One Step Over the Border (36 page)

“But I’m sort of an agnostic in this matter. I just don’t have enough evidence to say one way or another.”

“Evidence? You want evidence?” Hap shoved the rearview mirror to the right. “Look in that mirror. There’s the evidence. Absolute,
total proof.”

Laramie gaped at his own reflection.

“What do you see?” Hap pressed.

“Eh, besides the fact that I need a haircut and the desert’s whipping by in the background?”

“Look on the right-hand sign of the mirror and what do you see?” Hap shouted.

“A tiny neon-green LED letter N.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! You’re right. It is the letter N. And do you know what that letter means?”

“I have a vague notion.”

“That letter means we have turned north. We are driving north, partner. North! Today it’s the Rio del Norte! Do you know what’s
north of New Mexico? Colorado! And do you know what is north of Colorado? Wyomin’! We are headed home, partner. And we are
gettin’ closer by the hour. The minute the freeway took a turn north back there I could feel a great relief.”

“I still say, it was just a right turn. You’ve blown it all out of proportion.”

Hap pulled around a semi truck, then swung back into the right lane. “It was not merely a right turn as opposed to a left
turn. It was a turn north. We are goin’ home, after forty years of wanderin’ in the wilderness…”

“It was more like a hundred days,” Laramie corrected.

Hap slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “After one hundred days of wanderin’ in the wilderness, we are headed back to
the promised land.”

“But you said we have a few Juanita stops before we get there.”

“That’s what Rosa told me on the phone. Her aunt Paula gave her a list of eleven Juanitas, but only a couple seemed worth
trackin’ down.”

“You eliminated all the others?” Laramie shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead as if massaging a migraine.

“Rosa insists they aren’t right for me. There’s some kind of family reunion this weekend. So, we’re going to meet Rosa in
Socorro. She’ll take us to meet the Juanitas after that.”

“Now, tell me, are you feeling good because you’re pointed toward Wyoming or because you’re headed toward Rosa?”

“I shouldn’t be the only one feelin’ good. Havin’ Annamarie Buchett flyin’ in to meet you in Santa Fe ain’t some-thin’ to
mope over.”

Laramie sat up. “She said she needed to see me before she made some big decisions. But I don’t know if I’m auditioning for
a part in her life or if she wants to tell me face to face that I didn’t make the cut.”

“What if it ain’t bad news? Laramie, just how big a decision are you prepared to make?”

“A whole lot bigger than when we rode down out of Wyoming three and a half months ago.”

“Annamarie changed all of that?”

“Yes… and sitting through that funeral service in El Paso. I think I buried a few old memories in that grave. I’m grateful
for that. But I’m scared I won’t get a chance to make the decisions that I’m now ready for.”

“I think we’re on a roll. Maybe it’s the fresh New Mexico air, but I’m beginnin’ to see light at the end of the bridge with
my Juanita quest.”

“You mean, ‘light at the end of the tunnel’?”

“Nah… it’s a long, covered bridge… you knew what I meant. Win or lose, this Juanita thing will be over in a few days. Turn
on the radio, partner, I feel like rollin’ down the window and singin’ at the top of my lungs.”

“I’ll turn on the radio, but you have to promise not to sing. All those campfire songs with teenage girls wore down my tolerance
for Hap Bowman serenades.” Laramie spun the dial until a deep bass beat vibrated the speakers.

“I never met ten sharper girls…” Hap tapped on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, it’s the first time I ever thought about how much fun a daughter could be.”

“Laramie Majors ponderin’ havin’ kids? If the sun don’t turn to blood and the stars fall out of the sky today, they never
will.”

“Aren’t you being overdramatic?” Laramie questioned.

“Maybe… but it is a great day.” Hap smiled. “What song is that?”

“I don’t know. I thought a song with the line ‘Ain’t it funny the turns life puts you through’ fit us both right now.”

“I like it, but I’m feelin’ so good right now even opera would sound like real music. Who are those guys?”

Laramie turned the volume down a little. “The DJ mentioned Tom Boone and Charlie, eh, someone.”

