This time Max looked up, but the expression on his face was vague, uncertain, unMaxlike.
“Max, are you all right?”
Max looked from Owen to Sabrina, his brow a landscape of perplexity.
“It’s me, Owen.”
“Yes, yes. Well, of course I know that.” There was no conviction in his voice. “And the wife, obviously.”
“Max, what are you doing here? Why did you take off?”
“Bit tired, to tell you the truth. Needed to sit down.”
“You wandered away from the caverns, Max. We were scared to death. We didn’t know what happened to you. How did you get here?”
“I don’t know. We’re related, you and I?”
“Max, I’m your nephew. Your adopted son. I’m Owen.”
“Owen, yes. And your lovely wife.”
“We’re not married, Max-Sabrina is a friend. Let’s get back to the Rocket.”
“Rocket? No. You frighten me.”
“Not a real rocket, Max. The Winnebago. Come on, you better lie down for a while.”
Eventually they talked Max into the car and drove back to the caverns. Max gave no sign of recognizing the Rocket, but he was happy to lie down in the bedroom and close his eyes. He was asleep within seconds.
Owen was afraid to make any more stops after that. They drove for hours, not saying much. The highway unfurled across the Llano Estacado, an endless mesa dotted with tiny, unexpected lakes. Finally there was something green other than cacti-fields of cotton and alfalfa that stretched to the horizon. It was dark when the first oil pumps began to appear, and then they were in the land of stampedes and rodeos. Sabrina read out directions well in advance of the crucial turnoffs as they rolled along the vast expressways of Dallas-Fort Worth. With a minimum amount of confusion they found a suitable campground not too far out of town and parked the Rocket for the night.
Max was still fast asleep.
SIXTEEN
Sabrina left early in the morning to go and visit her aunt Rachel-her mother’s sister-who had lived in Dallas her whole life. Max was still in bed, and she thought it would be best if Owen could be alone with him for a while.
Spending time with Aunt Rachel was like shooting rapids-exhilarating, but not something you wanted to do every day. Sabrina had hardly been in her aunt’s kitchen half an hour before Rachel was lining up the day’s activities like a squad commander plotting a covert operation.
“Honey, a girl cain’t be without her wardrobe. That’s like a magician without his wand, an angel without his wings. We are gonna take you right downtown, and we are gonna get your hair cut, and we are gonna buy you some clothes. We can’t have you slouching across the country looking like Little Orphan Annie. Oh, honey, I am so glad to hear you left that religious zealot. There’s only one thing worse than an atheist and that’s a born-again bonehead. Could you not have got your luggage forwarded to you somehow?”
“The hotel says it’s gone. Actually, what they said was, ‘Your husband took it when he checked out.’”
“The man’s a robber and a thief. Not to mention violent, possessive and downright mean.”
“Good Christian, though.”
“If that man’s a Christian, I’m a Tibetan nun. Where’s he get off stealing your clothes?”
“He’s not all bad, Rache. He took me in at a really bad point in my life.”
“Don’t you go mistaking plain old ordinary lust for Christian charity. Personally, I’ve had it with Christians- Muslims, too-and the Jews can go take a flying-Honey, look at your nails. Those hands look like you’ve been tunnelling out of San Quentin. I can see we are gonna have to make a day of this. Now tell me again who it is you’re travelling with?”
“A guy named Owen Maxwell and his uncle.”
“How old is Owen?”
“Eighteen. Just two years younger than me.”
“I know how old you are, honey. You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?”
“Not really. Maybe a little.”
“More than a little, princess. I know the signs. How’d you meet this handsome young dog?”
“He saw Bill hitting me and screaming his head off in a parking lot and he intervened. Naturally, Bill beat him senseless.”
“And I have no doubt he was quoting chapter and verse the whole time,” Rachel said. “Honey, we are just gonna have to indulge in a little post-traumatic stress shopping.”
Rachel took her to Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue and so many boutiques that Sabrina lost count. Even though she was nearly thirty years older than Sabrina, Rachel seemed to know what the younger generation liked and where to get it. Sabrina bought a pair of Buffalo jeans on sale, a sleeveless blouse, and a green hoodie that managed to be light and cozy at the same time.
“Honey, that colour is made for you. Suddenly you got eyes like a movie star.”
As an extra surprise, Rachel picked out a simple pendant, silver with a drop of turquoise.
“Rachel, I can’t. It’ll take me ages to pay you back.”
“Who said anything about paying me back? Pretty little thing like you, it’s a pleasure to dress you up.”
“But these things aren’t cheap.”
“Don’t you worry about it. Pierre left me very well provided for.”
Rachel’s husband, a Dallas tax attorney with the un-Texan name of Pierre, had died of lymphoma more than ten years ago. These days she was seeing a younger man named Ken, and she seemed inclined to keep him, though she showed no inclination to marry again.
“You want to know the secret of a lasting relationship?” Rachel said, setting her shopping bag on the sidewalk so she could flag a cab.
“I imagine there’s more than one,” Sabrina said.
“No, there’s actually just the one: fellatio. Constant, expert fellatio.” Rachel stepped out into the path of an oncoming cab, forcing him to halt. “Give him the kind of experience money can’t buy and that man will be by your side forever.”
“God, Rachel. I thought you were going to say ‘ruthless honesty,’ or ‘a compatible sense of humour.’ And you come up with blow jobs.”
“Everybody’s got their theories. Mine happens to be backed up by a lot of hard evidence, pardon the pun.” She held open the door of the cab for Sabrina. “What say we head home and have ourselves some lemonade on the veranda?”
When they brought their lemonade out onto the back porch, Bill Bullard was on the bottom step, cap in hand.
“Jesus Christ,” Rachel said.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Bill said. “But you can be certain the Lord won’t.”
“Mister, you go straight back where you came from. You are not welcome here.”
“Ma’am, with all respect, I did not come here to see you. I come to see Sabrina.”
“Well, Sabrina doesn’t want to see you.”
“I reckon the young lady’s old enough to speak for herself.” Bill shifted his weight, cocking a hip and leaning one hand on the newel post at the bottom of the porch steps, the other on his hip. The posture pushed his belt even lower beneath his abdominal overhang.
“How did you find me?” Sabrina asked.
“Finding people is one of the things I’m good at.”
“But I never told you about Rachel.”
“Not in so many words, maybe. Everybody has an address book.”
