WINNIE

I liked Philip Nilsson.  He was professional and engaging, exactly what a high-powered executive should be.  I hoped that we would get along well enough so that the next twenty-four hours were not miserable.  It would have been terrible if I had been handcuffed to that grumpy gentleman sitting in front of me earlier.  But even if I had been handcuffed to that man, I would have tried my best to make the situation a success for both of us.  Two thousand dollars was going to make my life much nicer.

I wanted to text Shawn and tell him the good news, that within a day I would probably have money for our honeymoon, but I held back.

I didn’t want to get his hopes up before the money was a reality.

Shawn often worried about money.  His new Tex Mex restaurant wasn’t doing as well as he had expected, and money was tight.  That was another one of the reasons why I’d gotten a full-time job.  I hoped that if I had a steady paycheck, that he would be able to relax a little.

I imagined how happy he would be when I let him know that I had two thousand dollars.  It was like pennies from heaven, one of the old Frank Sinatra songs that my mom liked to sing.  I made a little silent thank you prayer up to God.

Philip and I sat together on a couch in the hotel lobby, reviewing the instructions.  “They want us to start with an introduction,” I said.  “So, do you want to go first?”

“Fine with me,” he said.

Using both hands, which meant that his left hand came along for the ride, I put the camera on the end of the selfie stick and connected the Bluetooth control.

Philip said, “You seem to be an expert at this.”

I smiled.  “Oh, me and selfie sticks go way back.”

“Were you always taking pictures of yourself and your friends in high school?”

“I was,” I admitted.  “I even had my own Vine account.”

“What’s Vine?”

“It was an app that showed six second videos.  But it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Philip was surprised.  “Was there a market for six second videos?”

“Not really.  I was never popular enough to have companies hire to me to make videos for them, but it taught me the importance of lighting and getting a good angle.”

Philip said, “I can see already that I got the right person for my team.  I hereby put you in charge of filming.”

I smiled.  I liked being in charge.  “Great!”  I held the stick out so the camera could capture the image of us on the couch.  “Testing,” I said.  “Testing One. Two. Three.  Smile.”

I then watched the footage and said, “It looks great.  Let’s go.”

Philip adjusted his tie and then smiled at the camera.  “Hello.  I’m Philip Nilsson and this is W. J. Abbot, and we are –” He lifted our joined hands to show the camera. “Together for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Short and sweet,” I said after I turned off the camera.  “But that’s good.”  Philip was comfortable in front of a camera, but he should be.  He was Vice President of Business Development, accustomed to meeting important people and making deals.

After filming our introduction, we considered going to the River Walk for the photo scavenger hunt.  We had instructions for that activity as well.  I was glad to see that they were collecting photos rather than individual items.  “That should be fun,” I said.  “I love the River Walk.”  Shawn and I often visited the River Walk on dates, although it had been a while since we’d gone together.  Lately, Shawn had been spending nearly every waking hour at the restaurant.

Philip said, “Then you can lead the way.  I’ve never been to the River Walk.”

I looked at him sharply.  “Never?  But you’re from Texas, right?”  When I took that bathroom break, I’d done a quick Google search on Philip, so I wouldn’t look like an idiot.  The man was worth billions and current gossip said that he would one day be CEO of Nilsson Worldwide.

He said, “I was born in London, but my parents are both from Texas.  My brothers were both born in Texas.  I consider myself a Texan, even though I spent many years growing up in Europe.”

That made sense.  His father, who was now CEO had been a Vice President for Nilsson Worldwide for years, no doubt traveling the globe.  I asked, “Have you ever been to San Antonio?”

“No.  This is my first time.”

I gasped.  “Then you haven’t seen the Alamo?”

“I saw the movie – does that count?”

“The one with John Wayne or the one with Dennis Quaid?”

“John Wayne.”

I rolled my eyes.  “I love that movie, but it’s riddled with inaccuracies.  You must see the Alamo in person.  Otherwise I’ll have to take away your Texas card.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

It took a few minutes to be comfortable walking next to each other, matching our steps and the subtle swing of our connected arms so we didn’t unbalance each other.  It was a little like running in a three-legged race, although not quite as awkward.

We left the hotel and walked outside onto the sidewalk.  The Alamo was a few minutes’ journey, first east on Travis and then south on Alamo Plaza.  The Alamo was a quiet little park in the center of busy downtown traffic.  I was always surprised by how peaceful I felt when I stepped onto the grounds.  In many ways, the site felt sacred, like a cemetery, but there were always tourists and people going on tours.

It was mid-morning on a weekday, so the crowds were not overwhelming.  However, I did notice that several people looked at us oddly when they saw the handcuffs.

