The Road to Glory (7 page)

"Ummm …"

"Never mind." She sat down next to the male on the crushed beer can. "It’ll be quicker if I just tell you. We were doing the chicken dance–"

"On the fraternity hayride that was going in the park. Right. Go on."

"I was there with that really cute gopher from behind the north bench."

"Slut."

"Sterile drunk."

"I’m not sterile!"

"You’re right. I’m pregnant."

The squirrel fell backwards off the can. "Noooo!"

Just then the truck came to a stop and the driver got out, a thermos in hand.

"This is our chance," the male declared. "Come on!"

The squirrels jumped out of the truckbed, their tiny paws slightly sinking into the damp ground in front of Fitz’s diner.

"Where are we?" the female wondered aloud.

"I don’t know. Looks like a godforsaken wasteland to me, but I’m not going to discuss it in the parking lot." He was sure that chunk of squirrel he’d seen on the road a while back was his old high school sweetheart. Either that or his boss. He couldn’t be sure. Despite what they liked to say, they really did look all alike.

"Look." The male pointed. "A tree."

They both scampered around the diner, around the milling people and over to a tall tree alongside a small shed. "Continue with your story," the male said.

"There’s not much more to tell. Libations were flowing, and you fell off the wagon. Literally. Loser."

The male’s eyes widened as the night came rushing back to him. The hay wagon had stopped alongside a pickup truck and he’d seen his mate with that nasty gopher. In his rage he began to shake, then fall; the last thing he remembered was yelling, "Die bitch, die! I’m taking you with me!" as he pulled her over the edge with him. They had been on the very top of a tall stack of hay bales and the pickup truck had been Japanese. He couldn’t believe they’d survived.

The squirrels darted up the side of the tree, climbing high into its branches where they felt safe.

Panting, the male squirrel glanced down and saw a blanket with two female humans on it. The bigger human was suckling the smaller one. He cocked his head to the side. Wasn’t she a little old for that? Wait. "Those humans look familiar."

The female followed her mate’s line of vision. "The humans we spy on back home!"

"Not quite."

"The hair ..."

She squinted. "The eyes ..."

"Just a little different. But not much. Same builds. Same wonderful screen presence no matter the location or genre." She rolled her eyes. "We all know what they’re going to look like."

"Genetic mutations because of the inherent weakness of their race?"

"Or lazy writers."

The women below talked and kissed and talked a little more, until the talking turned into broken whispers and the kissing grew more and more fevered.

The female squirrel watched as her mate walked out to the edge of a rickety branch. She could see there were many dead and dry branches mixed in among the new buds, and as her mate began to jump up and down, the twigs fell on the women below.

"What the –"

Leigh’s hand shot to her forehead when a good-sized piece of wood landed right on her head.

RJ was pelted in the back, causing her to interrupt her kissing.

Both women stood up and stared into the tree.

"What are you doing?" the female hissed. "Are you insane?"

"Bwahahahahahahaahahahah!" the male laughed hysterically, jumping even harder. "Come on, join in! They’re only humans!"

Just then the branch beneath the male gave way and he began to plummet to earth.

The female did at least have the decency to wave goodbye.

The male pawed the air and flapped his arms … but sadly, he was not a flying squirrel. So he dropped like a stone. His landing, however, was buffered by RJ Fitzgerald’s head.

"Jesus!" Leigh screamed and took a large step backwards when the rodent fell from the sky and landed squarely atop RJ, who, of course, began to yell, curse and spin in circles, trying to pull the squirrel out of her hair.

Before RJ could dislodge the squirrel, Flea appeared from out of nowhere and sprang into action. She bounded up from the ground and attached herself to RJ’s head in an attempt to dislodge the frightened, flailing squirrel.

The female squirrel’s eyes widened.

Leigh stepped forward to try to help, but there was nothing to be done. RJ lost her balance as soon as Flea pounced. The tall woman ended up tumbling down the hill, skidding to a stop in a large puddle of sun-warmed mud.

Leigh took off down the hill, sliding as she tried to make it to RJ in time. She’d seen the movie ‘The Birds’ when she was a kid. Who knew what a squirrel could do?

