Mango Digger Page 4

  I hit the right turn signal, lifted off the gas and let the motorhome burn off speed as we approached the rest area exit. Pulling in, I saw the designated parking area for RVs and headed over to it.

  Before I could get parked, Abigail came up from the back and asked, “Why are we stopping? This isn't on the map.”

  I pulled into a parking spot, killed the motor, and said, “I have to pee.” Then, instead of heading back to the bathroom in the motorhome, I got out, walked across the parking lot and used the men's room in the rest area.

  It was clean and wasn't crowded, and the walk over gave me a chance to stretch my legs. When I got back inside the motorhome, Abigail was waiting for me. She had moved to the passenger seat and was checking what looked like a copy of the map I'd been given.

  She said, “Love's Truck Stop, twenty miles ahead. That's our next stop.”

  I nodded, started the motor and pulled back out onto I-10. After getting the beast up to cruising speed, I pointed to the ring on my finger and asked, “Why do you want me to wear this?”

  She smiled and held up her left hand showing her ring. “So people will think we're married.”

  I nodded. “And why is that important?”

  She didn't answer right away, but after a few seconds of silence, she asked, “When you were married, didn't you feel safe?”

  I hadn't thought about it like that, but I did feel safe when I was married. It was like being on a team where the other person had your back. Rather than explain this to her, I just said, “Yeah, I guess I felt safe.”

  She smiled. “Good. That's why I want you to wear the ring while we're together. It'll make me feel safer knowing you have it on. Like we're connected in some way. And maybe it'll keep women from throwing themselves at you. They'll see the ring and know you're taken.”

  I wasn't sure whether she was kidding or not. I didn't have a problem with women throwing themselves at me. Sure, strange women would smile from a distance and sometimes come up and talk. I figured they were just being friendly. Maybe I was wrong. Even so, I couldn't see how wearing a ring would change that.

  Still, if my wearing the ring meant she felt safer while we were on the road together, I would wear it.

  I was still thinking about the ring when I saw the giant sign towering above the highway announcing the location of the Love's truck stop. It was the next exit on our right.

  I lifted off the gas, hit the turn signal, and made our way into the Love's lot. With twelve fuel islands to choose from, I pulled up to the one on the far right. I grabbed the keys out of the ignition and before stepping out to pump gas, I asked Abigail if she needed anything. She shrugged. “Won't know until I go inside and see what they have. If I'm not back when you get done, come looking for me.”

  She opened her door and got out. I watched as she walked across the lot and made sure she got inside safely. Then I stepped out, ran the credit card and started pumping gas.

  As before, it took several minutes to fill the tank, and while I waited, I cleaned the windshield, checked the tires, and kept watching for Abigail. After seeing her almost get hit by a car at the last stop, I wanted to be sure she got back in safely.

  About the time the gas pump clicked off, she showed up carrying two large shopping bags and a big smile. I opened the door for her and she went inside while I finished up with the pump. When I was done, I went in and headed to the back to try to wash the smell of gas off my hands.

  That's when I noticed the door to my bedroom was just slightly open. Looking inside, I saw Bob on the bed, sleeping. Then I noticed the curtains.

  Apparently, Abigail had decided to spruce up the place by hanging new curtains over the plain beige ones that had come with the motorhome. The ones she'd put up were bright white and covered with large pink flamingos.

  Looking around, I saw the curtains weren't the only thing she'd changed. She'd put a lace doily on the nightstand and had placed a pink flamingo alarm clock in the middle. And she'd emptied the clothes from her suitcase and hung them in my closet. It looked like she was moving in.

  I went back up front and asked her, “Where'd you get the curtains?”

  She smiled. “You like? The room needed something, and when I saw the flamingo scarves back at the Flying J, I knew they would be perfect.”

  I nodded. There wasn't much I could say about it. The curtains did liven the place up a bit, but I wondered if she would be doing a full makeover of the motorhome while we were together. I was afraid the bedroom was just the first step.

  Still, it wasn't something I had time to worry about. We had miles to go before we could park it for the day. So with Abigail safely back in the motorhome, I started the motor, and we got back on I-10, headed toward Mobile.

  Chapter Nine

  It was just after three in the afternoon when we reached the Mobile causeway, the seven-mile bridge that spans Mobile Bay. Being just a few feet above sea water at high tide, driving across the causeway with waves lapping at the edges always creates a sense of danger. Add in the steady cross winds coming off the gulf, and driving the causeway in a motorhome can be a challenge.

  The posted speed limit is fifty-five, but most everyone in the left lane ignores it. Impatient motorists jump from lane to lane, trying to get ahead of anyone in front of them. But if they jump too far and too fast in either direction, they could go up and over the concrete barrier that separates the causeway from the open waters below.

  Knowing this, I stayed in the right lane and kept a safe distance from the truck in front of us.

  Signs near the end of the causeway warned of the long tunnel that goes under the bay and comes up near downtown Mobile. The posted speed limit for the tunnel is forty; a flashing light at the entrance warns if you are going too fast. Almost everyone is. The light flashes continually.

