Chapter 11
They all piled in to Travis’s rattletrap, throwback of a pickup truck, the four of them lined up shoulder-to-shoulder on the single bench seat. Geoff insisted upon being Travis’s wheelman. Samantha, who was far less enamored with the mode of transportation, was next. Morgan took the spot nearest the passenger door, which closed nothing like her new Lexus.
Travis looked over bemused that this rich family had piled into his poor man’s pickup for a night out in what Pittsburgh locals called the “Boonies,” the far-out ex-burbs where roadside pizza joints were big on portions, jukeboxes and pitchers of Yuengling draft. He rocked the key, and the truck’s engine rumbled to life. He dropped it in gear, and they were off. The tinny AM radio chirped and twanged with country music as they made it out of the city.
The strengthening spring was pushing dusk later and later now, and the four of them pulled into the pizzeria’s gravel parking lot just as the waning sunset was descending into its deep orange and purple death throes.
On the long but relaxing ride out, Morgan had to remind herself that she was doing this for her children, most especially Geoff. But as the miles away from Pittsburgh piled up, she felt herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in a long time. And by the time they reached the restaurant – her mind categorized the place as a ramshackle roadhouse with a couple of neon beer lights in the window – Morgan Chase was actually enjoying herself.
Cynical people – and that included most of Morgan’s colleagues at the office – would say she was slumming it. But she found herself stealing looks at Travis out of the corner of her eye. He had a natural calmness at the center of his being. And he seemed absolutely comfortable and totally at ease with who he was, as he drove the truck with a few fingers on the wheel and his right arm slung over the back of the seat. He was unhurried and happy and he never sent out a single vibe that there was somewhere he’d rather be. It was more than Morgan could say for most people. And she found herself both liking him – and envying him.
The truck rolled to a stop, and Travis jammed the transmission stick into park.
“If you folks were hoping for Pizza Hut, you’re plum out of luck,” he said, turning to them. “What do you say we go grab a table?”
Travis jerked open the squeaky door and got out.
“Yeah!” Geoff shouted, parachuting out of the large pickup and into Travis’s waiting arms.
Inside the truck’s cab, Samantha turned to her mother. The girl’s confused, uncertain expression appeared all the more exaggerated by the shadows cast by the truck’s dim dome light.
Morgan shrugged. “When in Rome?”
“Mom, this isn’t Rome,” her daughter corrected.
“Well, let’s give it a chance,” Morgan said, elbowing the passenger door several times until it opened. She hopped out, and then turned to help her daughter down.
“It looks dirty,” Samantha said, wrinkling her nose at the restaurant’s fogged windows, which obscured the goings-on inside.
Travis and Geoff circled around the truck and must have heard the comment.
“Don’t worry, princess,” Travis said, coming up behind them. “The paper plates and the plastic forks are clean. Hold your judgment until you taste the pizza.”
With that, Travis led the way, holding the door for Morgan and the kids.
Inside, a waitress whizzed past with a foaming pitcher of beer, paying the new customers no mind. Morgan’s eyes followed as the waitress raced by, then she tisked at the slight.
Travis leaned in. “This is a seat yourself kinda place. How about that round table over there? Looks like it could fit a couple of large pies, don’t it?”
Geoff headed for the table without another word. Morgan followed with Samantha taking each step as if her feet were planted in wet concrete.
The décor was wood-paneled walls, a red Formica bar and red-and-white checkered plastic tablecloths that were sticky to the touch. And Travis wasn’t kidding about dishware. A stack of cheap paper plates and a roll of paper towels topped each table. At least it smelled good – a top note of fresh sourdough, sweet tomato sauce and browning mozzarella over an undertone of stale beer.
“So what do you guys like on your pies?” Travis enthusiastically inquired.
“Pies?” retorted Samantha.
“Pizzas,” Travis clarified. “Pizza pies.”
“Usually, pepperoni,” Geoff chimed in.
Travis nodded in approval. “Good call. Anything else?”
Geoff shook his head.
“Well, if you like pepperoni, you’re gonna love their Meat Eaters,” Travis said. “It’s pepperoni-plus. Trust me.”
Geoff was sold.
“Maybe something a little lighter for us girls,” Morgan put in.
“Thought you might say that,” Travis said. “How about the Veggie Delight?”
“Well, I like the veggie part,” Morgan agreed.
“That settles it.”
As if on cue, the fleet-footed waitress waltzed up, her pencil already poised over a thick tablet of checks.
“What can I get you, Hon?” the gum-snapping 20-year-old asked Travis. She didn’t so much as look at Morgan.
“I think we’re gonna do two large pies, one Meat Eaters and the other a Veggie Delight,” he said.
“Large?” Morgan shot back. The waitress didn’t so much as glance at her. “We’ll never eat two large pizzas.”
“Not tonight,” Travis agreed. “But I love leftovers. Nothing better than cold pizza for breakfast.”
“Ewww,” Samantha sang.
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” Travis advised.
“Yeah,” Geoff agreed.
“And to drink?” the hurried waitress pressed.
“I’m gonna do a beer,” Travis said. “Yuengling draft.”
“You’re driving,” Morgan pointed out. “You’re driving my kids.”
The waitress frowned her annoyance.
“I can drive on one beer,” Travis said. “Technically, it’s legal. But if you’re not comfortable…” He trailed off, as if relenting on the beer, then quickly added: “You can drive.”
“Ha!” Geoff laughed. “I’d give anything to see Mom drive that truck. That would be too funny.”
Morgan pursed her lips at her son’s playful challenge.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “You think that’s funny, buster. I’ll show you a thing or two. I used to drive your grandfather’s truck. Heck, I even drove a few fire trucks in my day. I can hold my own behind the wheel.” Then to Travis: “Go ahead, get your beer. I’m the designated driver tonight.”
“Okay, so what are we doing here?” The impatient waitress chomped her gum.
“You heard the lady,” Travis smiled. “A beer for me, and a pitcher of Coke for the table.”
It was the most natural, easy and unforced five minutes that Morgan had shared with her children in a long while.