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Coming from Southern California to Fort Stockton, Texas was like starring in Rebel Without a Cause, and then taking a bit part in High Noon.  Nobody inside the Ranch Wagon said anything as they made their way through town, checked into the Naughty Pine Motel and then made their way over to the Dairy Twin for dinner.

“It’s kind of like Bakersfield,” Francis said, convincing absolutely no one.

“If Bakersfield had an enema and a hangover at the same time,” Matthew said as he looked out the window.  Don had to laugh to himself.  Francis wanted to tell her son that was the wrong attitude to have, but didn’t have the energy.

At the Dairy Twin the only thing of any interest was a brand new Buick Skylark in the parking lot and a stunning young girl in the booth in the back.  Matthew didn’t remember any girl in Bakersfield ever looking like she did.  The burger was darn good, as well.  “Maybe Texas has a few things going for it,” Matthew thought, though he didn’t express those feelings out loud.

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The next day they drove out to RoadRunner Estates to look at their new home.  Checking in at the model home, Rod Hardin, the salesman, told them to follow him over to the construction site to see their new home.  Don and Francis had picked out a P-141, four bedroom plan.  Three levels.  Two car garage.  Four bedrooms. Three bathrooms.  It was one of the nicest homes available in Phase I, and Don had pulled out all the stops.  Francis seemed excited to actually be seeing it in person for the first time.  Don seemed pleased that she was happy. “We’ll drive over and see where you’ll be going to school later this afternoon, Matthew.”  Don seemed to genuinely want the whole family to get off on the right foot.

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As he followed Don, Francis, and Rod Hardin through the house, Matthew saw several things in a new light.  The new house was three times the size of the one they’d had in LA, even bigger and nicer than the house in Bakersfield.  His mother would never have been able to have a home like this without Don.  The new house had four bedrooms.  Were Francis and Don planning on expanding the family?  The thought of that had never occurred to Matthew before.  Two big living areas, a huge backyard, a two-car garage?  All those were things they’d never had, even after Don’s first promotion and their move to Bakersfield.  And finally, based on what the salesman was telling them and how far along the house was, they’d known about the move to Texas long before they actually shared that with Matthew.

At first, that bothered him.  It was like they’d kept a secret they shouldn’t have.  But then it dawned on Matthew just how miserable he’d been ever since they finally shared the news.  Maybe they had waited as long as they possibly could to save him the grief and anxiety they knew he’d feel as soon as he found out.  Things seemed to be more clear at 16 than they had been when he was only 15.

The tour ended with Rod telling them they were ten days from being able to move in.  They drove by Jim Bowie High School on the way back to the motel.  It didn’t look half bad.  Matthew thought he might go out for football.  He wondered if they offered shop class.  They took the long way back to the motel, past the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store, the Piggly Wiggly, The Klip-N-Dye.  “That’s probably where I’ll get my hair done once things settle down,” Francis said.

“There’s several phases of the RoadRunner Estates on the drawing board,” Don noted.  “Could be hundreds of homes out there before it’s all said and done.”  Matthew couldn’t imagine that many people making their way to Fort Stockton.  Back at the motel, the family put on their swimming gear and made their way out to the pool.  They’d stopped at the Ben Franklin and bought inflatable toys, beach towels, and baby oil and iodine so Francis could make her own suntan lotion.  “May as well make the most of this while we can,” Don said.

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The ten days of waiting dragged on, but being able to move into a brand new house and have his own room again made it worth it.  The day the yellow and green Fageol moving van pulled up was like Christmas.  An unbearably hot Christmas.  Burly got out and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a familiar handkerchief.  That night Matthew shut the door to his new room and searched through the boxes for the Wards catalog.  Down the hall, Don and Francis enjoyed the new master bedroom and the privacy it afforded even more than when they had their own rooms at the Pony Soldier or the El Ray.

Matthew found his way around Fort Stockton on his bike quickly, nearly always stopping at the Dairy Twin at some point.  It wasn’t till the third or fourth stop there that both the Buick Skylark and the beautiful strawberry-blonde girl from the corner booth made an appearance.  In a totally unexpected development, the girl drove the Buick.  In a million years he would have never had the courage to approach her.  He didn’t need to.  She had enough courage for both of them.