  I'd been through the tunnel before and knew what to expect. Cars coming up out of the tunnel onto the interstate usually had to suddenly slow down due to traffic congestion. If you were going too fast trying to make the tunnel's uphill run and didn't know about the slowing traffic ahead, you could easily rear end cars stalled in front of you.

  Rather than risk it, I kept a steady pace and wasn't tempted to speed up near the end of the tunnel. Drivers behind me didn’t like it, but that was their problem. Abigail sensed the potential danger and didn't distract me with questions or conversations until we were safely on the other side. As expected, traffic outside the tunnel was heavy; it had slowed quickly, and two cars that had crashed were on the side. Others would most likely soon join them.

  Traffic continued to be heavy as we made our way on I-10 and then onto I-65 to get around Mobile. Cars were darting from lane to lane, most going ten to fifteen miles over the limit. We stayed in the right lane, trying to stay out of everyone's way.

  Abigail pretended to be busy, checking her map and shaking her head as cars shot past us. It wasn't until we had gotten off the interstate and onto US 98 north that she spoke again. She sounded relieved when she said, “Glad we didn't have to do that during rush hour.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it'd be bad, especially in a motorhome. We'll have to remember that on the way back.”

  We rode in silence for a few minutes then Abigail stood and said, “I need to go get something from the back.”

  Without waiting for me to reply, she carefully made her way back to the bedroom, trying to keep her balance with the movement of the swaying motorhome.

  A few minutes later, she returned holding a small package. She took her seat, looked over at me and said, “Two things. First, I tried Kat's phone again. Still nothing. Goes straight to voice mail. I've texted and called all day and she hasn't got back to me. So either she forgot to take her phone with her or the battery is dead.”

  I could think of another possibility, one that involved foul play, but decided not to bring it up.

  She continued, “I'll keep trying her. Maybe she'll eventually pick up.”

  She took a deep breath and showed me th
e package she had brought up front. She said, “And second, I bought you something. I hope you like it.”

  Going north from Mobile, we had left the interstate and the flat wide roads of Florida behind. We had jumped on US 98 and immediately started gaining altitude. The road was four lanes as it made its way through the small town of Semmes, but a few miles later it had narrowed just beyond the bridge at Moffet. From there on, it was a narrow two-lane blacktop with no shoulder. Drop a tire off the edge and you'd be in trouble.

  Unlike the interstate, there were no exit or entrance ramps to safely get on or off the road. Cars in front would suddenly slow, often coming to a near stop before turning onto a side road. Cars on side roads would often pull out directly in front of us, playing a game of chicken, gambling that either they could speed up enough to get out of our way or we'd slow down before we ran over them. It was a bet where there'd be two losers if things didn't go right.

  The motorhome was carrying more than ten thousand pounds of momentum and it took a lot of effort to get it stopped. That, along with the lack of pullouts and passing lanes and the aging blacktop, made driving through this part of Mississippi a challenge.

  I was trying to pay attention to the road when Abigail had said she had bought me something. I glanced over at the package, smiled, and said, “What you'd get?”

  She held the package out and said, “Open it, you'll see.”

  I shook my head. “I can't right now. I kinda need to watch the road. Will you open it for me?”

  She sighed, showing her disappointment. I felt bad that I couldn't open her gift, but keeping the motorhome on the road and out of the ditches took precedence.

  She sighed again and said, “It can wait till later.”

  There was something in the way she said it that made me not want to wait. It was important to her that I take the time to look at what she'd bought. I figured if it was that important, I'd find a way to do it.

  I looked out the side mirror and saw at least ten cars stacked up behind us. There was no way they could safely get around, but sooner or later someone would try. They'd do it going up a hill or around a blind curve, betting their life and those around them they could make it.

  It was a bet I didn't want to be a part of.

  Seeing a turn-off at a church parking lot about a quarter mile ahead, I flipped on my right turn signal and let the motorhome slow. When we reached the turn, I pulled into the lot and parked.

  Abigail looked at me and asked, “Why are we stopping?”

  I pointed out the window. “See all those cars going by? They were behind us and I didn't want to hold them up any longer. Plus, I wanted to see what you got me.”

  Her eyes brightened. But instead of handing me the package, she held it close to her chest and said, “It's really nothing. You probably won't like it. I shouldn't have gotten it.”

  I smiled. “Abigail, whatever it is, I'm sure I'll like it. Let me see.”

  She nodded and said, “Okay, I'll give it to you, but you have to promise me something.”

  I laughed. “Promise you something? Am I going to regret it?”

  She shook her head. “No, you won't regret it.”

  “Okay then. I promise.”

  She took a deep breath. “You know this morning when Devin introduced us?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, she introduced me as Abigail. And while that's my real name, I'd like it if you'd call me Abby. But if you don't want to, that's okay.”

  I smiled. “Abby it is. Now let me see what you bought me.”

  She held onto the package. “Call me Abby when we're alone. But out in public, call me Paige. Paige Mendoza. And I'll remember to call you Tony. Think you can do that?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, you'll be Paige, I'll be Tony. But why? Why can't we use our real names?”

  She was quick with an answer. “Look at the credit card. The one Devin gave you. Whose name do you see on it?”

