This is the conclusion of a story that started Monday. The end. The finale. Roll the credits after reading this one. For this series, anyway.

The air was chilled in the motel room; the air conditioner had been turned down to 60 degrees. Chad had hoped the constant constant roar from the compressor under the window would drown out the outside world. Besides, he figured someone else was paying the electric bill. He piled on the covers to compensate.

The sun shining through the gap between the curtains brought that sweet slumber to an early end. A case of sonntagsleerung began as soon as Chad opened his eyes. That’s when he noticed the knocking. It was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep the night before, the first thing that greeted him Sunday Morning. The knocking was lighter, like maybe Shannon had worn out her knuckles. The woman was relentless.

Chad stumbled out of bed in nothing but his Fruit-of-the-Looms and made his way to the front door.  In the dark, he threw the door open and shouted, “Damn it Shannon!  What’s it gonna take for you to leave me alone?”

In the brightness of the morning sun beyond the front door, contrasted with the darkness of his room, it took Chad just a minute to recognize Pastor Peterson as he stood on the sidewalk. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was you.” Pastor Peterson just smiled. “Do you want to come in? No. Wait. Let me get some clothes on. No. Come in. There’s no one here. It’s just me. Why are you here?”

“I thought we could spend some time together.  Just you and me.  Take a drive.  It’s a beautiful Sunday morning”  Pastor Peterson’s voice had a soothing quality to it.  Nothing seemed to rattle him.

“Sure.  Fine.  Yeah,” Chad mumbled.

“I’ll wait here for you to put some clothes on.”  

“Of course. Just give me a minute,” Chad said and pushed the door closed. He wondered just what kind of a Twilight Zone experience was happening. Shannon Hudspeth at his door the night before, Pastor Peterson this morning. He noted a distinct odor to his clothes as he put them on for the fourth consecutive day in a row. ‘Hopefully we can roll the windows down,’ he thought to himself.

Fully dressed and out the door, Chad found Pastor Peterson leaning against the front fender of a 1958 Ford Country Squire wagon.  Red and wood grain.  Wide whites.  Full wheel covers.  “Dang, Pastor!” Chad exclaimed.  “It’s a fine ride you’re sporting this morning.”

“Thanks,” he replied.  “It’s not mine, but it is one glorious automobile.  Hop in.”

On the front seat was a bag containing two styrofoam cups with lids. “I picked these up from the Grounds for Divorce on my way over. Lucinda hates styrofoam cups. Says if you can’t drink your Folgers out of a CMC mug you don’t deserve coffee. She made an exception when I told her it was for you and me.” Pastor Peterson laughed. Chad didn’t know whether that was true or not. “She said you take yours black with two sugars.” Chad knew it was true, after all.

He looked around at the red and white interior, the massive steering wheel and figured the Ford had to have power steering the way Pastor Peterson could take corners with two fingers.  “Why aren’t you in church?  This is Sunday morning, right?”  Chad wasn’t sure.  The days were starting to run together.

“Letting the youth pastor preach.  He needs the experience.  I need the break.  I said I had a mission trip I needed to tend to.”  He seemed to enjoy being behind the wheel.

“Where we going?” Chad asked after burning his mouth on the Folgers.

“Just a country drive.  Have a quick stop on our way out of town, if that’s alright.”

“Sure.  Yeah.  No problem.  I got nowhere to go.”  Chad was depressed at the truth in that statement.

When they pulled into the parking lot of Fort Stockton Memorial Hospital and Animal Testing Center, Chad was caught off guard.  Pastor Peterson parked the Country Squire in a space reserved for clergy just outside the children’s wing.  “I won’t be long, you can wait here in the car, if you like.”  There was a pause.  A long one.

“No, I’ll come in.” Chad got out and looked up at the big blue sky. The pastor opened the back door and got out a big brown paper bags from the Ben Franklin. The two of them headed for the entrance, Pastor Peterson leading the way. Inside, the older man was swarmed with kids once they got inside. Most of them were bald. Several were hooked up to IVs that followed them around on small wheeled carts. Chad assumed it was chemo. He followed the pastor to a small table in a big room. Everything smelled sterile, but like chemicals.

