Untitled

Chapter Thirty Nine

The following morning, after a pleasant breakfast with Doc Summers and Anna, Lisa finally drove away from the Summers' ranch.
The trunk of her car was packed to the brim with suitcases and other belongings, including her Daddy's diary and the box of audio tapes given to her by Doc Summers. Except for some snapshots and family portraits, she left Mama's house as it was. She knew she would be returning to see family and friends and that this is where she would stay.

Having decided to take the Midwest route Lisa headed toward her first overnight spot, St. Louis, Missouri. After a restful night in the Holiday Inn there, she started out early the following morning. It was a wet, cold, and windy day. She was thinking about Bernice and wondering how she was making out with the convalescent home problem.
Then, ahead through a rain-splattered windshield she spotted a figure standing at the side of the road with its arm stretched out. As she came closer, the figure took the form of a teenage boy hitchhiking. He was wearing baggy jeans and a faded blue plaid shirt.
As she drove by him she noticed that his face was very young. Through the rearview mirror she could see the rain beginning to pour over the brim of his cowboy hat. She instinctively pulled over to the side of the road. 'I know better than to pick up hitchhikers, but this young fellow looks innocent enough, and I can't leave him standing there in the rain,' she said to herself. Looking over her shoulder she watched him run to the car. The door swung open.
"Hi there," said Lisa cheerfully. "Just throw your bag in the back seat and hop in." They were quickly back on the highway. The boy cuddled himself up against the door as if prepared to make a quick exit if necessary. 'I believe that he's afraid of me,' she thought. "How far are you going today?"
"I'm going to Boonville. It's about a hundred miles down the road. My grandparents are waiting for me there.
"My name is Lisa, What's yours?"
"Chris."
Lisa's attempts to strike up further conversation were fruitless. Except for the radio, tuned to a country western station, they drove in silence. An hour passed.
"I have to pull into that truck stop ahead and get some gas. Can I get you a soda or something?"
"Sure, thanks."
Having pumped her own gas and paid for it, Lisa walked out of the truck stop mini-mart with a bag of goodies.

