Sweet Water

by Anna Jeffrey

  “Ben’s drinking,” he said.

  Ho-hum. What else was new? Now she knew why Ben Seagrave hadn’t been in to have coffee and pass on words of wisdom in recent days. Ben, a binge drinker, was Agua Dulce’s very own alcoholic sage. He had traveled between Nashville and Agua Dulce for as long as Marisa could remember. He leased a mobile home in the Sweet Water RV Village, within walking distance of Pecos Belle’s. Marisa was constantly amazed that he had written the lyrics and composed the music to many beautiful and well-known ballads. The royalties provided his income.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Several days now, maybe a week. I spoke to him about stopping, but he gets so testy when I try to counsel him. I tried to make him understand that in light of what’s happened, all of us need to be clearheaded.”

  If Marisa hadn’t felt so sad, she might have laughed aloud at that statement. As far as she knew, there wasn’t a clearheaded human being in town--including herself.

  “I suggested he wean himself off whiskey and go to beer,” Bob went on. “He’d sober up faster that way, you know.”

  No, she didn’t know. She rarely drank hard liquor. What she did know was that it took almost nothing to set Ben off on a drinking spree and as he had gotten older, he had gotten worse. No doubt hearing about the sale of the town and the home where he lived totally un-bothered and un-pressured had been enough. And as for Bob persuading him to do anything, Bob might as well forget it. Except to a few people, Ben was downright rude. “That was probably a waste of your

  time, Bob.”

  “I know, but I felt obligated. He is one of us. He says tangential influences drove him to whiskey this time. He’s waiting for the click in his head. He says he’ll stop when he hears it.”

  Marisa had no idea what Bob had just said, but she refused to give a glut of credence to a conversation with a man awaiting the arrival of aliens from outer space.

  She felt helpless as a babe to deal with the Agua Dulce citizens who surrounded her. How had her mother done it for so many years, shepherded this odd collection of eccentrics? Drop-outs were all Marisa could think to call them, people who weren’t dumb, but for some reason couldn’t quite make it in the big world. Like children, they had looked to Mama for wisdom, for guidance. Now, with their captain losing her mind, every time Marisa turned around, they were looking to her to replace her mother and right their ship.

  “Hm. Well for his sake, I hope it’s soon.”

  “Marisa, will you be speaking to the new owner?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. I’m sure he’ll contact us sooner or later.”

  He nodded. “You will speak for our interests?”

  Leaning on her elbow, she put her thumb in her mouth and bit down on the nail. What did he have to worry about? Unlike her and Mama, he owned his motel. Pecos Belle’s Emporium and Eats, however, was a tenant of the town’s owner, whoever that might be. If the new landlord told her and Mama to pack up and move, there would be no choice. That thought brought on an onslaught of problems and decisions she was in no shape to face tonight. “Of course I will, Bob.”

  He nodded again.

  They sat in silence for a while, rocking and looking toward the heavens. In Bob’s company, she couldn’t keep from wondering if They really were up there somewhere, looking back.

  Eventually Bob stood up and said goodnight. He walked off into the moonlight, weaving through the cacti, sparse desert shrubs and fragile range grass that were making a pathetic effort to grow in the sand and rocks. She called after him to watch out for snakes.

  Chapter 6

  Marisa’s digital clock showed 4:45 in neon red. She had survived another night. With a silent groan she rolled over in bed and buried her face in her pillow. In the fog of half-sleep, the name Nikki Warner, the pregnant Nikki Warner, rose in her mind. How long had Woody been seeing her and was she the only one? As much as Marisa hated losing Woody, she hated being made a fool even more.

  She flopped to her back and lay staring at the still ceiling fan in the gray morning light, considering the cruelty of fate. She and Woody had never even discussed kids and what might happen if one came along unexpectedly. His priority had always been his career and moving up in the Department of Safety. He even had visions of becoming a Texas Ranger. For him, she had been so cautious to avoid pregnancy.

  The irony was as painful as a hard kick. Most of her life she had wanted a family. And friends. Growing up, the loneliness of being an only child, of living in an isolated place with no other children of any age, no parent except her mother and no more than infrequent contacts with her two aunts had almost overwhelmed her at times. She had told herself that someday she would meet a wonderful man and have a dozen kids who would never be lonely because they would have each other.

