Page 40 of Hauling Ashe

“This is a grand gesture. It’s so romantic.” Large and slightly obnoxious, the whale makes a statement, especially when you learn the history. The man loved his wife.

Glancing over at Tucker, I realize small gestures can speak volumes as well, like giving a girl a red geranium because she misses home. The potted flower is buckled once more in the backseat. I’d consider the gift romantic, but based on Tucker’s mood today, he’s anything but interested in romance. Yesterday, he was only being nice, generous even, as he’s been so far on this trip by paying for meals and our overnight stays.

Today is another story.

The rain begins again as we travel toward Tulsa, driving into the center to be greeted by a welcoming sign over the highway. At the Tulsa Expo Center, we see the Golden Driller, a seventy-two-foot statue that puts the Muffler Men to shame.

“I bet he has one big drill,” I mutter, comparing the potential in his pants to the Gemini Giant’s rocket. Tucker doesn’t even crack a smile at my joke, and between the heavy rain and his sour mood, my enthusiasm dampens as well.

Eventually, we stop at a diner in Stroud and have lunch. The waitress recommends we stop at a nearby vineyard, and I ask her questions about the Great Dust bowl and The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck’s famous book about people moving west from this area. Tucker snorts like I’m ignorant, or maybe the pleasant waitstaff is, in his opinion. His assholishness from our first day together is returning. Still, I ask him to take us to the recommended winery, where I buy several bottles of local wine, one of which I plan to drink in its entirety tonight.

When I request that we stop for the third time along the route leading to Oklahoma City because I need the restroom, Tucker doesn’t contain his irritation and I’m done.

“What is your problem?” I snap.

“This is stupid.”

“What is stupid?” I ask wanting clarification.

“Us taking this road trip based on other people’s journeys.”

That’s it. He can insult the Blue Whale. He can huff at a waitress. He can even hate me but I’m not putting up with his attitude anymore.

“Isn’t that what you did? Took a journey down someone else’s path for you?” I don’t know why I say it like I do, but it hits me so hard. He gave up his dream, lived someone else’s, and now that the truth is between us, he’s taking it out on me. I don’t mention his wife’s name, but he must know who and what I reference. She became famous. He didn’t.

While it’s totally out of line for me to speak as I am, I’m pissed. “Are you upset you disrupted your life for her?”

He gave something up to gain something else. He became a father, a husband. They were a success as a couple and he’s successful in his own right with Impact. This I know from Jane. My sister is financially well off.

“Hadn’t you done the same thing? You said you followed your husband.”

“It was called love. I made a sacrifice.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” he snaps.

“How’d that work out for you?” I already know the answer. She was having an affair. It happens. It isn’t right. It isn’t easy to accept, but it happens. If he loved her, that hurt. Even if he no longer loved her, the betrayal still stings. Then she died, and he mourns her death. No one wishes death on someone, no matter how betrayed they feel about that person.

But he’s angry with her.

The car fills with heated breaths and we pull into a service station because this confrontation started from my need to use the bathroom. When we stop, I hastily open the door but then I turn toward him.

“Give me the keys.”

“What?” His head snaps in my direction.

“Give me the damn key fob.”

“Why?” His forehead furrows.

Because I don’t trust you. I almost say the words but staring back at him with his arm draped over the steering wheel and his body positioned to face me, I realize I’d be lying. In only two-plus days, I trust him more than I ever trusted Adam, which makes no sense. I hardly know Tucker Ashford and Lord knows he’s full of secrets.

Are they secrets, though? Or is it just his life, and these things are private? He didn’t have to share with me about his son, his band, or his wife. Even though he accused Jane of telling me about him, she hadn’t hinted at his son issues, his rock star history, or his marriage troubles. She once gave me a personalized, autographed copy of Rochelle’s book and I didn’t even question how she got it. She never revealed to me that one of the two men she works with was the husband of my idol.

Without thinking, I make a suggestion. “We’re almost to Oklahoma City. Maybe we can find you a flight and you can fly the remainder of the way to California.”

Tucker’s mouth falls open. Color drains from his face and then his expression hardens. “Didn’t you need the bathroom?”

I do need to pee, and badly, but I’m worked up and with his crappy attitude, I’m worried he’s going to steal my car and leave me in the middle of Oklahoma.