Mexico - 2. Chapter 2 of 16

As I neared the BMW, the older man and the young woman were staring at the engine. Not doing anything. Just staring. As if that would help.
“Have you seen the green truck?” the older man asked me.
I didn’t know what he meant.
“The Green Truck,” he repeated.
“What green truck?”
“We called over an hour ago. It should be here by now.”
“It wasn’t an hour,” the older woman said.
“The hell it wasn’t,” her probable husband replied.
“What truck?” I asked again. Politely. I wasn’t about to start a family fight.
“Mexico Triple A,” the young woman explained. Close up, I realized she was my age. “They drive the highways. Looking for stranded gringos.”
I laughed. “I should’ve bought a guide book. It would have explained...”
“How much do you know about engines,” the older man interrupted.
“Not much,” I had to admit. “You feed ‘em right...”
He wasn’t amused. As I wouldn’t have been if a family outing had suddenly wiped out.
“We shouldn’t have been blasting the air conditioner,” the older woman advised. She said it almost as a sigh.
“It wasn’t blasting, Mom.” This from the young woman.
“Can I give you a lift?” I offered. I couldn’t do much else. “There must be a town ahead.”
“Guaymas is an hour away,” the young woman said. The guy her age, who seemed even better looking close up, was mute. Though he also seemed too lawyerish to be hot.
“Is that where you’re headed?” I asked him.
He didn’t answer, but the young woman nodded. So did the older couple. The guy mainly stood by.
“I can stop there,” I said. “I might even stay. It’s getting towards that time.”
It was nearly five in the afternoon, and I’d been warned, almost violently by friends, never to drive in Mexico at night. “There are too many wild, roaming animals.” They’d also asked, “Why are you even going there?”
They weren’t racist, just concerned.
As I started to ask another question, the older man looked up and down the road, I guessed for the green truck. “Where are you going?” he finally asked me.
“South. El Sur,” I said, grinning.
The young woman smiled.
“He could take us to the hotel,” her mother suggested.
“Beats sweating,” I said. Even in late afternoon, it was probably eighty-five.
“I’ll wait with the car,” the probable son put in.
Their father shook his head. “I can take care of it,” he insisted.
The mother offered to get their suitcases. The older man studied me. After a moment, I offered my hand.
“Phil Weber,” I said. “I teach. College. Iowa. I’m headed to the Yucatan.”
“Why?” he asked. As if I could catch something there.
“A dig,” I explained.
He absorbed this. “You an anthropologist?”
“I teach math, actually. The dig’s a hobby.”
I didn’t need to over-explain.
He continued to study me, almost squinting. It didn’t make him look any friendlier. Then he shook my hand. That seemed to give everyone permission to relax. I shook his wife’s hand. Their daughter’s. Their son stood with his hands in his pockets. But he nodded. Slightly.
Cool.
The older couple introduced themselves. Lee and Lynn Ingram. Their daughter was Anne. I’m sure their son had a name, but as Anne said it, a truck rumbled by. And soon I was packing up suitcases.
“Is this all?” I asked. There were only two.
“It’s just a week,” Mrs. Ingram said. “I can buy anything I need.”
I’m sure she could. She was probably fifty but looked younger. And pretty as her daughter. When Mr. Ingram stopped squinting, he was fairly good-looking, too.
Anne added a small tote to my collection. Then she discussed something forcefully with her father.
“I’m staying!” I overheard.
“Go with them!”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
The son quietly volunteered to stay.
“We can’t send Mom alone,” Anne said.
“Then you go with her. I’ll stay with your dad.”
Your dad. Maybe he was Anne’s husband. Though he didn’t wear a ring.
“He’ll be much happier with me,” Anne told her probable fiancé. Or maybe he was her stepbrother, and this was one of those complicated families. The car had California plates.
Mr. Ingram whispered something to Anne. Beside me, his wife laughed.
“I’ll be fine alone,” she insisted. “You all stay and fight.”
But there was further negotiation. Finally, Anne and her father stayed, while I made off with her mother and the guy. As everyone waved, Mrs. Ingram confessed, “My husband can be the sweetest, most stubborn man in the world.”
The young man laughed.
“Guess my daughter’s no better,” she added.
Definite fiancé.
I just grinned. I’d come to Mexico to have fun.