  Sheer fantasy.

  Now, she was thirty-four, her biological clock was ticking off time faster than an Olympian sprinter and someday wasn’t even on the horizon.

  Wide awake now, she sat up on the edge of the mattress and pushed the hair out of her face. She shifted her thoughts and ran through a mental list of things to look forward to, forcing her attention to the most important one--staying strong for her mother who desperately needed her.

  And would need her and need her and need her, for an unknown span of time. Amen. The duration of Mama’s illness was an unknown. The doctors had said she could linger another ten or twelve years.

  Another ten or twelve years...where?...And with Marisa doing what to support them?

  Until a few days ago, Marisa had assumed that she would live here in Agua Dulce for the rest of her mother’s life, eking out a meager living for the two of them from the flea market and cafe. Now the sale of the town could change everything in such a dramatic way Marisa couldn’t channel her thoughts toward what to do next.

  She heard no shuffling footsteps, no clattering dishes, so Mama was still in bed. Since Marisa didn’t open the café until 7:00 at this time of year, there was time for a short run before the heat rose. She forced herself to her feet and went to the bathroom where she got into sweats and running shoes. Forty-five minutes and a quart of sweat later, she had showered and was selecting clothing. Another day, another cowgirl suit. Today it was Rockies jeans and a pink T-shirt with a Cruel Girl logo accented with silver nail heads across the front.

  Then she was in the kitchen, cooking bacon and eggs. Mama came in wearing her nightgown.

  “Morning,” Marisa said, glancing at her mother’s feet. She was wearing two different shoes. Shoes were always an issue with Mama. More than once Marisa had discovered her wearing them in bed. “Want some coffee?”

  Her mother didn’t answer. Instead, she went to a cabinet drawer, yanked it open, rummaged inside it with jerky movements and came up with an apron. “I have to clean today.” She tied the apron on, her teeth clenched, her lips drawn tight. “Rosemary’s coming and you know how she is. She’ll inspect...everything.”

  Mama might work at cleaning, but it would be with nothing more than clear water. Months back, Marisa had transferred all cleaning products out of the mobile home to the café apartment. Walking in and seeing her mother eating something sprinkled with Comet cleanser was more than Marisa wanted to deal with.

  The emphasis on the word inspect told Marisa Mama was angry. She and her older sister hadn’t gotten along for years. For as long as Marisa could remember, Aunt Rosemary had never failed to remind her younger sister how foolishly she lived her life. Now that Mama could no longer think or argue, Aunt Rosemary rarely even came to visit, let alone squabble, with her dying sister.

  Hearing Mama make such positive, rational statements always threw Marisa a curve. She never could be sure if her mother and her aunt had had a real conversation or if another of those errant figments of Mama’s broken imagination had taken over. “Who told you she was coming?”

  “Lanny. Yesterday at his house we talked about it.”

  They hadn’t seen Lanny Winegardner yesterday nor had they gon
e to his house. All they had done was walk on his road and talk to each other about his cows. Marisa dismissed the possibility of her Aunt Rosemary’s visit.

  Mama closed her eyes and the corners of her mouth tipped up in a dreamy smile. “That Lanny. He’s sweet on me. Clyde’s sooo jealous.”

  One more fleeting figment of broken imagination. Lanny had never been sweet on Mama. Indeed they had been friends, just as Mama had been friends with Bob and Ben and Mr. Patel. Clyde Campbell, oil man from Midland and Agua Dulce’s former owner, was another story. Her mother’s relationship with that arrogant asshole was a subject Marisa didn’t discuss. Where Clyde Campbell was concerned, she felt the same as her Aunt Rosemary. The jerk had dropped dead from a heart attack five years earlier. “Well, we won’t worry about Clyde. I heard he’s out of town and won’t be back for a while.”

  “He’d better be careful going off without telling me. I just might take up with Lanny.”

  With that, Mama left the kitchen. Marisa exhaled a great breath. Today was going to be another one of those days.

  Marisa followed her charge into the bedroom. It made her too sad to return from the café and see Mama with her clothes on backward, so she said, “Let me help you get dressed.”

