My thoughts swirled as I ran along the side of the two-lane road. There was Larry tossing that deed out in the middle of the table. Looking back now, he probably had come to that poker game knowing he wasn’t ever going back to the Tumbleweed. I hoped that someday he had to walk down a candy-and-chip aisle in a convenience store with no money in his pocket.
You never wish bad luck on a player when you leave a table, or it will be like a boomerang and come right back on you.Frank’s words, not mine.
“Okay, okay! I hear you.” I used up every bit of breath to scold myself when I came to a dead stop and put my hands on my knees.
I didn’t even realize a vehicle was coming up behind me until it stopped, and the passenger door flew open. I hoped that it wasn’t someone like Buddy. I wouldn’t have the strength to fight him off. My pistol and Rosalie’s shotgun were both back at the Tumbleweed.
Ada Lou yelled over the sound of the howling wind. “What in the hell are you running from? If you don’t start moving or else get intothis truck, the tumbleweeds will cover you up and we won’t find your body until spring.”
I panted between words. “I’m . . . out . . . for . . . exercise.”
“Then do some of that Jane Fonda stuff in front of the television where this wind doesn’t suck all the air out of you. This ain’t no weather to be out jogging in,” she said.
“I’m finding that out,” I gasped.
“Get in here before you drop dead. You are going home with me for some hot chocolate and cookies. Once you get warm, I’ll take you back to the Tumbleweed. You’ve run a mile. That’s more than enough on a day like this.”
I didn’t argue and had started to shiver as I stretched the seat belt across my chest.
“Have you always been stupid, or did you just catch a dose of it when you came to this area?” she asked.
“I believe ...” I had to stop talking and catch my breath. “It all started in Tucson.”
“You should stay away from there from now on.”
“I won’t be going back again, for sure,” I said.
“Like Kenny Rogers says in one of his songs, it might be time to fold the cards and leave the game.” She turned into a driveway leading back to half a dozen travel trailers of all sizes.
“I don’t think so,” I argued. “I’ve always been happy with my lifestyle.”
“Honey, happy is a state of mind. I get up every morning, look in the mirror, and say to myself, ‘Ada Lou, today you will be content with your lot.’ Some days I fight with myself a little, but I don’t let the enemy of my joy win the battle. Now, I haven’t saved your life for nothing ...” She parked in front of the first of the trailers. “You can help me carry in the groceries I bought in El Paso. I hate having to drive so far to get necessities, but the pros outweigh the cons.”
“How can you be happy in this place?” I looked across acres and acres of nothing but dead grass all the way to a mountain range out there in the distance.
She opened the back door to her truck and pointed to a case of water. “You take that, and I’ll bring the bags. When we get settled into the warm house, I’ll tell you a little about why I like living here. Maybe if you stick around long enough, you’ll find the beauty in the spring, or even how pretty everything can be when it’s covered with snow.”
Had she asked me to pick up that water before I had time to catch my breath, I would have had to lie down on the side of the road and let the coyotes and buzzards get me. Even after the short ride in the warm truck, my legs were a little wobbly when I reached the last step leading up to her small trailer, but I made it without falling on my face.
“Set that on the bar. Then take off your jacket and have a seat in one of the recliners. Do you make a habit of running when it’s this cold?”
I did what she told me without a word and slumped down in a soft leather chair that molded to my body. “No, I usually work out in a hotel gym, but a few times I have jogged around a motel parking lot to get in a little exercise.”
Ada Lou set a pan on the stove and filled it with milk. “Well, running when there ain’t nothing but a few barbed wire fences to break the wind is a different thing. A little hot chocolate and a couple of pecan sandies should warm up your insides.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I kept them from streaming down my cheeks. I had only a few good memories of my mother. Her life had been snuffed out in the blink of an eye. The doctor had said that she slipped and fell and hit her head so hard on the edge of the kitchen cabinet that she died before she hit the floor.
My favorite memory was coming home after school to the aroma of baked cookies and real hot chocolate—not that packaged kind made in a microwave. Mom would ask me all about my day and tell me about hers while we had our after-school snack.
Ada Lou opened a package of cookies and laid half a dozen out on a small plate. She brought those to the living area and set them on a narrow table between the two chairs. Then she went back to the tinygalley kitchen to pour two big mugs of hot chocolate. After she’d added marshmallows, she crossed the short distance and handed one to me.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked. “If you don’t put something in your stomach to heat you up from the inside, you won’t ever stop shivering.”
I picked up a cookie, bit off a chunk, and then sipped the cocoa.
“In a few minutes you’ll be able to take off that sweatshirt,” she said.
She was right on both counts. When my mug was half full and I had devoured two cookies, I removed my hoodie.