“They must be new. But, then, we ain’t listened to the radio in months. Turn it up… it’s a long way before the turnoff and
I aim to celebrate.”

Three hours later they took the Socorro exit marked
New Mexico Institute of Mining and Technology
. Laramie glanced at his watch. “We’re late.”

Hap studied the tree-lined street. “Road construction zones open for no man.”

“Where are we meeting Rosa?” Laramie watched an old man with a cane walk a boxer along the sidewalk. “That looks like Sara.”

“Nah,” Hap replied. “Sara’s cuter. Anyway, Rosa said the reunion’s at a park that’s hard to find. She’s going to meet us at
a church and lead us over there.”

Laramie scanned the horizon for steeples. “Which church?”

Hap pulled a note from the pocket of his black shirt and studied his pencil scribblings. “Eh… St. Somethin’-er-other. It’s
a Catholic church.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Maybe it’s St. Ignatius. How many Catholic churches can there be in town?”

“In Socorro, New Mexico? There could be a dozen.”

Hap pulled off his sunglasses and squinted at the paper. “Shoot, maybe it’s St. Stanislaus.”

“Let me look.” Laramie plucked the note out of his hand. “I can’t read any of this.”

“Maybe it’s upside down.”

Laramie turned the note. “This is worse.”

“It was dark in the hallway of that truck stop. I’m sure it was a saint. What are some other saints?”

“Hap, I don’t know any other except St. Louis, St. Petersburg, and St. Bernard.” Laramie tossed the note on the dash.

“Look on the other side of that park. Was I right?” Hap swung in front of a small church built with used brick and a steep
shake roof. Hanging pots of red, white, and almost-blue petunias lined the covered entrance. “St. Andrews. I’m sure that’s
it.”

“It’s an Episcopal church, Hap.”

“Are we goin’ to argue over theological distinctions?”

“Then where’s Rosa? Is she driving her aunt Paula’s white Oldsmobile?” Laramie gazed at the tree-lined park across from the
church. Bright-colored playground equipment stood like horses at the rail, waiting for someone to ride.

Hap still peered at the brick building. “She’s not here. But now we can say we went to the wrong church.”

“Pull over by the gal in the convertible,” Laramie ordered.

“Are you cruisin’?”

“I’m asking directions.”

The woman with straight blonde hair and red-framed sunglasses focused on her cell phone conversation when they slowed down
next to her.

Laramie rolled down his window. “Excuse me, ma’am… we were supposed to meet…”

“Never mind, they’re here,” she said to her phone. She hopped out of the convertible. “Park your pickup and trailer. Quick,
you’re late.”

“Eh, we were lookin’ for…”

The lady with cherry-red fingernails waved her hand. “She got tied up with logistics, so she sent me to pick you up instead.
Now hurry, it’s already begun.”

Hap pulled in front of the convertible. “I didn’t know they were holding up the reunion for us. I figured we could just pop
in anytime.”

“Maybe your Rosa has a bigger surprise for you than you planned on.”

They slipped out of the truck and moseyed toward the convertible.

The blonde stomped up to them as if stalking a naughty dog. “I certainly hope you aren’t planning to ride your horses at this
late juncture.”

Hap tipped his hat. “Eh, no, ma’am.”

She pulled off her sunglasses and surveyed them from head to toe. Her blue eyes seemed to be rearranging everything she viewed.
“Do you need to change?”

Hap grinned. “No one’s perfect. I reckon all of us have some things we should change. But if you’re talkin’ shirts, we’ve
been on the road a while. This is as good as we have with us that’s clean. It’s not a formal affair, is it?”

She jammed her glasses back on and spun around. “Of course not. Get in the car.”

Laramie and Hap followed her to the convertible.

“Eh, I’ll crawl in the backseat,” Hap offered. “My legs are a little shorter.”

The blonde slid behind the steering wheel. “You will both sit in the back. That will be best.” She grabbed her red cell phone.
“We’re on our way! Stall them.” She stepped on the accelerator. The gold Chrysler shot into the street and roared through
the intersection. Laramie clutched the seat in front of him. Hap grabbed his hat.