Pastor Peterson put the big brown paper bag on the table and pulled out boxes of Crayola Crayons and coloring books. The crayons were in the BIG boxes. The ones that had a sharpener in the box. He sat down on a kid-sized chair, his knees hitting him under the chin, and took out a coloring book. He started to color and the kids followed suit, each getting a new coloring book of their own.

Chad sat down to be a part of it. In no time the kids were all comparing their art, Chad was praising their efforts, and everyone around the table was laughing, despite the circumstances. An hour later, the pastor stood up and said, “It’s time for my friend and me to leave. Thanks for coloring with us. It’s been great to see each of you.”

They all screamed and asked them to stay, but finally accepted the goodbye and followed the pair of men to the door, squealing their thanks and waving their artwork.  Chad was choking back the tears as they walked to the Country Squire.  He looked straight ahead as the 352 cubic inch V8 came to life and the Cruise-O-Matic was put in gear.

“I met your son at the Eggs & Ammo the other day.  Colt.”  Chad kept looking ahead.

“I heard.  He’s a good buy.  Young man, I guess I should say,” the pastor replied.

“Did you name him after the pistol or the pony? Chad asked.

“The beer.”  Pastor Peterson didn’t laugh as he gave his response.  Then he chuckled.

“You’ve got a sense of humor,” Chad observed.

“I make my living based on faith in an event that took place 2,000 years ago that can’t be proven.  I need to have a sense of humor to go along with the folks that take issue with that.”

“Fair enough,” Chad said.

“Hungry?” the pastor asked.

“Sure, why not,” Chad responded.

The Country Squire was guided back to town and into the parking lot of the Dairy Twin.  Inside, Nellie was her chipper self.  “Well, if it ain’t the new Manager of the Piggly Wiggly!  Right here in the flesh.  What can I whip up for you boys?”

“Interim Manager, pending review by Human Resources.  Keep your fingers crossed.”  Chad seemed a little embarrassed.  “How about the breakfast tacos?  And a coffee.”

“Same for me.  It’s my treat.”  Pastor Peterson pulled out his wallet and peeled off a twenty.  “And give me the usual To-Go, once our order has come out and we’re about done.  Don’t want ‘em to get cold.  He slid three more twenties across the counter.”

In the booth next to the jukebox, Chad asked the pastor about his family, his kids mostly.

“They’re good kids. They went through rough patches, just like all kids do. Colt’s got a tattoo. His mother almost died the first time she saw it. But it’s a cross, so what could she say? Colby’s a senior over at Jim Bowie. Plays football. Or tries to. We’re hoping his grades will get him a scholarship; his athletic prowess won’t. Carson is thirteen. That’s all I’ll say about him.” Both men chuckled.

Nellie brought out two red baskets with breakfast tacos and two coffees.

Chad talked about his own boys. How hard it was to be a good father. He choked up a little when he talked about being a good husband, too. He talked about growing up without a father in the house. How he never wanted that for his own boys. He shared the story of meeting Prudence at the Piggly Wiggly, leaving out the parts about the break room. Twenty minutes later Nellie was back at the table with two big boxes full of breakfast tacos and a big Thermos of coffee and a tube of big Dixie cups. “Thanks, Nell,” the pastor said. “Well, better get going.”

They headed back to the parking lot and got in the Country Squire.  “Sure do like this car,” Chad said.

“Almost one of a kind, isn’t it?”  And they headed out.

Chad was confused when they headed to the Piggly Wiggly, pulled into the parking lot and drove back behind the store and down the alley. The pastor stopped the car, got out, and over the course of several minutes several people appeared and approached the car. They smelled worse than Chad did. Not a one of them was wearing anything that had been washed in months. Each one got a couple breakfast tacos and a cup of hot coffee. Most just said thanks. A few didn’t say anything. A couple had dogs with them. A breakfast taco was unwrapped from the aluminum foil and given to the dogs, as well. Twenty minutes later, the Ford was headed west, out of town.

“Never knew those people were back there,” Chad noted.

“Most folks don’t.  Several of us take turns dropping food by for them.  Lucinda covers a lot of days, Sister Thelma quite a few.  Rusty from the hardware store does his share.”

“I had no idea.”

