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Lucinda’s next door neighbors took notice when the black Country Sedan backed into her driveway.  That was partly because of the nature of Lucinda’s neighbors and partly because nobody recognized the old Ford wagon.

In the spring and fall months, when the weather is perfect and people have their windows open in Fort Stockton, the folks in Lucinda’s neighborhood cancel their subscriptions to cable TV and spend most of their evenings near a window listening to the sounds of passion wafting out of Lucinda’s place.  She is a master of the reproductive arts and never shy about expressing herself during the act, which makes the entertainment value even better.

The Ford threw everyone off.  They hadn’t ever noticed that car in her driveway, and when Delgado and a friend about the same age got out and made their way to the front door, Clem put away his rake, walked into the house, mixed a drink, and shoved a comfortable chair as close as possible to the window nearest Lucinda’s place.  “Today might be the day we’ve talked about,” Clem said to Trudy, his wife.  Trudy looked up from the toll house cookies she was making, not having a clue as to what Clem was referring to.  Clem held up three fingers and pointed next door.  Trudy stretched cling-wrap across the top of the bowl full of dough, left it on the counter and poured herself a glass of sweet tea.  Clem scooted another chair next to the window for his wife.

The Ford was finished in Nightmist Blue, and had features including stacked headlights, a split-opening tailgate, a single side mirror, chrome bumpers, and dual exhaust outlets. Neighbors noticed various blemishes and dings around the thing, but overall were impressed with the condition of the station wagon, particularly for being nearly six decades old.  Of course everyone recognized Delgado; he was a fixture at Lucinda’s.  His friend was a new face.  Trudy noted from the kitchen window, while covering up the dough, that he seemed to be just as fit as Delgado, and perhaps an inch or two taller. Her heart raced just a bit.

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Trudy and Clem were both disappointed when Delgado and his cohort began carrying items out of the neatly trimmed bungalow and loading them into the Magic Doorgate of the ebony Country Sedan.  Trudy returned to the kitchen.  Clem took up his station to the left of the picture window where he could get a good view but remain undetected.  He watched while Delgado and his friend negotiated the steps down to the driveway as they carried Delgado’s solid walnut hi-fi cabinet, turned it on its side and set it down next to the taillights of the Ford.  Delgado got a blanket from the backseat.  Clem noted the cabin featured front and rear bench seats trimmed in Light Blue vinyl, joined by a color-coordinated dashboard, door panels, and carpets. He could tell equipment included a locking glove box, manual-crank quarter vent and side windows, lap belts for four occupants, and a push-button AM radio.  

“The old Ford appears to be in really good shape,” Clem yelled out in a muffled whisper towards the kitchen.  Trudy, already looking out the window while she kneaded the cookie dough with her bare hands, watched Delgado’s friend flex while he bent over and spread the blanket out in the rear of the wagon.  The raw dough seemed to squeeze through her fingers almost violently.  “Yeah,” she replied.  “It’s amazing.”  The two young men then got on either side of the hi-fi cabinet and lifted it into the back of the Ford gingerly.

Granted, it was getting warmer outside.  But Clem thought it was a little excessive when Delgado’s friend took off his shirt after finishing with the stereo stand.  Trudy began rolling the dough into perfect sized balls in the palms of her hands, inspired.  The two young men went back into Lucinda’s place and each returned with the next items to be loaded.  Delgado had the turntable, which he slid in the back of the Ford, next to the mid century modern hi-fi cabinet.  His friend carried a crate containing Delgado’s collection of Jessie Cook LPs.  She wasn’t even conscious of the fact that she had two cookie dough balls in one hand, rolling them gently, as she watched him bend down low to be able to slide the wooden crate into the back seat.

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“Looks like he’s moving out,” Clem said.

“He never moved in!” Trudy whispered back.  “Those are just the things he liked to have when he was there.  Lucinda told me she’d never let a man move in with her.  ‘Why buy the bull, when you can get the…’”  Just then the doorbell rang.

Clem had been so focused on the driveway goings-on that he didn’t even notice Lucinda had walked next door and was standing on their porch.

“Oh, hi, come on in.” Clem was a little flabbergasted as he answered the door.

“Mind if I stay for a few?” Lucinda asked as she walked in.  “Maybe have a cup of coffee?”

Trudy called her into the kitchen where she was still working on the cookies and admiring the view.  She closed the shutters before Lucinda walked in.  “Pour yourself a cup and have a seat,” she said.  Lucinda went to the cabinet and got a red Fiestaware cup off the shelf, then poured herself a cup of Chase and Sanborn from the Mr. coffee.

“I told Delgado to pack his stuff.  We’re done.  It was good while it lasted, but it’s over.” Lucinda washed her hands, dried them on the cup towel next to the sink, and then reached into the bowl of dough and scooped out enough for a cookie.  She kneaded the dough into a ball, placed it on the cookie sheet in front of Trudy, and then smashed it into a paper thin wafer about six inches in diameter.  

Trudy picked it up and started over with it. “A little too flat and wide for a cookie,” she noted.

At the front window Clem tried not to be too obvious as he watched Delgado carry out a box containing an old waffle iron, a bag of Mexican spices, and a collection of vintage PLAYBOY magazines and carried them to the Ford.  His buddy was a few steps behind, carrying a stack of books that Clem couldn’t read the titles of.

Back in the kitchen, Lucinda said, “I don’t know if he’ll continue to work for me at the Grounds for Divorce.  I told him that was up to him.  That’s business, not personal.  Don’t really care either way.  Although he does make the best damn Huevos Rancheros in all of Southwest Texas.”

Next door, Delgado and his accomplice were on either side of a big brightly colored Mexican pottery planter full of herbs that had been on Lucinda’s back patio.  It was the last thing they needed to load into the back of the Ford.  “I’ll bet the secret to those Huevos Rancheros is right there in that pot,” Clem muttered under his breath.

The two young men got into the front seat of the Ford, Delgado on the passenger side, his friend behind the wheel.  The 289ci V8, rated at 200 horsepower when it left the factory, fired right up.  Blue-painted 15″ steel wheels wearing poverty hubcaps and mounted with 235/45 Travelstar UN106 tires slowly began to roll out of the driveway.  Delgado turned and looked back at the bungalow.  Clem couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like there may have been tears rolling down his cheeks.  It could have just been sweat.  As it pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, Clem noticed the dark Ford Country Sedan looked like a hearse, all of a sudden.  Maybe it sort of was.

As Trudy slid the cookie sheet into the preheated oven, Lucinda sat down at the small kitchen table and sipped her coffee.  “I always told him, there were two things I could never tolerate.  I could handle most anything else he could ever do, but if I ever found out he slept with Trixie from over at the Klip-N-Dye, or that he voted for Mayor Goodman, it would be over.

Of course, Clem being Clem, he shared that intel with a few guys at the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store.  He may as well have put it on the front page of the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch.  Now all anyone can ever talk about is which one it was that brought about the Intentional Uncoupling.  Trixie isn’t saying a word and doesn’t really even seem to know why folks keep eyeing her at the Piggly Wiggly.

But over at the hardware store it’s unanimous.  Whichever violation it was, it damn sure wasn’t worth it.

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