This is the second chapter of a seven part story that will run all this week.

Lucinda was caught off guard.  That doesn’t happen often, so she wasn’t sure how to respond to the event.  She sat down in the booth and gathered her thoughts as she looked at the title to the new Bronco with her name filled in and both sets of keys laying next to it.

Knowing Mason McCulloch to be a generous man, the thought of him gifting her his new car certainly didn’t fall inside the realm of something she thought was impossible.  But like most things in life, she wanted to know the backstory.  The reasons behind a man doing something so random and out of the blue.  She’d known Mason for years, hell everyone in Fort Stockton knew Mason.  She’d even been kind of flirty with him, but she was flirty with everyone who came into the Grounds for Divorce.  That was her nature.  Her calling card.  Who she was.  

Not that the flintiness hadn’t fully matured into deeper passions on occasion, she was a handsome woman with vital needs.  But it had never been that way with Mason McCulloch.  Not even a hint of it.  So she was bewildered as she sat in the corner booth and watched his silhouette disappear over the horizon.  She got up out of the booth, putting the key fobs in the pocket of her apron, and went over to the Bunn-O-Matic and poured herself a fresh cup of Folgers.  She opened the register, lifted out the coin tray, and slid the title to the Bronco into the drawer, putting the coin tray back on top.

As Lucinda walked out the front door and over to her new Bronco, she was attracted to the color.  A gray-green shade that was as subtle as it was unique.  Opening the door, it still smelled new inside, something her old turquoise 1970 Jeep Gladiator J2000 Thriftside pick-up hadn’t done in nearly half a century.  It reminded her that she hadn’t even considered getting a new car in forever.

On the floorboard of the passenger side of the front seat was a wooden crate, topped with a burlap sack of some sort, tied shut with a small section of hemp rope near the top.  Lucinda lifted the burlap bag off the top of the box.  Inside the wooden crate were a dozen bottles of wine, each packed in straw.  Loosening the tie at the top of the bag, she looked in to see four books.  

The mystery seemed to get deeper.

She placed the envelope on the passenger seat of the Bronco and pulled out four novels.  Lonesome Dove, Streets of Laredo, Dead Man’s Walk, and Comanche Moon.  Each of the books was a first edition.  Each one had been signed by Texas author Larry McMurtry.  There was an envelope tucked inside Dead Man’s Walk, something she felt relatively sure was not a coincidence.  Along with the note, inside the envelope was a check.

The note read:

Lucinda-

You are a Lone Star classic, born a century and a half too late.  A wild Bronco in your own right, I suppose.  Enjoy this one.  It’s a Big Bend edition, which goes right along with the other items enclosed.  It is as rustically appealing as you are.

The novels are ones I thought you’d enjoy from my personal collection.  Each is a first edition and signed by Texas’s best, Larry McMurtry.  I think you’ll enjoy each of them.  They are best read with a nice wine.  I’ve provided a case of Buffalo Roam Blanc from Brennan Vineyards in Comanche.  A good selection from a great Texas vineyard, with a tie-in, in name anyway, to the final novel.

The fifty thousand dollar check is for you to remodel the kitchen of the Grounds for Divorce.  Modernize the damn thing.  But don’t touch the Bunn-O-Matic.  Or anything we can see from the dining room.  The cafe is a classic to all of us who love it.  Don’t mess with a classic.

Probably won’t see you for a while.  That’s okay.  If Pastor Peterson comes in and has a worried look on his face, have him call Clive over at Prairie View State Bank..  He’ll know what to do.

Thanks for the wit and wisdom you’ve offered Fort Stockton all these years.  And the views you’ve provided us along with the Folgers.

Your friend,

Mason

She had so many questions.  Thoughts about how you never really know some people, only the parts they want you to see.  Lucinda put the check in the glove box of the Bronco and went in to tell Delgado about the new kitchen.  She closed the cafe up a little early so she could go home and run a hot bath, pour a chilled wine, and crack open the first novel.

Back at his place, Mason went straight out to the barn and lit a fire.  He looked around at the favorite things he’d collected as he pulled his Justin boots off and put his size elevens up on the table in front of the worn leather couch.  He sipped the bourbon he’d poured when he sat down and listened to the Red Headed Stranger album he’d put on the turntable.  “Vinyl, because that’s how God meant music to be enjoyed,” he always told guests.

He let the day sweep over him, not immune to the repercussions, but not ready to deal with them.  There would be time for that.  Not as much as he’d thought, but enough to not have to address it just then.  His feet were blistered.  The top of his head was sunburned.  He noted how smooth the bourbon felt as it went down his throat.  Listening to Willie, he never dreamed the old pot-smoking singing cowboy would have ever outlived him.  “Just shows to go ya,” he chuckled to himself.

Whiskey had seen Mason and Sutton walk up the driveway and over to the barn.  He was curious as to the disposition of the new Bronco, figuring Mason might have wrecked and walked home in frustration.  He knew that it wouldn’t have ever run out of gas.  Mason was too thorough to let that happen.  It was too new to have had mechanical issues.