There was silence for a long time as they drove down a series of winding country roads.  The beauty of the countryside had a calming effect on the soul.  A different combination of landscapes and scenery seemed to appear around every curve the old Ford made.  The sun shining in through the wraparound windshield had a soothing effect.  The fact that there was no music blaring on the radio or kids screaming from the back seat was rare.  Chad felt a peace about him that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before.

“Did you know Mason McCullough?”  Pastor Peterson asked.  The question took Chad by surprise.  Kind of brought him back to reality.

“Knew of him.  Probably met him once.  Maybe twice.  He’s been gone a while now, right?” Chad answered.

“Yeah. Got in his favorite old car, a red Thunderbird convertible and headed north. I think that convertible was the same color as this Country Squire,” the pastor said. “Folks thought he finally met his maker in Anchorage, Alaska. That’s where the Thunderbird ended up. Wasn’t actually the case, but only a few of us know it.”
“What are you talking about?”

“When the end was pretty close, he decided he wanted to be back in Texas.  Of course, he couldn’t drive all the way back by that point.  He flew to El Paso.  Kenny Dillon picked him up from the airport in his ’59 Lincoln Continental convertible.  He’d fully restored the thing.  It was gorgeous.  Like brand new, even.  Sister Thelma rode shotgun with Kenny to El Paso.  Poor Mason could barely make it to the car, he was so weak.  But Sister Thelma said she’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw the old Lincoln all redone.”

Chad was listening pretty intently.

“They got him to a place where he could be as comfortable as possible. Took turns looking after him. It was only a matter of a week or two. When the doctor said he only had a matter of hours, they put him in the Continental and drove him across the border into Mexico. That’s where he died. No record of it in the United States. They had Mason cremated the same day. Brought the ashes back to Fort Stockton in the trunk of the Lincoln Continental.”

“Damn.”  About the same time Chad expressed his surprise, the Country Squire pulled off the road and up to the gate of a ranch outside of town.  “Isn’t this the old McCullough place?”

“Yep.  Right up there is the ‘barn’ where he kept his collection of books and cars.  That barn is nicer than most of the homes around Fort Stockton.”  Pointing in the other direction, he said “That’s where Whiskey and Kristen live.  The big house.  Probably home right now, so I don’t want to drive up the driveway.  No need in being seen, or makin’ a fuss.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“When Whiskey and Kristen got married a while back, I performed the ceremony out by the pool.  Kenny and I drove out in the Lincoln.  During the reception I ducked out and got the ashes from the trunk, took them behind the barn, and scattered them.  Just like Mason had asked.  Sutton, his old dog, watched the whole thing.  Nobody else ever knew.  Just Sister Thelma, Kenny, and now you.”

“Why didn’t he want anyone to know?”

“This is where he wanted to be.  But he didn’t want the fact that he was here to interfere with the lives of those who he cared about.  Was afraid it might have tainted it.  Sutton died a week later.  I casually suggested they ought to spread his ashes out behind the barn.  They thought it was a great idea.  Of course, they didn’t know the full significance of it.”

“Damn.”  Chad wasn’t sure what else to say.

“We better get back, it’s getting late.”
Neither of them said anything for a while. Then, Chad finally spoke up. “I understand what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?” Pastor Peterson asked.

“The kids at the hospital.  I should thank God my kids are healthy and fit.  The homeless people in town.  I have no idea how blessed I am.  Telling me about Mason McCullough.  Making me see everyone’s time is limited, we don’t know how limited.”

The Ford was floating down the road at fifty-five miles an hour.  The sky was a shade of blue that can’t be found in any other state.  Or country.  The two men in the front seat were reflective.

“I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.”

“There was absolutely nothing going on between me and Shannon Hudspeth,” Chad said.  “And the massage I bought was for my wife.  Mrs. Drury ended up with it, but that’s a long story.”  Chad was talking pretty fast.

“I’m not interested in your sins.  Real or imaginary.  Just your redemption,” Pastor Peterson explained.  “Can we swing by my house?”

“Sure.”

They drove over to the modest brick ranch home in Road Runner Estates.  It was built in the sixties.  Chad thought it looked small.  Pastor Peterson got out, bent over and peered back into the cabin of the Country Squire.  “Slide over.  You drive it back to the motel.  After all, it’s yours.”  He  tossed Chad the extra set of keys from his pocket.

