Page 86 of My Cowboy Freedom
Something tickled the back of my brain. “Where have I heard that—”
“He’s the pastor of the Oklahoma Christian Pathways Church.”
Memories surfaced.On television.I’d never watched it but there were bus ads. Billboards.
“The super-church guy? Thearena-church guy?”
“That’s the one, son. Can I get an amen?” He raised his hands in praise and Maisy waited happily, thinking he was playing some new game. “My parents, Pastor Elliot McLean and his wife, Cheryl Violet McLean, maiden name Birdwell of the Atlanta Birdwells. My brothers, from the oldest to the youngest, Michael Namath Mclean, Raymond Long Mclean, Justin Elway McLean—”
“I’m sensing a pattern, Rockne.”
“My younger brothers are Andrew Marino McLean, and William Favre McLean.”
“How come you got named after a coach and they’re all players?”
“I am RockneMontanaMcLean. I bear the burden of greatnesstimes two.”
“That’s pretty funny.”
“My dad likes football a little bit.”
“Does your mom like football as much as he does?”
He glanced away. “My mother likes what my dad tells her to like.”
We came across some green plastic picnic tables and he sat on one—not on the bench but the table itself. He leaned back on his hands and turned his face toward the sun. “The Oklahoma Christian Pathways church is our family business. I was part of it for a long time.”
“You’re the family that sings, right?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Nah it wasn’t. Did you forget? I was listening to you a couple nights ago.” Hearing him made something new and warm stretch out inside me. Like I’d been hibernating, and his music was spring. “I liked it a lot.”
Pink flooded his cheeks.
“Thanks.” He leaped down. “If you’re hungry, we can eat at Earl’s.”.
“Sure.” Somebody didn’t know how to take a compliment. “We can do that.”
After leaving the park, we walked past an appliance repair shop, a laundromat, and a barbershop. Not the one I remembered—this one served ladies too.
“Bitterroot is sort of retro, huh?”
“I think it’s actually just old.”
We had to walk a few blocks, the sun beating down on us every time we crossed the street. When we got inside Earl’s, I think we were as relieved by the comfortable silence between us as we were by the air-conditioning. We took a booth right by the front window. After we sat, Maisy crawled under the table, put her chin on Rock’s foot, and fell asleep. In her position, I could have slept pretty well too.
Menus stacked behind the napkin dispensers featured breakfasts and burgers and comfort food dinners like meat loaf and roast turkey with dressing. My mouth watered just looking at it.
“Rock, honey! As I live and breathe. Be right there, baby,” our waitress called. She came from behind the counter with a pot of coffee and a wink, as if Rock was her favorite customer ever. “You get more handsome every day.”
“Aw. Thanks, Earlene.”
“What’s good here?” I asked.
“Everything.” Rock put his menu back. “But I’m partial to the rancher’s breakfast. It’s hearty, and they do my eggs just right.”
I put my menu back as well. “I’ll have that, ma’am. Thank you.”