The closer Mason got to the barn, Whiskey got a sense of something bigger.  Later, back inside the house, the phone rang twice.  Once was the doctor.  He wanted to know if Mason had made it home and how he was holding up.  Didn’t give any other details.  The second was Lucinda.  Same line of questioning.  She just said, “Tell Mason thank you.  And that he’s loved.”

It didn’t take someone with an advanced degree in the biomedical sciences to string the clues together.  Whiskey felt his heart sink as he considered the possibilities, and determined that none of them were good.  He gave Mason every opportunity to gather his thoughts by himself, on his own terms.  He waited a couple hours, and then had about all he could stand and walked over to the barn.  

Opening the door, he was relieved to see Mason sitting on the couch.  He hadn’t known what to expect, but was prepared for anything.  Whiskey walked over to the bar and poured himself a couple fingers, then sat at the other end of the couch from Mason and took a sip.  The better part of a half hour went by before any words were spoken.  Finally, Whiskey broke the silence.  “Is it bad?”

“All depends on your definition of ‘bad’ is,” Mason answered.  “S’pose by most people’s definition, it is.”  Mason took a sip of his glass.  “But then not one of us is promised a tomorrow, so I guess I’m no different than anyone else.”  

Those words hung in the air for a while.  Whiskey wasn’t one to jump into the deep end of the philosophical pool.

“Need to be gone for a while.  Take care of business.  Tie up loose ends.”  Mason didn’t take his eyes off the flames that were getting smaller as the logs turned into embers and ashes.  “You do most of the work around here, anyway, but I’ll need you to do even more for a while.  I need to tend to some things.”  Whiskey nodded in the affirmative.  “You’ll need to start with the ol’ Shoebox.  Get ‘er serviced and ready for a road trip.  I’m gonna leave the day after tomorrow.”

‘The Shoebox’ was a 1950 Ford Custom Deluxe Fordor Sedan.  It was Bimini Blue Metallic and powered by a 239 cubic inch flathead V8.  It was the car Grover and Melba McCulloch brought their baby boy home from the hospital in.  Mason’s oldest memories were standing up between his parents on the grey striped bench seat as they made their way to town.

Mason couldn’t count the times he’d wandered out to the garage and seen his dad’s legs sticking out from under the Ford, tinkering, cussing, and figuring out how to get another year out of the car rather than have to trade it in.  The ol’ man was able to successfully put off that purchase up until 1959, when he finally broke down and bit the bullet.  A new light brown and white Galaxie sedan took the place of the shoebox in the garage, but the ’50 Fordor remained the family’s favorite.

The blue Fordor had gone through a couple owners after the McCulloch family and eventually found its way to Earl’s Salvage Yard & Formalwear after blowing an engine and then getting into an ill-matched collision with a tree just outside Fort Stockton.  As his father was getting ready to retire, Mason found the old Ford out at the salvage yard, bought what was left of it, and had it professionally restored as a gift to his dad.

Of course his dad was put off by such an extravagant gift from his son.  But that only lasted long enough for the flathead V8 to warm up and the column-shifted three speed to be put into first gear for the first time.  Mason’s mother cried the first time she got in it.

Turns out there couldn’t have been a better gift for retirement than the old Ford.  Grover McCulloch was at every Show-N-Shine or Cars-N-Coffee in Pecos country for years after that.  He and Melba took countless tours across the southwest in it and joined every car club that had a chapter, or at least a newsletter, in Texas.  Melba told Mason that the car probably saved her and Grover from killing each other the first year or two after he was retired, and gave them both something to enjoy together.

When Grover died about a dozen years later, the Ford sat in the garage of Melba’s house.  She couldn’t bear the thought of getting rid of it.  It served as kind of a reminder of a past life.  When Melba passed a couple years later, Mason brought the car home and put it in the barn, later refreshing it with new paint, upholstery, and going through all the mechanicals.

Probably the least driven of all the cars in Mason’s collection, it held the most memories.  It was important to get it to Fredericksburg.

When Mason’s sister, Maryann, looked up and saw the propeller-looking front end of the Ford heading down her driveway, she thought she was having a vision of her father driving back home after work and she was five years old again.  It was the last thing she expected to see on a Saturday morning when she looked out the window over her kitchen sink.  It took a minute or two for her to realize it was her older brother behind the wheel.

“Come look what the cat dragged up,” she yelled to her husband, who was getting out of the shower.  “Swear to God, Mason is in the driveway!”

Age diminishes closeness; distance compounds that effect.  Maryann and Mason had been close as kids, but when she married Bud and moved, they just lost the connection.  They bounced all over Texas due to Buds’ work for the railroad.  When they finally retired to Fredericksburg they’d tried to get Mason to come for a visit, but it just hadn’t worked out.  Here he was in the old family Ford, out of the blue, and with his old dog on top of it.

Mason got out of the Ford and he and Maryann hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in years, because they hadn’t.  “How the hell long has it even been?” she asked her older brother.

“Long time,” he said.  “Too long,”

Maryann sensed something in his voice that was different.  Softer than the Mason she remembered.  “Get in the house and have a cup of coffee with us.  Tell us what brings you to Fredericksburg!”  Maryann poured a big bowl of cool water from the faucet and set it on the floor for Sutton, who was thankful for the attention.

