“That sounds great. What time do we close?”
“We get a breakfast rush when the first bus comes through from the west. Most of the folks on that one are coming from Vegas, where they’ve gone to gamble.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and muttered something.
Tears formed in my eyes at the thought of all the poker tables I had sat at in that city. It would be months before I could go back. Maybe even a whole year.
“Usually, both buses have gone on their way by two o’clock. We lock the door, clean up the place, and go out to the trailer until five o’clock the next morning, when it starts all over again.”
“Do you ever get bored?” I finished loading the dishwasher.
Is this my life until I can sell this place?
You have no right to bitch,the voice in my head argued.Your choices brought you here, and now you have to pay the piper.
“Would you please show me how to start this thing?” I asked with a sigh. “I’m a fast learner and promise I won’t ask again.”
She crossed the room, turned a knob, and then pushed it in. “That’s all there is to it. And to answer your question: No, I do not get bored. I’m just thankful to be alive and have a job.”
That seemed like a strange answer, but if that was the way she felt, then I wasn’t going to pressure her to say more. I carried an empty bin back out to the dining area, where Scarlett was sitting at Ada Lou’s table. They were deep in conversation, so low I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. It felt like those first days when I’d attended public school after Frank remarried. The popular girls had all huddled up and whispered. I had held my head high and ignored them, but it stung when they rolled their eyes and giggled. That was their choice. Mine was taking all their boyfriends’ money so they couldn’t go out with them over the weekend.
Rosalie had told me to help Scarlett, not to do the work while she visited with a customer. I owned the place and she was the help, so why was she having a mean-girl conversation with Ada Lou while I dealt with dirty dishes and nasty, cold leftovers?
Get off your high horse. Earlier today, you were flat broke.
I started to argue with the voice in my head. Then I remembered that if I’d listened to what it had to say before I checked into that seedy little motel in Tucson, I wouldn’t be at this place anyway.
“Nice meeting you, Clara,” Ada Lou said as she stood up and left a couple of dollars on the table for a tip.
“My pleasure—but it’s Carla,” I said, raising my voice.
“For my age, getting it close is good enough.” She winked and went out the door.
A few seconds later, the sound of a motorcycle engine revving up filled the whole place. Expecting to see a biker, I looked out the window, and there was Ada Lou, sitting astride a big Harley with a helmet covering her gray hair. She threw up her hand and waved when she caught my eye.
“Surprised?” Scarlett asked.
“Yep.”
“I was, too, the first time she rode up to the café on that thing. She has a pickup truck and brings it down here to fill up with gas when she goes to El Paso for supplies about once a month. But if the weather is nice, she rides the cycle,” Scarlett explained.
I covered a yawn with my hand. Three o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. “She looked like an old biker chick on that thing.”
“She really is an old hippie. She even went to Woodstock back in the day. I’ve been to her trailer many times.”
“For what?” I asked.
“To watch movies, play board games, and just to visit. She should have been a therapist.”
“What kind of movies and board games?” Something about an old hippie woman who rode a Harley piqued my interest.
Scarlett shrugged. “All kinds of both. She doesn’t like action movies but loves ‘chick flicks,’ as she calls them. When I first got here, she took me under her wing, and we watched lots of movies—especially on Sunday afternoons. Oh, and the bike’s name is Hilda.”
“Why did she name it that?”
“That’s her story to tell,” Scarlett answered.
I stopped what I was doing and sniffed the air. “What is Rosie cooking? It smells delicious.”
“Don’t you know? This is New Year’s Day,” Scarlett answered.
