"You have nothing to worry about," John assured, reaching over to squeeze Gary on the arm.
"May I go see her?"
"No," John answered, shaking his head firmly. "We have strict regulations regarding insurance and liabilities. But don?t stress about it - our service department has won three national awards. I was just told that she?s already dilated six centimeters and the contractions are getting stronger. There?s really not enough time to transport her to Hardisson Hospital."
Gary shook his head and looked back toward the service department doors.
"I can?t believe you are delivering her baby in your service center," he said, knowing there would be a strong reaction to that from Tambria when this was all over.
A delivery driver walked through the service department doors and entered the showroom, looking around until spotting Gary. There was a white package in his left hand.
"That your baby being delivered in there?" he asked, cocking a thumb back to the double doors.
Gary nodded.
"Congratulations!" the driver said, giving him a thumbs up. "Not there yet, but almost. He?s crowned already; I could see the top of his head down in there. Nothing more miraculous than witnessing a birth. I would stay to watch the whole thing but I?m on a tight schedule."
Gary gritted his teeth, biting down on his anger.
"I?m happy for you," the driver called out to Gary after Trina signed for a letter-sized package. "Take care, my friend."
Gary turned back to John.
"So tell me again why I can?t go back there," he demanded, rapping the table with his knuckles, "but any other Tom, Dick or Harry can go back there and take a first-hand gander at what should be a private thing!"
"Mike," John said, falling silent.
"Mike?"
"His name is Mike. Not Tom, not Dick and not Harry. And he?s covered by our insurance. All delivery drivers are covered as they are in and out so often."
"So what?s going on back there?" Gary persisted. "Is there a line forming? Are you selling tickets for the showing? Do you have those little posts and ropes set up like you see in bank lobbies?"
John looked around the showroom and ducked his head back toward Gary.
"You?ll need to keep your voice down," he admonished. "This is a child birth, Gary, not a freak show. I?m sure that every effort is being made to ensure your wife?s comfort and privacy. When I looked back there last, they had her on one of the hydraulic lifts and our service team was in the process of rounding up blankets and tarps that they could set up as makeshift curtains.
"I think you should let them do what they do best and let?s focus on this truck deal. I don?t think your wife would want you to sit out here and stress - she would probably hope that we could wrap this up so you could all be together after the baby is born."
Gary took a deep breath, realizing the John was right. It wasn?t worth building up any more stress. His gastric discomfort had subsided and to get all worked up about things would only bring it back.
"Okay," he said, after coming around to John?s point of view. "You?re right. Let?s make Tambria happy."
And that?s how it came to be that after two more hours of negotiation - this time focused on the trade-in value of the Daihatsu - Gary Allen Short finally took delivery of a brand spanking new Dodge Dakota pickup truck. It was a transaction that put him in the driver?s seat of his own manhood and put a punctuation mark on all his ambitions.
"Congratulations, Gary!" John exclaimed later, handing over a double set of keys to the eager buyer. "I?ve included punch cards for a free oil change with every ten that you pay. It?s my way of saying thank you."
Gary could have fallen to his knees and kissed the man?s feet.
"Now, if I recall," John said coyly, looking at his watch, "I seem to remember that you were going to go to Mt. St. Helens for your first drive. Daylight is waning fast, but I think you could get there if you saddled up and took off now."
Gary beamed, then exchanged meaningless pleasantries with the dealership sales managers, keeping them short and curt.
Out in the parking lot, he muttered a prayer of thanks for his good fortune. Snaking a hand down to his crotch, he redistributed the load down there and day-dreamed about hordes of women cheering and flashing him as he passed over the Tacoma Narrows Bridge on the way to Mt. St. Helens.
Thirty minutes later, he passed over the bridge, but there were no hordes of women. That didn?t matter, though; he had his truck, he had his identity and he had his manhood. All those extra gratuities would come in time.
With any luck, everything would come real quick.
Somewhere south of Tacoma, Washington, Gary?s heart sank as he reached over to the passenger seat for a piece of beef jerky and realized that Tambria wasn?t with him! He?d spent the last forty-five minutes on the road playing with the assortment of controls available to him on the dash and the steering column and he hadn?t thought once about his wife or - or about his son!
Pulling over to the side of the road, he contemplated his fate, remembering the words
...sounds like it would be a honeymoon between you and your truck...
that Tambria had spoken earlier in the day.
"I?m in so much trouble," he murmured, shaking his head, overwhelmed with despair.
Ten minutes blasted by, each one filled with quite a number of passing cars, trucks and motor homes. The Dakota rocked on its springs every time a larger vehicle roared by and Gary could not help but wonder about the people they contained. Did they have financial and job-related problems as well? Had any one of them left a spouse behind in the rush to get where they were going? And what right did they have to shake his own world in their rush to pursue individual freedoms and pleasures?
Life just wasn?t fair.
As he prepared to switch on his blinker and pull ahead to find a safe turn-around spot, he realized that going back at this point might actually do more harm that good. For all he knew, Tambria and his son were in good hands. They would be taken care of. If he were to return, he probably would do little more than get in the way. And it was a great bonding opportunity for Tambria and the little guy - they would have one night together, just the two of them. And then there was the issue of the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. The westbound traffic would be solid right now, plugging the bridge for hours. He already was more than halfway to the campsite, probably no more than an hour away. Getting back to the dealership would require nearly an hour of backtracking and then up to an hour or two wait in rush hour traffic to get over the bridge. With all those equations added into the formula, it made more sense to keep going, get a good night?s sleep and then head back bright and early tomorrow morning. The heavy traffic would be eastbound by then and he would be able to go west without significant delay.
What to do? What now to do?
Making the most of a break in traffic, he pulled back out onto the blacktop and continued toward Mt. St. Helens, resolving not to worry any longer about it. Now that his digestive upset had come and gone, there really was no reason to get all stressed out about things he could not control. No use getting sick over nothing.
Gary arrived at the campsite by nightfall and looked forward to enjoying a peaceful, tranquil night alone out in God?s great country.
Out in the distance, night owls made quite the ruckus.
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