Entering the elevator to go down into the caverns. Sara started to freak. Clinging to Charles's arm, they went lower and lower. The doors opened, and she was pushed into a world she never knew existed. Following the crowd, they walked deeper into the earth. Acting like a small child, she pointed, ewes, and aahed back to the elevator. They could have walked out, but Charles wore out too quickly. The dampness and coolness were not suitable for his arthritis. Walking in circles around them, Sara was in awe of this underground world.
"That was amazing; I have never seen anything like that, not even in picture books," she gushed as they rode back up in the elevator.
*
Looking at a book Marge bought her, she quoted facts, gave measurements, and said 'Did you know' a hundred times as Charles drove to Roswell. She had a childlike quality about her they enjoyed. The sick, sheltered life she lived left her a very naïve young lady. This was one of Marge's most significant concerns for her new baby girl. As the days go by, her bruises and cuts are healing, she is gaining weight, and her beauty is blooming. Marge watched her interact with the people they encountered. "She holds herself with grace and confidence; she was well-spoken with a heavy Texas accent. We have to work on the accent, which might be a giveaway," Marge told Charlie.
Roswell was a joke; the claims didn't even take Sara in. White Sands was beautiful, prompting Sara to tell them excitedly about her first and only white Christmas a few years back. They spent two days there. For some reason, the white sand fascinated her. She was like a child digging in the sand, enjoying the heat on top and the cooler as she dug down lower.
Charles was in no rush. He envisioned hard work ahead of him when they got to Albuquerque. Finding a house would be a difficult battle; he had his ideas of what he wanted, and Marge's was the opposite.
She wanted something old to show the character of the Old West.
He wanted something new for easy living, no repairs.
If he can get Sara on his side, he might win out of Marge's desire to make Sara happy. Stopping at the first big grocery store within the Albuquerque city limits, Marge picked up three Homes magazines. Marge and Sara also picked up something to make for lunch and a few snacks for the evening. Settling into a Wal-Mart parking lot, they all spent the evening studying the home magazine.
*
Looking over the town map and picking out houses that interested them. Sara started super cheap and quickly picked up the price when she saw what Marge was picking out. Much to Charles's relief, Sara picked newer homes that were way too cheap for Marge's taste. She wants something stately and impressive. She has lived in old and small all her life.
"Well, we need to pick a realtor, call them in the morning, and have her show us around. We can look all night at the magazine, but until we look around, we don't know anything about this town," Charles complained. Smacking the magazine on the table, he stood. "It could be a great house in the wrong neighborhood. You know, a pretty house next to a trailer park."
"Ok, let's pick a realtor," Sara said. She had no idea what she was doing, but it sounded reasonable. She had seen all the smiling faces telling you to call them.
Charles's mood had been deteriorating by the hour. Dropping his magazine into Marge's lap, he said, "I'm going to see what I can find on TV." Giving him a few seconds, he had propped himself up on some pillows lying in bed. Sara came and lay down next to him and cuddled to his side. "Hey, Pops, what is the matter." She treated him as she had always longed to treat her father. He would have never allowed that.
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm tired and not in the mood for a fight," he told her just above a whisper. "I want a new house that is energy efficient and updated. Nothing needs to be done. Marge likes the old ones you must fix so she can change things around. She doesn't understand I'm getting too old to do that."
"You hurt more than you tell, don't you?" Sara asked.
"Well, it does me no good to complain," Charles complained. "You could help and push for a newer home. Maybe find problems with the older ones. Marge wants to make you happy, so she'll follow you."
"That is not fair," Sara told him as he gave her a sad look. "But really, I would like a newer home better. I have lived in old crappy houses all my life. I can do that for you, Pops. Don't be down; we love you," Sara said, kissing his cheek as she got up and returned to the kitchen dinette. Marge looked at her for her diagnosis.
"He is just tired; what did you find," Sara asked.
"I like this ad. They have lots of nice homes. I think this place would be a good one. They have some ads in here. Tomorrow, Charles will have to find an RV park. We can't go on this water tank much longer," Marge complained.
"We will look around and see what this town offers, but we may move on. I'm not impressed yet." Sara looked out the window and saw an older, lower-class neighborhood, but they just drove into town.
*
Sara got ready for bed as Marge looked at page after page of houses. She was almost asleep when she heard Marge turn off the lights and walk by to go to bed.
Charles was up at the crack of dawn. Years of early rising were so ingrained in him that he could not sleep in. The smell of coffee woke Sara every morning for the last 10 days. Her eyes were fine, and the split lip was only a red line; with the haircut, make-up, and clothes, Jason could not pick her out in a crowd. She truly believes she could walk by him, and he wouldn't notice her.
*
The house hunting was slow, and the realtor only showed them three houses daily. At that rate, they would be in the RV for a month before they found a place. The town was growing on them, but the realtor was not. Nothing has made any of them happy so far. Too old, too new, or with the wrong style, there was always a problem. Sara was narrowing down what they wanted in her mind; she told them as the agent dropped them off.
Contacting another younger realtor, she met with her the following day to go out and look at what she had to offer.
"If I find anything that will work, I will call, and we can go and look together," Sara told Marge. "You know Charles is wearing out. He can't keep going every day. He needs rest," Sara warned Marge. She was worn out, too. They strolled, and she could tell they didn't like it the second they drove up, but did they pass? No, they look.
"Getting old stinks," Marge complained.
"Yes, it seems to stink. I'm worried about Charles. I think he needs to be seen by a doctor. Just a check-up to ensure he is healthy," Sara told her.
"Good luck talking him into seeing a doctor. I have tried for years," Marge told her, looking out the window and watching Charles surf the net at the new KOA they found in a better part of town.
He rose and brought his laptop in. "Hey, look what I found," he said, setting the computer down; he pointed at the screen.
She pulled the screen in front of her.
Jason Millwright was charged with the death of his wife and infant daughter. The trial starts in September. Sara sat and read the long article numerous times. Marge's note must have worked. It was dated four days earlier. "The good old Bay City paper. We'll have to keep an eye on the paper in September," Sara told him, hugging him. This was a dream come true. She pictured him sitting in a cell, cursing her name. He will not be a problem for her ever again, how her life has changed in the last two weeks. Sitting in the chair beside Charlie, she breathed a sigh of relief, "Pops, would you do me a favor."
"Sure, baby, what is it?" Charles told her.
"I'm worried about you and want you to see a Doctor," Sara asked.
"Yeah, sure. Tell Mom to make an appointment. No harm in checking me out," Charles told her, placing a shaking hand on her shoulder. She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. "Thank you, Pops. I want you around for a long time," Sara told him, looking him in his tired blue eyes.
"Mom, make an appointment for our sweetheart," Sara called out as Marge approached the front. Shaking her head in disbelief. What a man will do for a pretty young girl. Andréa was the same way he would do anything for her.