“What are you talking about?”  Chad didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Once he finished the Lincoln Continental, Kenny Dillon wanted another project. Said it ‘inspired’ him. Gave him purpose. He picked this one. Found it out at Earl’s Salvage Yard and Formalwear and brought it back to life. Hasn’t been finished long. Anyway, he heard you were in a fix. That the Dodge crapped the bed. That you had a young family that could use a wagon. Maybe take it to some car shows. Get the boys interested.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.  Just pay it forward.  Make the blessings count.”  Pastor Peterson started towards the house. “I’ve got to get a eulogy prepared. Perry Silverman died and I’ve got to get ready for his funeral.”

“He wasn’t Methodist,” Chad noted.

“Neither are you.”

Chad slid over behind the wheel and headed back to the Naughty Pine. He pulled up in front of Room 7 at just about the same time that a red Corvette convertible did. Jamie and Prudence were in the cockpit, a sight that spoiled whatever mood Chad was in.

“Where in the absolute hell have you been for three days?  I’ve been looking everywhere.  You never picked up the phone.  I’ve been worried to death.”  Prudence seemed actually sincere.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it work.  How to get beyond this,” Chad said.

“Beyond what, for god sakes?”  Prudence was actually perplexed.

“Jeeze Louise, woman,” Chad shouted.  “I walked in to my own house and saw the two of you in an embrace.  You were wearing something sexy.  The house was actually clean!  I get here and Leon tells me this turd blossom has come to Fort Stockton to claim what was his!”

“You are such an idiot!” Again, Prudence seemed sincere. “Jamie is as gay as the Founder’s Day Parade. He came back for Lieutenant Crosby!”
“Lieutenant Crosby of the FSFD? The one on the Firefighter calendar?”

“The very one!” Jamie said. “Have you ever seen a finer February?”

“Then why did you look like you did?  And why was the house clean?  Where were the boys?” Chad implored.

“I cleaned up the house, had my mother come get the kids, and put on something sexy waiting for you to get home. Things had been awkward for a while. I wanted to reconnect. While I was getting ready, Jamie came over to tell me that Lieutenant Crosby felt the same way. I was just congratulating him when you walked through the front door. I would have told you that, but you were in a hurry to get back into Lucinda’s Jeep and haul ass! You want to explain that?”

“Not really,” Chad said. “Not now. Sometime, but not now. It’s no big deal, I promise.” Chad looked back at Jamie in the Corvette. “Lieutenant Crosby? Really?”

Jamie winked and started to say something, but the flaming purple and white Cadillac pulled up in front of Room 8 and came to a screeching halt. Shannon Hudspeth had a thing for dramatic entrances. She got out of the Caddy, still in her black pleather dress. Chances were pretty good she’d spent the whole afternoon at the Lucky Lady Lounge.

“Jamie?” she said, looking into the Corvette.

“MOTHER!  What are you doing here?”

So it was a reunion of sorts there in the parking lot of the Naughty Pine Motel.  A mother and son who’d drifted apart and found each other back in Fort Stockton, of all places.  A husband and wife who’d taken each other for granted and allowed life to become more complicated than it needed to be.  A general lack of communication and submission to the tyranny of the urgent had undermined the  vision of what was important.  

The couple got into the red ’58 Country Squire and sat in silence for a moment.  Then they took turns telling each other things they should have shared long before.  And things that had just happened.  Back at their McMansion in Morningwood Estates, Chad hugged his boys with a renewed sense of appreciation.  He gave them their bath and tucked them in.  He didn’t read them a story, he told them one.  When they’d finally drifted off to sleep, Prudence was waiting for him in their bedroom.  “You need a shower in a bad way.  We’ll probably just burn the clothes you’ve got on.”

After the longest, hottest shower he’d taken in a long time, Chad walked into the bedroom and found Prudence in the outfit she’d tried to surprise him with three days before.  Walking over to the bed, Chad glanced out the window.  In the glow of the streetlight, the Country Squire seemed to reflect more than just a new paint job and mid century styling.  It represented a return to the basics.  A hope that with renewed commitment their relationship could be restored in the same way.

What took place following was something that would rival anything that even Shannon “Press Box” Hudspeth could have come up with.

Where else are you going to get entertainment like this? Auto-centric. Plot twists. A giggle served with your food for thought. Make it worth the effort. These stories don’t write themselves.