Free The Fugitive's Trail by J.C. Fields Page B

a dorky teenager at his first boy-girl party. After several awkward moments, he said, “Okay. Six sounds good. I’ll see you then. Uh, I’m JR.”
    “Yes, I know. One of my friends works in the IT department at First National Bank. She was extremely impressed with you. I want to know if she was right to be impressed.” She smiled and returned to her work. “Don’t be late. I like Italian.” The rest of the tour, of which he remembered nothing, was a blur.
    They had dinner at an Italian restaurant she suggested in the downtown area. She liked it because the food was authentic Italian and it featured an extensive wine list. She smiled when they sat down. “What kind of wine do you like?”
    Diminski said, “Well, the only kind I’ve ever had was in college and it cost two bucks. I really didn’t care for it.”
    She laughed. “Allow me, nothing beats a good Merlot.” 
    Diminski could hear a slight accent, which he found intriguing. As the waiter poured their wine, he said, “Nice accent. Where’s it from?”
    Mia smiled. “I was raised in Austin, Texas, by my grandparents. I’m a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin and a huge Dallas Cowboys’ fan.”
    He chuckled. “You don’t look like a Texan.” He hesitated and then said, “You’re too… petite.”
    She laughed. “I’ve been told that before.” She paused for a few seconds, took a sip of her wine, and continued. “My father came to the United States from China to study engineering at Berkley. My mom was there, supposedly, studying sociology. But, I think she was more interested in experiencing the culture than studying about it. They met, she fell in love, and I came along nine months later. Just about the time he graduated.”
    She took another sip of Merlot and sighed. “According to my grandparents, after his graduation he disappeared. They believed he returned to China. He didn’t even tell my mother. She couldn’t handle being a single parent, too much of a burden, I guess. So she and I left California and went to Texas to live with her parents. After a few years, she grew restless. One day, she left a note telling my grandparents she was going back to California to join a commune. To my knowledge, they never saw her again. I continued to live with them. Pappy taught me how to be a Texan and Granny taught me how to think. I love them a lot. Wish they were still here.”
    She grew silent, staring into the glass of wine. Diminski noticed she had said love , not loved . “Do you ever see your mom?”
    “No,” she said with a hint of bitterness. “I tried several times to reach her when I was in high school. I wrote letters telling her what was going on and asking her to come and see me. But I never heard back. My grandparents never did understand what happened. They always believed, up until the day they each passed away, she would come back. They never said anything to me about her leaving, but I can imagine how much it hurt. After I graduated from college, I went to California to see if I could talk to her. The commune was still functioning, but I was told by several of the members she wasn’t receiving visitors. I gave up after that.” She looked up at JR. “I’ve never tried again.”
    She looked back at her glass of wine. He could see tears welling up in her eyes. But suddenly she blinked a few times and was out of the funk. She smiled and returned her attention to him. “Okay, you’ve heard my sad tale. Tell me about yourself.”
    Diminski wasn’t prepared, so he stayed as close to the truth as possible. That way it would be easier to remember what was said. “Not much to tell, really. I don’t remember too much about my parents. They were killed by a drunk driver one night coming home from the movies. I was six at the time. Both sets of grandparents were gone, so I was placed in a foster home. They were good to me, and I stayed there until I was out of high school. I joined the army to be all I could be. I had a