Chapter 8

It was almost a day and a half later than we expected when Earl and I finally rolled back into Albuquerque after our two-stage run from New Mexico to Ohio to Utah and back here again. We were weary of the road and eager to see our respective "families."

As always, Earl was impatient to get back to Carol and the kids. Strangely, I felt myself feeling almost equally eager to have Margarita there to meet me at my door. Perhaps I might once again be the recipient of one of her choking full-body super-hugs.

I found myself hoping she'd be there, at the house, and not at Carol's, despite the fact that we were pulling in at 2:30 in the afternoon, and the far more likely scenario would be to find both the women at Earl and Carol's place.

Nevertheless, I waved goodbye to Earl as he began his short walk home, and went into my own place. We'd skipped lunch on the way in, and we'd already agreed that, after I'd cleaned up, I'd come over to their house for an early supper.

Well. Margarita wasn't there to greet me at the door, and although that was what I knew I should have expected, I was disappointed all the same. Maybe if Earl and I were more into communication via cell phone with our loved ones, we might have engineered the kind of reception that, secretly, I had been hoping for.

The fact was, I was kind of hoping to be overwhelmed by little Margarita. If Carol's assessment of the situation was correct, I wasn't going to ever have to go out of my way to seduce Margarita.

All I would need to do would be to lie back and let it happen.

If you believe that prospect was a turn-off for me, well, you just haven't been listening. I was ready to surrender, although I had told no one, least of all Margarita.

I had spoken, via telephone, to Margarita just about every other night during our long road trip. I'd run up a nice bill with all those calls. Earl and I had spent two nights in motels during the run. No matter how well-appointed a trucker's sleeper is, you get the urge, after a few days, to take a real shower and sleep in a real bed. On those cheap-motel nights, we would share a double room, but we gave each other a little privacy for phone calls home.

This was a longstanding tradition. I strongly suspect that Carol and Earl had regular phone sex when Earl was on the road. Back when I was living with Pamela (and with Rhoda, before that) I hadn't been above such behavior, either.

Phone sex is definitely not just something for folks who aren't getting any. It has its own peculiar appeal. It's particularly wonderful as a precursor to the Real Thing. The closer a trucker gets to his Home Base, the better -- and hotter -- the phone sex becomes!

Of course, since Pamela had left me, I hadn't had any sex -- phone or otherwise. Margarita and I were certainly not having phone sex. Nevertheless, I looked forward to talking with her, while on the road, and Earl made certain I had privacy, there in our shared motel room, anytime I picked up the phone to call her.

Margarita's English was amazingly good by now. And her 18^th birthday was on Tuesday.

Last Tuesday, unfortunately. I had called her, wished her a happy birthday. I had a whole collection of gift-wrapped presents for her, too. More clothes -- clothing appropriate for wearing in the coming fall months. Beautiful, carefully selected clothing -- a dress, a skirt, a blouse, a scarf, even a winter coat -- all of it gift-wrapped.

Winter, I was thinking, might be a bit colder in central New Mexico than Margarita had been accustomed to back home. Well, now she would be well-prepared.

So we were arriving home two days late for Margarita's birthday, but Carol had already told Earl that the celebration had been delayed until the day after we got back -- Friday, August 9. We were going to throw an old fashioned birthday party for Margarita.

She would be 18 -- and three days -- by party day.

Carol was home early from work that afternoon and she and Margarita were busily preparing a celebratory meal in the kitchen. Birthday party day might be tomorrow, but Thursday night was going to be feast night. A night for welcoming Earl and me home.

It was a hot August day -- too hot for having the oven going full-blast in the kitchen. Earl and I, and his three kids, were enjoying the air conditioning in the living room, while our women -- relegating themselves to old-fashioned "women's work" slaved away in the heat.

At 5 p.m., Carol and Margarita disappeared into the family's two bathrooms to shower and change before dinner.

At 6, all seven of us were crowded around the family's not-big-enough dining room table, feasting. It felt like Thanksgiving Day.

"We're glad to have you home!" Carol said, raising her iced tea glass in a toasting gesture.

"We're gladder -- to be here!" Earl said.

All of us -- all except little Chrissie -- raised glasses high.

Another unspoken tradition after long road trips was that, while I might have dinner at Earl's, I'd make myself scarce shortly afterward, so that Carol and Earl wouldn't face any undue delays getting the kids to bed and themselves to bed -- albeit not because they were sleepy.

Leaving kitchen cleanup duty to the two boys, Margarita and I left for home just after 8 p.m.

Margarita had an evil smile on her face. "I have missed you," she said.

"I missed you, too," I told her. It was true. I had missed her, and the thought of upgrading our relationship had crossed my mind a few thousand times. Even so, I was content, just being with her. I was definitely not going to initiate any moves on this young girl.

As soon as we were inside the house and the front door was pushed closed, I got my super-hug. It was a replay of my previous welcome-home squeeze, and this time, I was more-or-less ready for it. Nevertheless, it almost took my breath away -- physically and emotionally.

"I am a grown-up woman now!" Margarita announced.

"Happy Birthday!" I said -- not for the first time that evening, or even that week.

"I am 18, and legal!"

"Yes. And your English is excellent."

"Yes. I am 18 -- almost 19, now," she said, grinning at me.

"Well. That's something of a stretch. But I am sorry I missed your birthday."

"That's OK. But on Tuesday -- on my birthday -- I dream of you," Margarita said.

"You dreamed of me?"

"Si! --Yes! I dream of you, that night. I prepared for bed, here, alone in the house, but all the time, I am speaking to you -- aloud -- and I put on my little gown that Carol has given me, for my birthday, that you have not yet seen. It is all-white, and it is trans -- it is like una ventana, you know?"