Bud joined them at the kitchen table and gave Mason a firm handshake.  Mason drew him in for a hug, which seemed out of character.  “You’ve got a real nice place here,” Mason said.  “Should have come out sooner . . .” his voice trailed off.

They caught Mason up on their boys and how Bud was enjoying retirement.  Maryann told him about her work at the church, and volunteering down at the Nimitz Museum.  He seemed genuinely interested in what they each had to say.  Talk eventually came around to the old Ford Mason had driven to town in.

“I brought the car for you.  You and the boys.  I want you to have it,” he told them.

Maryann and Bud looked at each other, neither sure exactly what that meant or how they should respond to it.

You know how Pop enjoyed the car in retirement.  He and Mom, both.  I thought you guys might get a little pleasure from it, too.  If not, I bet one of your boys would.  Either way, it ought to stay in the family, if possible,” Mason told them.

“Haven’t even thought about the old Ford in years,” Maryann said.  “But just seeing it in the driveway was a step back in time.  Let’s go have a look at the ol’ girl.”

The three of them filed back out to the driveway and walked around the car, each circle they made bringing back different memories and new stories.  Maryann opened the driver’s door and stuck her head in.  “That smell!  I remember that exact smell from when I was a kid.  Can’t believe how familiar it is even after all these years!”

“It’s one of those things from your youth you never forget,” Bud said.

“Come back here,” Mason motioned.

The other two joined him at the back of the Ford as he opened the deep trunk.  It was filled nearly full with boxes of old slides, family photo albums, and an old metal slide projector in a faux leather case.  “These go with the car,” Mason said.  “All the old family memories.  A trunk full.”

“Lord have mercy!” Maryann blurted.  When was the last time these saw daylight?  I bet I hadn’t seen these in nearly half a century!”  

Mason just smiled.  “I made sure the projector still works before I loaded everything up.  Bought a couple new bulbs, just in case.”

“You have to stay the night.  We’ll go into town for a few beers and some German food and then come back to the house and look at old slides,” Maryann said.

“I couldn’t.  I need to get back,” Mason said, though he didn’t mean it.

“What in tarnation are you talking about?  I won’t hear of it,” Maryann said.  “Neither will Bud!”

Bud joined in to offer his support of the idea and convince Mason that he was actually good with the idea.

That night, they came back to the house from dinner at the Altdorf Biergarten, all of them full as a tick, and looked at slides, drank a few more beers, and swapped stories until nearly two in the morning.  Maryann and Bud went to bed and talked about the great surprise it had been and the good time they had.  

The next morning, they slept in, having not stayed up that late in forever.  “We just can’t wait so long to do this again,” Maryann said thinking about some of the old slides that they hadn’t even got to.  “It was worth missing church this morning.”

Bud was quiet.  Then he said, “You know that probably won’t happen, right?”

“What are you talking about?  We’ll just make sure it does,” she said in a bit of a startled tone.

“Think about it, Hun,” Bud said.  “We haven’t seen your brother in forever.  He shows up out of the blue.  He gives us the old family Ford, and a trunk full of all the old family memories.  What could be the reason for all that?”

Maryann laid in bed, silent.  Maybe in the back of her mind she’d known and just didn’t want to admit it.  But she felt like it had never even occurred to her.  She was just in the moment of seeing her brother for the first time in years and savoring the memories.  Tears began to roll out of her eyes and down each side of her face.

“I’m sorry, Hun,” Bud said.  “I just figured you knew.”

She got out of bed and put a robe on, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex she grabbed off the nightstand.  She made her way down the hall to the guest bedroom.  To her surprise, the door was open, the room was empty, and the bed was made.  Making her way out to the kitchen, she found the coffee had been made, with what looked like about a cup or cup and a half gone.

Over on the kitchen table laid the keys to the old blue Ford on top of the old McCulloch family Bible that was over one hundred years old.  Inside the cover was a family tree filled out by their grandfather, notes in the margins that their father had added.  Stuck in the first chapter of Exodus was a note and a check.  The check was for five hundred thousand dollars.

The note read:

Sis-

Can’t thank you enough for the evening.  It was all I ever could have hoped for.  I’m proud of you and Bud for the life you’ve lived, the family you’ve raised.

I know you’ll enjoy the Ford and pass it on when the time comes.  The check will cover maintenance costs for the time you are stewards of it.  Build a new garage out back to keep it in, maybe big enough for Bud and the boys to work on it together.  There should be enough to cover the student loans the boys took out.  Maybe enough left over for you and Bud to take a cruise.  Make some new memories to hold on to.

Enjoy everyday like it could be your last.

Love, Your brother, Mason

Maryann looked out the kitchen window and saw a car pull up to pick up her brother and his dog at the end of the driveway.  She started to run out the door and yell for him to wait.  Bud walked up behind her and stopped her before she could get to the door.

“Let him say goodbye exactly the way he wants to.”  Bud was right.

If you’re enjoying this series, consider buying the Captain a cuppa Folgers at the Grounds for Divorce to help offset the cost of maintaining the blog. He’d be grateful, and promises to leave a big tip for Lucinda.