"Ma'am." Lisa turned to see a policeman standing by his police car in the next island over. "Excuse me, ma'am, may I see you for a minute?"
"Yes" She replied, thinking at once that it may have to do with the hitchhiker. "What can I do for you?"
"Probably nothing, but could I please see your driver's license and automobile registration." She handed him her driver's license. He followed her to the car and watched her remove the registration from the glove compartment. He went back to his car. He returned about five minutes later and handed the documents back to Lisa. Chris had shrunk down into his seat, making himself as inconspicuous as possible.
"There was a robbery back in Columbia and the only information I had up until a couple minutes ago was that the getaway car was yellow. The description of the suspects doesn't fit you and your son there. I didn't think so, but I had to check anyway. Sorry for the inconvenience."
Lisa sent a forgiving smile and returned to her car. She pulled about twenty feet forward of the gas pumps, stopped, and turned to face Chris.
"Chris!" she scolded. "I want that ten dollar bill you took out of my glove compartment and I want it now! And you better have a good story to go with it or I honk the horn and signal that nice police officer to come back over here."
Chris's face flushed red. He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved the bill. Then he removed his hat for the first time. He reached up and pulled a string that released a lovely head of wavy black hair. It glistened from the new sun as it flowed down to rest evenly several inches below his shoulders. "My name's not Chris, it's Christine. You have nice clothes, a new car, what's ten bucks to you, I thought?" Christine was scared and upset. "I'm desperate."
"What about your grandparents?"
"There are no grandparents. Please believe me, I've never stolen anything before in my life. I'm asking you, begging you, please give me another chance. Let me step out of the car and leave. I promise, you will never see me again. If you turn me in they will send me back and I can't go back."
Christine's pleading eyes were beginning to swell from crying. Her face was wet from tears and because of intense emotion, she could hardly speak now. Lisa sat back in her seat, took a deep breath, and relaxed, giving Christine a sign of hope and a chance to compose herself.
"Can I go now?"
Lisa looked straight ahead, focusing on heavenly sun rays that had pierced through a passing cloud. It reminded her of Mama's funeral. She was thinking and listening at the same time.
"I lied to you because I always tell the person who picks me up that I'm only going to a town not far ahead and that I have relatives there. I do it for my own protection. It seems that you can't trust a lot of people these days.
"I was doing OK though, until one guy who picked me up happened to notice the way I walked. And then, stupid me, I walked into the women's rest room by mistake. Later, when he tried to touch me I bit him and jumped out of the car and ran away."
Lisa laughed outloud, reached across the seat, and in a friendly motion, grabbed Christine by the hand and nodded affirmatively. Based on her own experience she knew it might be unwise to send this child home without first hearing her story. As she pulled out of the truck stop onto the main road, she couldn't help but remember herself looking up at Pop in a Hollywood alley early one morning so many years ago.
She felt an eerie, esoteric, yet peaceful, presence. It was Pop. His spiritual presence was smiling, much like she was smiling at Christine. She felt reassured.
"Well, It's California or bust, what da ya say?" exclaimed Lisa.
"Do you really mean that?" the girl ecstatically replied, unbelievingly. "That happens to be where I wanna go."
'Figured that,' Lisa mused to herself. "However, young lady, there is a condition."
"Condition? what do you mean?" she said cautiously.
"I want you to tell me what you are running from. I want the truth because I'm going to check your story. I only want to help you. Trust me."
"If I tell you, promise you won't send me home."
"Can't promise that," Lisa retorted sharply. "How about it, Christine, will you trust me?"
"OK! But I'm not going back. And if you try and make me, I'll just run away again."
Lisa took her eyes off the road turning her head to catch a glimpse of her companion. Christine's deep brown penetrating eyes expressed worry and fear. She reluctantly proceeded. "My full name is Christine Morgan. I'm from Pemberton, New Jersey. I've been on the road for three days. I'm trying to get to California so I can find my father." Christine choked with emotion and hesitated. "When I was four years old he left us. I don't know why except my mom said he was mean to her and hit her. Finally she made him leave and divorced him.
"From what little I remember, he was always nice to me. He would tuck me in at night and sometimes read me stories. He called me his 'Little Princess.'
"After he left, my mom married my stepfather. He's a cop. He was nice at first. Even adopted me. Then my little sister came along. She has light skin and blond hair. Not very pretty, though.
"A couple years ago my stepfather started getting abusive. He'd slap me and my mom for no good reason. That was when my mom told me that my real father was half Indian. I think my stepfather resented us both for that. I heard him say to his friends once, 'That spic kid ain't mine.' That hurt me more than the slaps he gave me. My mom made excuses for him saying that things at work were tough and being a policeman was no easy job. I guess maybe it did get to him at times and he would come home and take it out on us."
Christine's expression registered anger. "I couldn't take it anymore, I had to get out of there. When I saw you talking to that cop back there I thought sure I was busted. On second thought, I don't think my stepfather would go to any great lengths to find me. Do you believe me?"
"Yeah... I believe you," Lisa hesitantly replied. "What's your father's name?"
"I only know his first name is Jack. My mom won't tell me his last. I think maybe she's hiding something. Maybe my real dad's not such a bad guy after all. I have a lot of questions to ask him when I find him."
'The odds are a million to one,' Lisa thought to herself. "Well, girl, the next thing I want to do is stop in the next town and get you some decent clothes and a good meal." Christine started to protest but Lisa raised her hand and shook her head in a insistent gesture. "We'll spend the night there and get a fresh start in the morning."

Later that evening they were propped up in bed watching the local news on TV. Lisa had been struggling with what advice she should give Christine. She turned to address her.
"Christine, I want you to call your mother and at least tell her you're all right."
"I told you I ain't going back," she barked back. There was silence. Lisa decided to use the opportunity to tell her own story in hopes of changing Christine's mind. She talked about Mama and Willy and leaving home at a young age herself. She ended by telling of her recent reunion with the family and about Mama's death. Lisa sniffled remorsefully as she relived that dreadful day. Christine felt guilty.
"Christine honey, if there's any one thing I regret, it's not having contacted my mother much, much sooner."
Christine had listened intently. She slipped out of bed and began to nervously pace the floor. She looked at Lisa. "You sure had it tougher than me. But I'm afraid I didn't tell you everything."
"What do you mean?" asked Lisa, registering a concerned look.
"I mean, I'm pregnant!"
Lisa sat up with a jerk. "Ohhhh-I see," she said calmly. "Who is the father?"
"His name's Rudy. And he's Mexican." She emphasized the word Mexican. "He's a nice guy and it's my fault as much as his."
"Does he know?" asked Lisa.
"No, and he mustn't find out. And believe me, if my stepfather found out he would track him down and kill him. I know that. He's turned prejudiced since becoming a cop and all he needs on top of having a half-breed kid is having a half-breed grandkid." Tears, expressing anguish and desperation over her predicament began to come to Christine's eyes, as she spoke. "Can't you see. I can't take any chances on getting caught.
Lisa got up and gave her new friend a consoling hug. A few minutes later, Christine was sound asleep, exhausted.