Becky was born into money.  Oil and cattle money.  She was going to be a senior at Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern when school started.  The Skylark was an early graduation gift from her father.  Once Matthew realized the Skylark was Becky’s he figured the car had been color matched to the girl who drove it.  Becky’s red hair was perfect with the Mandarin red convertible; her skin as creamy white as the supple leather seats inside.  When she made her way over to the table where Matthew sat by himself, he nearly spilled his Dr. Pepper right into his lap.

“You’re new here.”  She was matter-of-fact in the way she spoke, confident yet friendly.  “The first time I saw you I figured you were just passing through.  But I’ve seen you enough now that you must live here.  It’s time I get to know you.”

Matthew mumbled his name and something about California that seemed incoherent.  Becky grabbed his hand and led him out to the parking lot.  “Leave your bike here.  No one will bother it.  I’ll take you for a ride.”

Before Matthew could protest, not that he wanted to protest, he was sitting in the cabin of the most beautiful car he’d ever seen with the most incredible girl who’d ever talked to him starting the 322 nailhead V8 and hitting the gas pedal.  The rear tires were spinning almost as much as Matthew’s mind.  The Buick hit 60 MPH and pinned him back against the pleated seats.  Before they hit the edge of town Becky knew his name, his age, when he’d gotten to town and that he hadn’t been excited about the move.  She fired questions at him almost quicker than he could answer them.

“Well, Matt,” she said.  “If life hands you lemons, squeeze the hell out of them.  Maybe you’ll get lemonade.” Nobody ever called him ‘Matt’.  He wouldn’t allow it.  But Becky did and he never said a word.  While she was waxing poetic about squeezing lemons Matt was glancing down at the melons Becky was sporting and wondering if there was some type of a subtle hint , or maybe girls from Texas were just exceptionally friendly.

The Buick was out in the country before Matt could even ask where they were going, not that it mattered.  The views of southwest Texas were far different from the passenger seat of a Buick Skylark than they were from the backseat of a Ford Ranch Wagon.  Texas wasn’t all that bad.

Talking loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing by and Hank Locklin singing Let Me Be the One on the massive chrome Electronic AM radio in the center of the dash, Matt learned that Becky was an only child.  Her mother had passed away when she was young.  They had the loss of a parent in common.  “I know Daddy loves me.  He gives me anything I want.  But he’s a busy man. Travels a lot, though.”  She gunned it and the speedometer hit 70.  “Does the best he can.”

By the time the Skylark was wheeled back into the parking lot at the Dairy Twin, Matt was somewhere between confused and euphoric.

“I’ll meet you back here tomorrow.  Noon straight up.”  As soon as the words were out of her mouth Becky’s foot smashed the accelerator to the floor and she was out on the road heading somewhere else, like a summer storm.  She hadn’t waited for an answer, knowing there could only be one offered in the affirmative, anyway. When he got home, both Don and Francis could tell there was something different about him.  They didn’t even know he all of a sudden went by ‘Matt’.

That summer, Matt’s Schwinn became a fixture beside the Dairy Twin.  The times would vary depending on Becky’s schedule, but the routine took place daily.  She’d pick Matt up and they would head out to someplace outside Fort Stockton he’d never seen before.  She’d tell him stories of adventures she’d been on to places he’d only read about.  He’d make up stories on the spot whenever they’d see something or someone unusual.  He was fascinated by everyplace she’d been.  She was enamored with his imagination.  He was barely 16, a soon-to-be junior in high school.  She wasn’t far from 18 and would be graduating at the end of the upcoming school year.

By July Becky would occasionally come by and pick Matt up at his new house in RoadRunner Estates.  Francis was put off by the whole arrangement and tried to discourage it.  Don took a different view of the young girl who pulled up in an exotic and expensive burgundy convertible.  It made him want to be 16 again.  “She’s a smart girl,” he told Francis after the first meeting.  “A firm handshake. Outgoing.  Matt could learn a few things from here.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.  And don’t call him Matt,” she replied.  “He hates that.”