“I didn’t realize how weird we would look,” I said.

“Perhaps we should hold hands,” Philip said.  “So we’re not so conspicuous.”

I thought that was a good idea.  When we held hands, the cuffs almost looked like bracelets and were easier to hide beneath our jacket sleeves.

When we finally stood before the famous mission doors, looking up at the arched limestone and stucco edifice, he said, “It’s smaller than I expected.”

“Well, technically, this is just the remains of the church.  Originally, there were more buildings.  Do you want to take a guided tour?  Or listen to an audio tour?”

He said, “I’d rather hear your tour.”

Since moving to San Antonio a few years before, I’d visited the Alamo at least twenty times.  I loved it, even though the history was very sad.  I said, “What do you know about the Battle of the Alamo?”

“Other than the fact that we lost?”

“Yes.”

Philip said, “There was a siege.  A standoff between the Mexican army and the Texas army.”

“They were called Texians back then,” I volunteered.

“That was before Texas became its own country.”

I nodded.  “Correct.  The Republic of Texas.”

“Do you ever think that Texas should still be its own country?” he asked.

I looked at him sideways.  “You sound like my Dad.  Whenever he gets mad at the politicians, he thinks seceding would be a good idea.”

He asked, “So your family is in Texas?”

“Yes, my parents live in Red Oak.”  I could tell from the look on his face that he had no idea where that was.  “It’s north of Waxahachie.”

He asked, “What made you come to San Antonio?”

“I wanted to spread my wings.  Live in a bigger city.”

He nodded.  “Tell me what you like best about the Alamo.”

“Well, I like Colonel Travis’ letter.  He sent it out during the siege to gather support.”  Travis was the young military leader of the fort.  We walked over to a plaque on the grass where we could read the letter together.  Philip read the beginning words out loud.

“Fellow citizens and compatriots.  I am besieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans under Santa Ana.  I have sustained a continual Bombardment and cannonade for 24 hours and have not lost a man.  The enemy has demanded a surrender at discretion; otherwise, the garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is taken.  I have answered the demand with a cannon shot, and our flag still waves proudly from the walls.  I shall never surrender or retreat.”

I shivered.  Those words always affected me.

Philip said quietly, “Brave man.”

I said, “He was only twenty-six.”

“Tough times can make tough men.”

“And women,” I agreed and sniffed.  Coming to the Alamo always made me a little weepy.

He silently read the remainder of the letter which ended with the line, in capital letters:  VICTORY OR DEATH.

“Very sobering,” he said after he finished.  “I am glad I never had to make such a decision.”

I said, “There’s the story that when Travis knew there was no hope, that all the men would be killed by Santa Ana, he drew a line in the sand and said, ‘I now want every man who is determined to stay here and die with me to come across this line.’  According to legend, only one man refused.  He escaped in the middle of the night.  Everyone else stayed and died defending the Alamo.”

“Do you think the story is true?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.  “But it’s a good story.  Like a parable.  It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, it teaches a lesson.  It makes me think what I would be willing to die for.”

“What would you be willing to die for?”

“The safety of my family.”

“Your country?”

“I think it’s unlikely I’d ever be asked to go to war, but I’d like to think that yes, I’d be willing to die to protect others.”

Philip looked at me closely with his eyes narrowed.  “You’re patriotic.”

Shawn sometimes teased me for being overly tender hearted.  I said, “Do you think that’s silly?”

“No, not at all,” he said seriously and then motioned across the courtyard.  “What’s that building over there?”

I was grateful for the slight change of subject.  “That’s what’s left of the barracks.  There’s a museum there.”

We walked over to the barracks and I told him about Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett who also died at the Alamo.  We walked closely together so the handcuffs were not as noticeable.

Whenever conversation lagged, he would try to guess my first name.  “Wendy?”

“No.”

“Winifred?”

“No.”

“It’s a women’s name, right?  You’re not named Walter, are you?”

I smiled.  “No, I’m not Walter.”

“Oh, I know.  Is it Whitney?”

“No.”

We took thirty seconds of film footage in front of the Alamo and then Philip asked if I wanted to get lunch.  “Are you hungry?”

I looked at my phone and was surprised to see that it was 1 p.m. already.  Two hours of our twenty-four had passed quickly.  “Sure,” I said, and I turned to follow him, but somehow in the process, I tripped over an uneven place in the sidewalk and I fell, wrenching my knee, pulling his left wrist, making him stagger as well.

He hastened to help me up.  “Are you all right?”

I felt like the world’s biggest klutz.  “I’m fine,” I said quickly, but then I saw that I’d broken the heel off one of my pumps.  “Oh no.”