She slathered butter on the two biscuits lying on her plate. “I bake them with love, and that’s all you need to know.”
As I was finishing my second cup of coffee and third biscuit stuffed with strawberry jam, we heard the first bus arrive. In minutes, the dining room filled up and there was a line for both bathrooms. I had a soft heart for little kids who were hungry, so I hurried over to the first table, where a young couple and two little boys in their pajamas were sitting. I handed each of them a menu and rattled off the breakfast special.
“What can I get y’all to drink?”
“We’ll have two cups of coffee and two glasses of milk,” the mother said.
One of the little boys turned around and pointed toward the candy display next to the register. “I want candy and root beer.”
“After you eat breakfast, you can have some to eat on the way home,” his father said.
His lower lip poked out, and he dropped his chin down to his chest. “Granny let me have candy anytime I wanted it.”
They were still arguing while I filled their drink order and headed back to the table. My grandmother had not been that lenient when I was a little girl. I got good, healthy food when Mama and I visited her and Grandpa. She said it would make me live a long life.
I took a tray with the drinks to the table in time to hear the father say, “I’m not arguing with you. The answer is no, so stop asking. This is why we live in Dallas, not in Arizona.” He looked across the table at his wife. “Next time we are flying, no matter what the cost.”
“If we do, then that will be our only vacation for the year. Do you want that?” she snapped, and then softened her tone when she realized the drinks had arrived. “Thank you for being so prompt. The boys will each have the kid’s meal with pancakes and bacon. I want the Full Works breakfast.”
“Make that two,” the father said.
“How do you want your eggs?” I asked.
“Scrambled,” she said.
“Same,” he added.
The whiny one crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father. “I want root beer and candy.”
“What you want and what you get are two different things,” his mother told him.
Amen to that,I thought as I hurried away to pin the order on the carousel and get their drinks.
Chapter Four
Staying in a new hotel, putting on my good-luck outfit, and sitting down with a new group of poker players was exciting and jacked up my adrenaline levels. And if a late checkout wasn’t available, I left at the last-possible minute. Perhaps if Lady Luck had been good to me, I’d keep the room for one more day and play again the second night. Card players had their own set of superstitions, and one of mine was to never play in the same place three nights in a row. If we won two nights, you could bet bad luck would hit on the third. That was what Frank had always said, and I listened—just like I should have in Tucson.
On the third day at the Tumbleweed, my energy was completely shot. I awoke to the smell of coffee—again. I was in the same room in the same trailer—again. The time on my cell phone was the same as it had been the past two days—again. I groaned like Bill Murray did in that old movieGroundhog Day. I crammed the pillow over my head and silently screamed, but that didn’t alter a blessed thing. The same day stretched out before me like the previous ones. I couldn’t get away from the place until my lockbox had a lot more money in it, so it would be like those shampoo commercials—wash, rinse, repeat.
I could press the pillow down until I smothered myself to death, and nothing would change. Tomorrow would be the exact same. I finally got out of bed, dressed, and made it out of my room in time to follow Rosalie and Scarlett outside into the bitter cold wind sweeping tumbleweeds and leaves across the yard.
“Another day, another dollar,” Rosalie said.
“Amen!” Scarlett opened the door into the place.
“Do y’all ever get bored with the same thing every single day?”
“No, of course not,” Rosalie answered. “We are all lucky to be here. Hopefully, you will figure out that you are, too, in a few weeks.”
Arguing wouldn’t make a bit of a difference, so I kept my mouth shut. But I still yearned to have my former lifestyle back. I was already craving a poker game. But the voice—be it Lady Luck, Madam Fate, or the universe scolding me—didn’t leave any doubt that the days were going to remain the same for a long time. At this rate, even with the tips, it would take a year for me to save enough money to start again. Even then, I would have to start small and work my way up to a high-stakes game. That would mean more cheap motels and no fancy restaurants.
“What do y’all want for breakfast?” Rosalie asked.
“Biscuits, an over-easy fried egg, and bacon,” I answered, in hopes that by varying my breakfast, I would wake up tomorrow in a different place and the box would be so stuffed that the lid wouldn’t close.
“My usual,” Scarlett said.
Rosalie crossed the room, put on an apron, turned on the oven, and said, “I’ll have it ready by the time y’all get the dining room put to rights.”
