clothes and sunbathed on the deck of the Chris-Craft.  What followed Granny never explained in full, but the look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know,” Lucinda said.

“Afterwards, she must have worn him out because he said he needed to go back to the house for a nap.  Enjoying the sun, Granny dropped him off at the dock, took the boat back out on the lake and drifted into a cove while reading a book.  She was so engrossed in the book that she was startled when the Fish and Game Warden pulled up next to her,” Lucinda said.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a citation,” the warden told her.  “This is an area restricted from fishing.”

“But I’m clearly not fishing, I’m reading a book,” Granny explained.

“But you have all the equipment.  There’s nothing to say you won’t,” the warden replied.

“Then I’m going to have to report you for sexual assault,” Granny told him.  We were all startled by this twist in the story.

“But I haven’t touched you!” the warden replied.

“But you have the equipment.  What’s to say you won’t?” Granny replied.

“The game warden put his boat in reverse, Granny finished her book and headed back to shore and tied it up to the dock.  She walked the short few blocks back to the bungalow.  When she got there, McLaren was gone.  The Buick was gone.  All his things were gone,” Lucinda said.  “No note.  No explanation.  He just vanished, like he had from the Japanese prison camp.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s it,” Lucinda said. “She never saw him again. Waited a year for him to come back. On my mother’s first birthday, she had my aunt watch the baby and drove out to Lake Leon. Took the boat out to the middle of the lake. Picked up a shotgun and pumped the bottom of it full of holes. Swam back to shore, stood on the dock, and watched it sink to the bottom of the lake. Never mentioned the boat or the Aussie again.”

“Rusty from the Hardware store wandered over, “I’ve always heard there was a wooden Chris-Craft at the bottom of Lake Leon, but never heard the full story before.”

“All you had to do was ask,” Lucinda told him.  

Makes you almost not want to skip morning coffee over at the GFD.  No tellin’ what you might miss.