Without looking back, the blonde jabbed her right hand toward them. “My name is Char, but everyone calls me ‘Cheery.’”

They shook her hand, a cautious handshake, the kind given when you aren’t too sure what germs the contact will bring.

“I’m Hap. This is Laramie.”

She peered into the rearview mirror. “I like that. I’m sure in your position you need nicknames for privacy. At least you
don’t go as Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble.”

Laramie shrugged at Hap. Both cowboys clutched the side of the car when she whipped around the corner.

A crowd of men, women, and kids hovered on the sidewalk at the end of the next block. The majority were women. Most wore shorts,
T-shirts, bright-colored flip-flops, and sunglasses.

Hap leaned over to Laramie. “I didn’t know this was such a big deal. Rosa must be related to ever’one in New Mexico.”

Cheery swerved the car to the sidewalk. Two ladies held what looked like big blank posters.

“They look so much different in person,” one lady said. She taped a poster to the door.

“Different than what?” Laramie asked, but Cheery was on the cell phone.

She pivoted around. “Okay, we’re all set. It’s time for you to sit up on the ragtop.”

“Why?” Hap asked.

“For a better view.”

The boys crawled up in the back. “Hap, what did you get us roped into? You didn’t tell them we were bullriders, did you?”

“You can leave your sunglasses on, but please smile and wave,” Cheery called out.

The car lurched into the center of the street to the applause of people stacked deep on both sides.

The boys grinned and waved.

The people cheered. Men held children on their shoulders. Ladies shoved sunglasses to the top of their heads. A plucky teenage
girl with red hair and a tiny tube top no wider than a belt ran toward the car and blew kisses. “I love you!” she squealed.

“This is bizarre,” Laramie said. “What are we doing in a parade?” The car lurched forward. Cheery jammed on the brakes when
a little boy ran across the street in front of them chasing a Frisbee.

Hap faced the crowd on the other side. “There cain’t be this many Rodríguezes, even if you count Mexico and South America.
And I don’t recollect a parade in the details Rosa gave me.”

“Did you see that? That lady had
will you
and
marry me?
written right on her…”

“I don’t want to see it.” Hap said. “What’s it say on that sign taped to the car?”

When they caught up to a junior high marching band playing “California Dreamin’,” they stopped in the middle of the street.
Ahead of the band, a big float carried girls in long, formal gowns offering slow waves to the crowd.

Laramie leaned over the edge. “It’s some kind of advertising sign, I guess.”

When the band, clothed in starched jeans and white shirts, finished their song, they marched forward. The convertible didn’t
move.

“Cheery, what’s the deal here? We don’t have a clue…”

“Shhh.” She pressed her red polished fingernail to her red lipstick. “They’re introducing you over the loudspeaker.”

“Ladies and gentleman, here they are. On their very first trip to New Mexico. In just two short months, these recording artists
have taken country music by storm. Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve seen them on TV. You’ve heard them on radio. You have their
CD in your rig right now. I present to you… Tom Boone and Charlie Crockett… of the rocketing duo, Boone and Crockett.”

“Stand up, boys,” Cheery prodded.

“But we ain’t…”

“I said, stand up!”

Laramie and Hap stood.

And waved.

“Sing us a song,” a teenager with brunette hair down to her waist shouted.

“Folks,” the announcer continued, “Boone and Crockett have a contractual agreement with their record company that forbids
them from singing here today. So don’t ask.”

A young girl with a glimmering turquoise blouse and long brown ponytail called out, “What one of your songs is your favorite?”’

Hap glanced at Laramie, then back at the girl. “You cain’t beat the one that starts out, ‘Ain’t it funny the turns life puts
you through,’ but we love ’em all, darlin’.”

The girl screamed… then fell flat on her face.

Hap choked. “She fainted?”

The car lurched forward past a crowd three rows deep on both sides. Some clutched balloons, cotton candy, or snow cones. A
couple of young ladies raised posters with scrawled phone numbers.