  I pulled out the card and saw that it had been issued to Tony Mendoza.

  “So I'm supposed to be Tony Mendoza?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, I'll be Tony. But what if I have to show another ID? A driver's license?”

  Again, she was quick with an answer. She reached into the small shoulder bag she'd been carrying, pulled out a driver's license and handed it to me.

  I took the license and looked at it. It had Tony Mendoza's name, a Key West address, my date of birth and my picture. A recent one.

  “Where you'd get this? How'd you get my picture?”

  She grinned. “The picture was easy. Found it online. A woman friend of yours posted several on her Facebook page. Be happy I chose that one and not a more embarrassing one.”

  I knew the photos she was referring to. Taken when I was not at my best. I'd have to talk with the woman who posted them online. She shouldn't have done so without asking me. Maybe she knew I would have said 'no'. Maybe that's why she didn't ask. Still, she needed to take them down.

  I looked at the fake driver's license; it looked real. It would fool most people.

  “Who made this?”

  Abby wagged her finger. “It would be better if you didn't know. Just put it in your wallet. You probably won't need it. But if you do, it's good to know you have it.”

  Before I could ask another question, she held out the package and said, “Don't you want to see what I got you?”

  I did. I took the package and opened it.

  Inside there were three CDs—a double CD of Blue Collar Comedy; a John Pinette - Show me the Buffet CD; and a Ralphie May - Prime Cut CD.

  I looked up and saw her watching me. She was trying to figure out if I liked her gift or not. Not wanting to keep her in suspense, I smiled and said, “I love them. They'll keep us from getting bored while I drive.”

  She nodded and said, “That's what I was thinking. Plus, we could listen to them all the way to Vicksburg. Won't that be fun?”

  I wasn't sure whether it would be fun or not. The Blue Collar Comedy CD would be clean and a have a lot of laughs. But the other two had Parental Advisory stickers on the cases. I wondered how Abby would handle it when she heard the uncensored truck stop language these comedians used.

  I figured I'd probably find out before we reached Vicksburg. But to play it safe, I opened the Blue Collar CD and put the first disc in the player. While it was spinning up, I put the motorhome in gear, and when traffic cleared, I pulled back out on the highway and headed north.

  Two hours of family friendly laughs later, we had cleared Hattiesburg and were on US 49 heading toward Jackson. Listening to the CDs had made the time pass quickly, and Abby had laughed out loud more than a few times.

  When the second disc ended, I pulled it out of the player and asked her to put it back in the case since I couldn't do it while driving. After she put the CD away, she said she was going back to get a bottle of water and wanted to know if I wanted one.

  I did.

  Bob had come up front when we put the first CD in, but he wasn't real happy when we started laughing. It seemed to scare him, and he headed to the back. Like most cats, he sleeps fifteen to eighteen hours a day, and I didn't expect that to change just because we had a guest on board.

  After taking a sip of the water Abby had brought me, I nodded at the unopened CD cases and asked, “You ready to listen to another or do you want to talk for a while?”

  We were two hours out from Vicksburg, and I wasn't sure which would be better; talking to her for two hours or listening to a parental advisory comic telling raunchy jokes.

  For Abby, it was an easy decision.

  Chapter Ten

  The unlistened to CDs remained in their unopened cases because Abby wanted to talk.

  I started the conversation with a question. “How do you know Kat?”

  Before she could answer, her phone started playing the Darth Vader theme announcing an incoming call.

  I could only hear one side of the conversation and it went something like thi
s:

  “No, I haven't heard from her. I keep trying her phone, but no luck yet.”

  “We'll be there tomorrow. Tonight we're staying at the casino in Vicksburg. The same one she stayed at.”

  “We haven't talked about that yet. But we will. It'll work out.”

  “We're getting along fine. He's been a perfect gentleman.”

  She laughed and said, “No, I don't think I'll tell him that. Don't want to scare him off.”

  “I'll call if I hear from her.”

  “Yeah, I hope you're right.”

  She ended the call, put the phone in her pocket and looked at me with a curious smile. She didn't say anything; she just stared at me and smiled like someone who knew a secret and wasn't going to share.

  We were getting into the outskirts of Jackson and the traffic was starting to build. I had to keep my eyes on the road, but each time I glanced over, she was looking at me, a goofy grin on her face.

  I finally said, “What?”

  Instead of answering my question, she said, “That was Boris, calling to see if we'd heard from Kat. He wanted to know where we were spending the night and if you were being nice to me.

  “You probably heard what I told him.”

  “Yeah, I heard most of it. But I missed the part where you said, 'I don't think I'll tell him that. It might scare him.'

  “What was that about?”

  She laughed. “Nothing really, just Boris teasing me about something.”

  I waited for her to tell me more because I wanted to know what that “something” was, especially if it was something that might scare me off. But Abby didn't elaborate. Instead, she turned and looked at the road ahead. Traffic was starting to back up, and it looked like we weren't going to be moving very fast until we got back out on the interstate.

  According to the GPS, it looked like we had to travel about six miles further on US 49 before we would get on I-20 going west. Looking at the long line of cars in front of us and the string of stop lights at every intersection, it was going to take a while.