“Apparently not.”  He turned off the light and rolled over.

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In early August the Skylark pulled up to the house late one afternoon and Becky just honked.  Matt ran out the door and was in the front seat before Francis could even get up off the couch.  “Why didn’t you come in?” he asked Becky as she sat behind the massive steering wheel of the Buick..  Then he glanced down.  Becky was wearing a halter top that was barely containing her breasts.  The Daisy Dukes she wore completed the outfit, if ‘complete’ is a word that could really be used.  Pale flesh seemed to be poking out of places that didn’t normally see sunshine.

“Francis would shit if she saw me in this outfit.”  The reference to his mother by her first name, the use of profanity, and the acknowledgment that she knew just how alluring she looked was almost too much to process for Matt.  “We’re heading to the lake.  I had the housekeeper put together a picnic for us.” She glanced towards the backseat.  Matt looked back and saw a wicker basket that he could only imagine contained exotic foods from far away places put together by Tilda, the housekeeper and cook at Becky’s place.

At the lake, Becky found a secluded place to park the Skylark.  Underneath the wicker basket was a large plaid Pendleton blanket.  She told Matt to grab the basket and she took the blanket and walked closer to the water, looking for just the place to spread out the quilt on the ground.  The shade of two big water oaks provided the exact location she was looking for.  They laid down on the blanket, opened the basket, and feasted on sandwiches, chips, pickled treats and cold Dr. Peppers.  

“I can’t believe there’s no beer or wine in here,” Matt noted.  “I’ve never been drunk before.”

“I want you sober.  There’s only so many ‘firsts’ you can experience at one time.  Your mind will get overloaded and you won’t have the recall you’ll wish you had later.”  Matt had no idea what to make of the comment.  “Tell me a story.  Make the setting someplace romantic that I’ve never been, so I won’t know if your details are accurate or not.  Make sure the protagonist is tall, dark, and handsome,” Becky said.  “And the heroine has red hair and fair skin.”

Matt closed the wicker basket, put his head on it like a pillow, and stared up at the sky, the sun starting its slow descent over the water.  “Have you ever been to Spain?”

“No.  That’d be perfect.”

And the story began.  It involved castles and knights.  And a king whose queen had died, leaving him alone with the only princess in the land.  A red-headed beauty who commanded a big steed named Skylark and was the most gorgeous creature in all of Spain.  That was, till she was kidnapped and had to be rescued.  The story went on for a lot longer than Matt had intended; one detail led to another, plot twist after plot twist taking place.

By the time the tale was finished, the sun was going down on the horizon, its reflection still shining on the water in front of them and reflected in the bars of the grill on the Buick behind them.  When Matt finally concluded his tale, he looked over at Becky.  She was leaning on one shoulder looking right at him, her halter top folded neatly between them, her Daisy Dukes in a pile at her pale feet.

When Matt got home that night the front porch light was on, but everyone was in bed, presumably asleep.  As he fell into bed, Don opened his door and checked on him.  Satisfied the boy was okay, he started to shut the door, only to be interrupted.  “Don?”  Matt said haltingly.

“Yeah, Matt?”

“Thanks for the move to Fort Stockton.  It’s good for the family.  All of us.”  Matt seemed to be looking for the right words.

“You’re welcome.  That’s what your mother and I had hoped.  We knew the move would be tough, but hoped for the best.”

“I appreciate that you’ve never asked me to call you ‘Dad’,”  Matt said.  “It wouldn’t have felt right.”

“I understand,” Don said.

“It feels right now, though.”  Matt waited just a moment.  “You good with that?”

“I’m good with that.”  Don slowly closed the door behind him.  Matt couldn’t see the smile on Don’s face.

The next morning the black and white photograph of his father in uniform that had graced Matt’s dresser since as far back as he could remember was placed in the top drawer.  He could still see it whenever he wanted to, but felt like Don might be more comfortable without the reminder.  

In the kitchen, while making breakfast, Francis found the Wards catalog in the trash.

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