with Chris Hatton?”
“No,” she replied. “We just kissed.”
Lisa’s memory raced as she tried to calm down. Back in October, he totally blew up at me, she recalled. She heard her apartment door open and looked up from the phone to see Chris walking through the door. She confronted him.
“No,” he protested. “Lis, I was in Portland, and it was adopt-a-sailor day. I spent the day with her entire family, not just her.”
How much deeper is this going to get? thought Lisa.
Nothing seemed to be working out. Hatton hated his job with Royal Vans, just as he had hated the Navy. He hated the sweaty, hard work in a facility without air-conditioning. He hated the glue on his hands, the glue on his pants. He hated the fact that he was on his knees for so long every day that they became scrubbed raw and then callused.
The young lovers wanted privacy, while Lisa’s mother appeared to want someone to watch TV with her. Hatton went to Aunt Holly for help. She found her nephew and Lisa an apartment in her own complex, with Bill living nearby.
Chris and Lisa needed to furnish their new place, so they bought a couch and bedding from Montgomery Wards. Half of the cost was put on Chris’s credit card. Half of it, Lisa paid for with cash.
They put $2,500 down on a 1994 Dodge Dakota Sport truck. The dealership told them that it would be easier to get their credit application approved if they were Mr. and Mrs. Hatton. Chris seemed apprehensive. Away from the sales staff, Lisa told him, “This is your decision.”
They put Mr. and Mrs. on the title.
At Wal-Mart they bought a TV and VCR. At Levitz they purchased more furniture, all from the discounted section in the back of the store. Again they paid half with Lisa’s cash, half on Chris’s credit card.
By April 8, 1994, Hatton’s credit cards were carrying $2,500, and Pace’s savings were wiped out.
Lisa started shopping for a wedding dress.
In May 1994, Lisa Pace graduated from Round Rock High School. Less than two weeks later, she left town for four months of Texas Army National Guard training at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. She asked Hatton to drive her the two hours down I-35 to San Antonio. He said he couldn’t.
Hatton had switched jobs and was working for Capitol Beverage, where he was paid $1,400 a month. He didn’t want to blow the job, he said. With their own place and with Holly and Bill no longer living together, he wanted custody of his brother, Brian.
Hatton was drinking a lot and regularly, unknown to anyone in his family. Out of the Navy and back in Texas, with his honky-tonking friends, he became known for his affinity for Coors Light.
Hatton also became resentful. He resented that his Navy career was over because he’d gone AWOL over Lisa, while Lisa’s National Guard career was going great guns.
His future, at least in terms of career and money-making potential, seemed bleak. In the past, he’d talked about becoming an architect—he did love to draw. But he believed he wasn’t good at school and studying; he believed he wasn’t university material. He’d rather order a pizza and watch a movie. And maybe have a beer.
In the summer of 1994, Chris Hatton began spending more and more time with Glenn Conway and his family. He grew close to Glenn’s sister, Cathy, and especially close to Glenn’s mother, June, who became a second mom to him.
Chris and Lisa began arguing regularly.
“Lisa, you need to pick up these shoes. You can’t leave things all around the house. You’ve got to pick up these clothes.”
“Whatever,” she’d reply.
Like his uncle, Chris wanted a clean house. Saturday afternoon was dedicated to cleaning house. Saturday morning was dedicated to sleep, after staying up all night watching TV.
“I’m tired of everybody telling me what to do and running my life. Bill and Holly. The Navy. And now you. I’m not going to let you tell me what to do and control my life,” he’d complain.
From Fort Sam,
“No,” she replied. “We just kissed.”
Lisa’s memory raced as she tried to calm down. Back in October, he totally blew up at me, she recalled. She heard her apartment door open and looked up from the phone to see Chris walking through the door. She confronted him.
“No,” he protested. “Lis, I was in Portland, and it was adopt-a-sailor day. I spent the day with her entire family, not just her.”
How much deeper is this going to get? thought Lisa.
Nothing seemed to be working out. Hatton hated his job with Royal Vans, just as he had hated the Navy. He hated the sweaty, hard work in a facility without air-conditioning. He hated the glue on his hands, the glue on his pants. He hated the fact that he was on his knees for so long every day that they became scrubbed raw and then callused.
The young lovers wanted privacy, while Lisa’s mother appeared to want someone to watch TV with her. Hatton went to Aunt Holly for help. She found her nephew and Lisa an apartment in her own complex, with Bill living nearby.
Chris and Lisa needed to furnish their new place, so they bought a couch and bedding from Montgomery Wards. Half of the cost was put on Chris’s credit card. Half of it, Lisa paid for with cash.
They put $2,500 down on a 1994 Dodge Dakota Sport truck. The dealership told them that it would be easier to get their credit application approved if they were Mr. and Mrs. Hatton. Chris seemed apprehensive. Away from the sales staff, Lisa told him, “This is your decision.”
They put Mr. and Mrs. on the title.
At Wal-Mart they bought a TV and VCR. At Levitz they purchased more furniture, all from the discounted section in the back of the store. Again they paid half with Lisa’s cash, half on Chris’s credit card.
By April 8, 1994, Hatton’s credit cards were carrying $2,500, and Pace’s savings were wiped out.
Lisa started shopping for a wedding dress.
In May 1994, Lisa Pace graduated from Round Rock High School. Less than two weeks later, she left town for four months of Texas Army National Guard training at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. She asked Hatton to drive her the two hours down I-35 to San Antonio. He said he couldn’t.
Hatton had switched jobs and was working for Capitol Beverage, where he was paid $1,400 a month. He didn’t want to blow the job, he said. With their own place and with Holly and Bill no longer living together, he wanted custody of his brother, Brian.
Hatton was drinking a lot and regularly, unknown to anyone in his family. Out of the Navy and back in Texas, with his honky-tonking friends, he became known for his affinity for Coors Light.
Hatton also became resentful. He resented that his Navy career was over because he’d gone AWOL over Lisa, while Lisa’s National Guard career was going great guns.
His future, at least in terms of career and money-making potential, seemed bleak. In the past, he’d talked about becoming an architect—he did love to draw. But he believed he wasn’t good at school and studying; he believed he wasn’t university material. He’d rather order a pizza and watch a movie. And maybe have a beer.
In the summer of 1994, Chris Hatton began spending more and more time with Glenn Conway and his family. He grew close to Glenn’s sister, Cathy, and especially close to Glenn’s mother, June, who became a second mom to him.
Chris and Lisa began arguing regularly.
“Lisa, you need to pick up these shoes. You can’t leave things all around the house. You’ve got to pick up these clothes.”
“Whatever,” she’d reply.
Like his uncle, Chris wanted a clean house. Saturday afternoon was dedicated to cleaning house. Saturday morning was dedicated to sleep, after staying up all night watching TV.
“I’m tired of everybody telling me what to do and running my life. Bill and Holly. The Navy. And now you. I’m not going to let you tell me what to do and control my life,” he’d complain.
From Fort Sam,
Similar Books
