Free Calamity Jayne Heads West by Kathleen Bacus Page B

dinner at Oak Creek Grill in Tlaquepaque Arts and Crafts Village. I must’ve looked forlorn because Townsend ordered appetizers of wings and beer-battered onion rings. The two kids split a cheese pizza while Townsend opted for the steak sandwich. I debated over the menu until I sensedthe natives were getting restless and then promptly de-cided on the Triple Decker Brew Pub Club, a sandwich guaranteed to challenge even my bite radius. Having ordered the Pub Club, it was a given I’d have to order an ice-cold draw of the pub’s best light beer brewed to be the perfect complement to any appetizer or meal. Hey, I wasn’t driving.
    By the time I’d consumed my sandwich, I was too full to eat the three-layer dark chocolate cake that was their specialty, so I ordered a honking slice to go. I figured given my metabolism, I’d be hungry again in an hour.
    “I’ve never seen a girl eat so much,” Nick Townsend remarked as we left the restaurant. “Most of Uncle Rick’s girlfriends eat like birds, picking at their food and moving it around on their plates.”
    “Oh, really?” I said, stifling a beer belch. “Good thing I’m not your uncle’s girlfriend then, as I’m not a big fan of starving myself to conform to society’s un-healthy appetite for women who, if you stuck a sesame seed on their heads, they’d look like straight pins.”
    Next to me, Kelsey giggled. “That’s a good one, Tressa,” she said, and reached out to take my hand.
    I stared down at our joined hands, both uncomfort-able with the contact and touched by it. Most of my ex-perience with kids came from the snotty, demanding little bozos who came into the Dairee Freeze looking for ice cream and to screw around with their friends until Uncle Frank or I kicked their sorry butts out. This type of closeness I wasn’t accustomed to. To be frank, I’m not a touchy-feely person. Expressing affec-tion is as hard for me as giving up M & Ms. Well, as hard as I think that would be since I’ve never actually given them up before. And don’t anticipate doing so.
    “Stay tuned, kid. I got a million of ’em,” I told Kelsey, an attempt at levity to get me back on safe, wise-cracking- Tressa turf.
    We piled into the Suburban that Townsend’s dad had rented and set out on our sightseeing trip through Oak Creek Canyon. On the way to Sedona, we had taken I-17 and cut across Old Schnebly Hill Road, but on the return trip we planned to take the se-ries of switchbacks via Route 89A and stop along the way to explore various trails and overlooks, and appre-ciate the crimson-colored cliffs and crystal-clear pools.
    We decided to head south on 89A for a ways and then double back so we wouldn’t miss any of the spec-tacular scenery. We’d driven ten miles or so when I no-ticed a dull, faded van sitting down a side road, a pull-up awning erected for shade. As we drove by, I no-ticed a collection of figurines on a long table beneath the awning.
    “Stop!” I yelled. “Stop the car!”
    Townsend looked over at me.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked.
    “Back there. The vendor. He had some cool stat-ues,” I said. “He might have a Kokopelli. Or a reason-able facsimile thereof. I’m thinking maybe his price could be right,” I added.
    Townsend took a look in his rearview mirror.
    “I don’t know, T,” he said. “An old beater van. Way outside Sedona. I’m thinking unlicensed.”
    “And I’m thinking cheaper,” I said. “Turn around! Please!”
    “Yes! Please, Uncle Rick!” Kelsey chimed in.
    Townsend took another look in his rearview mirror, sighed and pulled onto the shoulder, performing a U-turn.
    “The things I do to please the women in my life,” he said, and I felt my tummy do a belly button flip like you get when you crest a hill too fast. I looked over at Townsend, my eyes feeling as big as Sacajawea silver dollars.
    The women in his life? Hello. When had I blinked and missed earning that notable distinction? And was I even ready to deal with