  She took a pair of clean slacks and a blouse from the closet and helped Mama out of her nightgown, exposing her pale skin and shriveled breasts. “Bob had guests in the motel last night,” Marisa said, stretching underpants for her mother to step into. “They might want breakfast. Soon as we eat, I need to get over to the café to be ready.” She picked up her mother’s bra.

  “Have They come yet?” Mama held out her arms so Marisa could slide the bra on.

  They again. There was no telling how many hundred off-the-wall conversations Mama and Bob Nichols had had over the years about Area 51 up by Roswell and government secrets and aliens from outer space.

  “Any day now,” Marisa said, turning her mother around and hooking the bra.

  “That Bob. He’s sweet on me. He’s going to take me to meet Them when They come. He’s been on one of Their ships.”

  Marisa rolled her eyes to the ceiling. God, she needed to get away, just for a few hours, an afternoon. What she wouldn’t give for an afternoon in the mall in Midland where people seemed to be rational and function normally.

  ****

  Tanya Shepherd sat the lunch counter, a be-ringed finger hooked into the handle of a mug of Cowboy Breakfast Blend. “Things always happen when I’m out of town,” she said. “If Jake hadn’t run into Gordon Tubbs, I wouldn’t even have known the town got sold.”

  “Goes to show you should stay home,” Marisa said.

  “I wonder what it’ll mean to my shops.”

  The question resounded like an echo of the one that had been going on in Marisa’s head for nearly a week. “Hell if I know,” she replied.

  The shops in question--a beauty salon called Tanya’s Tangles and a gift shop named Art of the West Museum--shared the building with Pecos Belle’s. The beauty shop did a decent business during vacation season when campers stopped off at Sweet Water RV & Mobile Home Village. In addition to the traveling drop-ins, Tanya advertised herself as a “color specialist” and a few patrons drove all the way from Odessa to have her color and cut their hair.

  In Art of the West Museum Tanya sold beautiful Southwest-style jewelry she designed and made herself from semi-precious stones. She also displayed her own drawings and oil paintings of the area landscape.

  Now, Marisa examined a pair of beaded leather mules Tanya had brought Mama from Ruidoso. The hairdresser never failed to think of Mama. “These should fit,” Marisa said.

  Tanya took a drag off a long, slim cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. “How’s Raylene doing?”

  “About the same,” Marisa said. “A few days ago, I overslept and she toasted a whole loaf of bread.”

  “That’s not good.” Tanya’s head slowly shook as she tapped ash from the end of her cigarette. “I miss how Raylene used to be. She was always there for me. She helped me a lot.” Tanya and Mama had had a relationship for years before Marisa’s return. Knowing Mama, she had treated Tanya like a daughter.

  “I know. That’s the way she was before...” Marisa stopped herself. Nothing more needed to be said to someone who had watched Mama’s mind drift away for years. “Did y’all win any money in the casino?”

  “Nah. I mostly went shopping and toured the art galleries.”

  “Oh? You took some paintings to show them?” Marisa thought her neighbor a wonderful artist. She hadn’t appreciated how much true beauty existed in Agua Dulce’s desert landscape until seeing Tanya’s paintings,

  “I’m almost afraid to. They’ve got work from some big-name artists and I’m nobody. Jake says my paintings look as good as theirs, but what does he know? He’s a cowboy.”

  Marisa glanced at Tanya’s profile, her eyes landing on the tiny diamond stud she wore in the side of her nose. Tanya had a number of body piercings in places Marisa had heard about, but hadn’t seen. The last thing she appeared to be was a cowboy’s wife. She was taller than Marisa, but wore high heels every day, the higher, the better. At some point she’d had a boob job and on her rail thin frame her breasts appeared globe-like. She had huge distinctly green eyes, usually made up with a kaleidoscope of eye shadow and a pound of black mascara. Her straight brown hair hung to her waist and she wore it cut in layers, with a center part. The top layer was streaked in stripes of half a dozen colors ranging from near-white to burgundy. Marisa thought she looked “arty.” Ben Seagrave said she looked like a confused zebra.

  “Count on Jake to be supportive,” Marisa said.