Flea used lightning-fast paws to fling the squirrel away from one of her favorite humans. She wanted to pursue the furry beast, but decided to allow his escape in order to stay with her traumatized woman. Her high-maintenance kind had had to seek therapy over much less. Flea’s golden eyes narrowed. She and the little squirrel would meet again.
Oh, yes
her mind purred.
We’ll meet again.

"God, are you okay?" Leigh knelt down, heedless of the grime and pushed mud-soaked bangs out of RJ’s eyes. She peered down at her with concerned eyes.

RJ panted and flicked mud from her hands, realizing now she must be a right mess. A muddy mess that smelled like warm, wet, stale beer. "I’m fine. My ego is in shreds, and I’m really sorry to expose you to all this, but I’m fine." She sighed and looked at herself. "I should probably go get cleaned up. I’m so sorry, Leigh."

Leigh looked at RJ regretfully. "I suppose so." The voices from the party had grown louder and she suspected their respite from the crowd was just about over anyway. Leigh leaned in and lightly kissed RJ on the lips. "It’s been an adventure, RJ. But, yes, you do need to get cleaned up. And I need to go anyway." She was a little surprised at how tempted she was to say she’d wait for RJ to shower and hang around for the rest of the party. But the trucker tucked that thought away for future examination. Bracing her hands against her knees, she stood and reached out for RJ and said the only thing that she could think of at the very moment. "I’ll be back."

R
J GRUMBLED TO HERSELF as she reached out for a screwdriver that was just beyond her fingertips. The garage was dark except for a hanging light attached under the hood and another flipped on over her workbench. She needed to keep the throttle spring just so …

"Damn thin’!" The tool at her fingertips clattered to the concrete floor, causing another stream of four letter words to be launched into the air.

"What would your mother say?"

RJ jerked her head up and collided with the underhood of the truck at the sound of Leigh’s voice. Her hand unclenched with the impact of her head and the throttle spring made a dutiful ‘sproinging’ noise as it flew across the room and clattered to the floor.

"Ow!" RJ rubbed the back of her head, glancing up sheepishly at Leigh, who didn’t even try to smother her chuckles. "Very funny. And my would no doubt try to wash my mouth out with soap, if you have a burning need to know." The brunette grinned as she continued to rub the back of her head. Now this was a lovely surprise. Despite the near-continuous teasing she’d endured after coming back to the picnic covered in mud, she found herself thinking of Leigh often. Maybe even missing her. But still, it was due to Leigh that she was putting up with two and a half tons of shit. She wanted a little revenge. "But hello to you, sexy. What brings you back this way?" RJ took a few steps into the corner of the room and bent down to retrieve the spring.

"Shower." Leigh jiggled the backpack that contained her shower supplies and a clean change of clothes. "Pete said I could use it again. I had dinner at the diner." She took a step closer to RJ. Stepping in out of the shadows, she smiled. "I was hoping you’d be there."

"My night off." She gestured to her truck. "I thought I’d give Carol a tune up. Her carburetor needed to be adjusted. She’s not purring just right."

"Carol?" Leigh peered at the charcoal-black bucket of rust.
Typhoid Mary would be a better name.

RJ fetched the screwdriver and quickly attached the spring. "Yeah, Carol." She spoke with her head in the engine. "My grandmother named her Carol after the actress Carol Lombard. Me grandmother had a thing for short blondes too." She glanced up at Leigh and winked, surprised that in the dim light she could see a faint blush working its way up Leigh’s neck.

"So this was your grandmother’s truck?" Interested, Leigh joined RJ under the hood to see what she was doing. "And I’m not that short."

RJ snorted as she made the adjustment to the carburetor. "Five foot three and no more, or I’m not RJ Fitzgerald." Her eyes dared Leigh to disagree. But by the narrowing of Leigh’s baby blues, RJ knew she couldn’t. "And this was my Grandmother’s truck. Saved for three long years and bought it brand-spanking new before she went overseas in ’42." She wiped her hands on a rag. "And you are short, but you’re cute too. So that’s bound to count for something."

"Thanks." Leigh smiled wryly. "I think." Leigh retrieved a wrench RJ was eyeing. "So why keep something so ..." She gestured vaguely. "So–"

RJ glared at her.

"– antique?" Leigh finished quickly.