  Tanya swallowed a sip from her mug, a frown creasing her brow. “You know, if push comes to shove and I have to move my shops to Pecos or somewhere, I guess Jake and I can live in one of those old ranch hand’s houses out at Lanny’s and I can commute.”

  Her attention settled on the wall in front of her where Marisa had pinned Pepsi Cola’s newest oversized poster. Alongside a large paper cup showing a red-white-and-blue Pepsi Cola logo, sat a hamburger with ruffly pastel green lettuce poking out the sides and a sleeve of French fries. “Hey, you got new posters,” she said and took another drag off her cigarette.

  Marisa glanced at the wall. “The Pepsi delivery guy gave them to me.”

  Tanya giggled. “He’d probably give you his whole truck if you pumped him up a little.”

  “Hunh. Not interested.”

  “You know, it’d be easier on Jake living out there at that ranch,” Tanya said. “He only stays here in town because of me and my business.”

  Marisa gave her neighbor another look. She had said “in town” as if there were a difference in living here in Agua Dulce and living in the country. Though Lanny had offered living quarters to Jake and Tanya many times, the hairdresser refused to live at the XO Ranch. She and Jake lived in the largest double-wide mobile home in Sweet Water RV & Mobile Home Village and paid no-telling-what in rent to Clyde Campbell’s estate. Every day except Sunday Jake made the twenty-mile drive to his job cowboying for the XO.

  The mention of the Pepsi truck driver and his blatant attraction to Marisa reminded her of Woody and she couldn’t hold back any longer. Her former lover and Tanya had gone to school together in Pecos. Marisa told Tanya about him and some woman in Wink named Nikki Warner.

  “I know her,” Tanya said without registering surprise. “She’s a hair stylist....And she’s a kid. I think she’s only, like twenty or twenty-one.”

  A pain of deep origin began to press under Marisa’s ribs. “Don’t BS me.”

  “I mean it. She’s a kid.”

  A picture of Woody mushroomed in Marisa’s mind. At forty, he was starting to lose his hair on top. “Good grief,” Marisa mumbled. “I wonder how he got mixed up with someone half his age?”

  Tanya shot a glance toward the far end of the lunch counter where Gordon Tubbs sat, not quite within earshot. As he often did, the manager of Sw
eet Water RV & Mobile Home Village had come in to have a salad for lunch.

  Tanya tamped out her smoke, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “I hate to tell you this, Marisa, but Woody was like that when we were teenagers. Even then he went after younger girls.” She pushed a sheaf of long hair behind her ear, revealing thick silver hoops the diameter of a Coke can hooked in her ear lobes. “He always wanted to, you know, do it, which was probably easier with the younger girls. I mean, they were dumber and he could talk them into it easier.”

  Tanya set her mug down and went on. “In high school, we used to joke about it, but none of us went out with him. Nowadays, if he did some of the stuff he used to, he’d get arrested.” The hairdresser scrunched up her shoulders and giggled. “Or shot.”

  Marisa cringed at this new information about her former lover, but had to admit that he did have an appetite for hot sex. She had talked to Tanya about him many times over the past year. If he was such a cad, how could a friend and neighbor not have warned her away from him? Marisa’s memory zoomed backward as she recalled that Woody had made a pass at her the very first time they met. She felt heat rise to her cheeks because she also remembered how flattered she had been at his attention. Dummy, she called herself.

  “Tanya, forgodsake,” she said in an equally low tone, “he’s a cop. And a special cop, at that. He wants to be a Texas Ranger.” The epitome of heroism, Marisa didn’t add, doubting if Tanya knew the meaning of the word, “epitome.”

  The hairdresser shrugged. “Can I help it how he is?” She made a knowing, but humorless chuckle. “Girl, I could name you a dozen places he’s dipped his wick.” She leaned closer, her shoulder touching Marisa’s. “You want to know something weird? Even with all the stuff I knew about him from school, I did it with him myself a couple of times. I mean, he’s hot, you know? And he’s good.”

  A blast of fury exploded within Marisa. A box of plastic wrap lay within sight on a shelf under the back counter. She wanted to grab and wrap it around her head to keep her skull from exploding.