RJ was quiet for so long that Leigh worried she’d hit another sore spot. She was about to change the subject when RJ’s quiet voice breached the silence in the garage. "Because," the tall woman paused, "it’s all I have ... of hers anyway. It’s … well, it’s sort of sad story, lass." RJ glanced at Leigh, feeling unsure of what to say, but more in the mood to talk than she’d been in quite some time. "It’s probably nothing you’d want to hear about."

Leigh laid her hand on RJ’s forearm and gently squeezed. "You’re wrong," she said solemnly. She could feel the warmth of RJ’s skin through the gray overalls she wore and was momentarily distracted. She licked her lips. "I’d like to hear."

RJ nodded slowly as she finished removing the last spark plug. "All right." Another few moments and the plugs were replaced.

Leigh let her backpack slide to the floor as RJ clicked off the light above the workbench, casting it in gentle shadows.

RJ straightened to her full height and used her arms to hoist herself onto the bench, her long legs dangling freely over its edge. She patted the spot next to her so Leigh could join her.

With a boldness that surprised even Leigh, she didn’t join RJ on the workbench. Instead, she moved in front of RJ, standing so close that RJ had to spread her legs to accommodate Leigh’s body. The blonde woman’s hips brushed against RJ’s calves, then inner thighs as she came to rest nearly flush against the bench. She placed both palms flat against RJ’s thighs and looked up into her eyes.

The unexpected closeness seemed so intimate, so intense, that it was arousing and disconcerting at the same time. RJ sucked in a surprised breath.

A slow smile edged its way onto Leigh’s face, and she patted one of the thighs beneath her hand. "Go ahead."

RJ tentatively returned Leigh’s smile. "My Grandmother, for whom I’m named, by the way," she paused, "she delivered planes from base to base in the South Pacific. Where she was killed."
Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Nothing like starting at the end of a tale!
RJ looked away from Leigh.

With one hand, Leigh cupped RJ’s chin and gently guided the brunette’s attention back to her. For reasons Leigh didn’t understand, what was supposed to be an interesting story about RJ’s truck now seemed very important. To both women. "I never knew any of my grandparents," Leigh uttered quietly, hoping to put RJ at ease. She ran her thumb along RJ’s jaw before removing her hand. "So it’s nice that you at least have something from her. I didn’t know women actually flew. I figured back then they were all nurses and secretaries and stuff like that."

"Well, most were. But there were a few who flew. They didn’t fly fighter planes in combat, but they were how many of the planes got to their final destination. Especially near the end of the war, when every available male pilot was attached to a fighter squadron in some way. Women also flew cargo planes, even in the most dangerous fronts. My grandmother was shot down by the Japanese during a mission to deliver a bomber."

"I’m sorry."

RJ’s smile was bittersweet. "Well, it’s not hardly your fault, now is it? Besides, it was a lifetime ago and certainly nothing to be brooding over now. At least not by me."

"So I guess you don’t know what happened exactly. Just that she was shot down?"

"No. I know more of the tale from me mother. Two Japanese fighter planes took off one of her wings when she was about a minute away from her landing point." RJ made a twirling motion with her finger. "The plane spun in circles and dropped like a stone into the Pacific Ocean. She broke both her arms and cracked open her head on impact, but was alive."

Leigh’s eyes went a little wide.

"‘Course she was trapped in the plane, which instantly filled with water." RJ cocked her head to the side, green eyes luminous in the dim light fluttering closed. "It’s not hard to imagine the burn of the salty water if you try."

"I …" Leigh wasn’t sure what to say. Her heart began to beat a little bit faster. "I don’t think I want to imagine that."

RJ opened her eyes. "Me neither." Oddly, she smiled. "Anyway Grandmother’s co-pilot and navigator, a chubby, red-haired crop duster from Iowa, fished her out from under the water when she was already about twenty feet down."

Leigh tried not to think about what it would be like to be buckled into a sinking plane, unable to move your arms to free yourself.

"The co-pilot got them both out and held onto my grandmother until they were rescued about an hour later." RJ shrugged. "I never knew her, of course. I just inherited the truck. My mother has always told me the stories, which were told to her by her grandmother, who looked after her after her mother was killed."

"Sounds like you’ve got something to be proud of, though."

RJ frowned. "Didn’t you hear the story? She didn’t deliver the plane. She was shot down."