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 movie Groundhog 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.”
“It’s still Groundhog Day,” I muttered.
“What?” Scarlett headed toward the safe to get money for the cash register.
“Nothing. I was talking to myself.”
Rosalie set the big mixing bowl on the worktable and began making biscuit dough just like she had the day before.
“Why are you talking about Groundhog Day? That doesn’t come around for another month—and in my opinion, it’s a useless holiday.
No matter if the groundhog sees his shadow or not, there’s still six more weeks of winter. ”
Two and a half months until spring officially arrives. Will I be able to leave this place by then, or will I still be kicking tumbleweeds out of the way to get to the trailer?
Tomorrow and every day after that, I planned to ask for a different breakfast in the hope that it would help break this boring cycle. I was finishing the last of my coffee when the bell above the door jingled. “I’ll get it. Scarlett, you finish eating.”
“Thanks,” she said without looking up from her food.
“Well, good morning, beautiful,” said a big, burly man with a sprinkling of gray shining in his close-cut brown hair. “What is your name, and where have you been all my life?”
“My name is Carla, and I’ve been lots of places,” I answered with my best fake smile. “Have a seat anywhere you like.”
He chose the barstool closest to the register. “No need to bring me a menu. Just tell Rosalie that Buddy is here, and she’ll know what I want. Iced tea to drink, and if you’re not busy, you could sit with me and tell me all about yourself.”
The growl of an engine caught my attention. Saved by the bus. I nodded toward the window and hoped that Buddy didn’t come in every day. “Sorry, but I don’t have time. We’ll be swamped in a few minutes.”
I pushed through the doors into the kitchen. “Buddy is out there and said you’ll know what he wants. Scarlett, you are working at the bar for the breakfast rush. He wants iced tea to drink.”
“Spoken like a true boss who is running from a flirty man. Scarlett can handle him,” Rosalie said. “But you should steer clear of Buddy. He’s got a bad reputation.”
“Oh, I know his kind. I’m avoiding him so I don’t have to insult the man—or worse yet, do bodily harm to him,” I said.
“If you do have to do the latter, we can always get Ada Lou to help us drag him out to the base of the mountain and let the coyotes fight over his carcass.” Rosalie’s tone didn’t have a bit of humor in it.
“That would be one way to kill a whole pack of coyotes,” Scarlett whispered.
“What?” I asked.
“A man like him would poison them for sure,” she explained as she headed back out to the dining room.
A hard-looking woman with pink streaks in her bleached hair pushed open the door, scanned the whole room, and smiled at Buddy. She unzipped her black jacket to show off a red shirt that was at least three sizes too small and chose a barstool beside him.
“Well, hello, handsome,” she said in a husky smoker’s voice.
“Good mornin’, darlin’.” He grinned.
I glanced out the window, saw that the bus driver hadn’t even opened the door. There were no other vehicles in the parking lot, which meant someone had dropped her off in front of the café. Maybe she saw the sign and thought she could buy a bus ticket.
“She’s a truck bunny,” Scarlett whispered.
I must have frowned, because she leaned closer and whispered, “She catches rides with whoever is willing to give her one.”
“Oh!” I thought of what Rosalie had said about giving his cold dead body to the coyotes. Did she personally know someone like Miz Pink Hair? Or maybe she had known a man like Buddy in her past. Lord knew I had.
It seemed like we had more families than usual that morning, which gave me hope that things would move from the never-changing routine into something better. Maybe switching my breakfast that morning had helped things along. Baby steps—that was what Rosalie and Scarlett had called it.
But there are pros and cons to every situation in the world. The con that morning was that all the children were royal pains except for one little blond-haired girl sitting with her father. She stole my heart because she reminded me of myself at that age when I was traveling with Frank.
I handed them each a menu and asked, “What can I get y’all to drink?”
“Water for me,” she said, “and Daddy will have a cup of coffee with sugar and cream.”
“She knows me all too well,” he said.
“Where are y’all headed to?”
“Wherever the wind takes us,” the little girl answered. “We’re on a road trip until my school starts back next week.”
“I’ll be right back with your drinks and get your order.”
Scarlett came up behind me and whispered, “The woman at the bar ordered a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. Buddy is buying her breakfast, and I’m pretty sure she will leave with him. She is definitely a truck bunny.”
A memory flashed into my mind. Frank and I were in a little roadside place like the Tumbleweed when he noticed a woman sitting in a back booth.
I’d thought for sure he would leave me and go talk to her, but when a trucker came inside, she latched on to him.
Frank had looked disappointed, but he didn’t say anything.
I never saw or met one of the women who left him smelling like booze and cheap perfume, but I knew at a young age that the women he stayed out with all night were not like my mother.
When the place was finally empty, Scarlett plopped down into a chair and wiped her forehead with a bar towel. “Whew! That was fast and furious.”
I eased down in a chair across the table from her. “Having all those whiny kids made it seem worse than usual. I was too busy to even notice if the pink-haired lady left with Buddy.”
“She did, and I don’t know how she can stand him. He drives a semi and stops by every few weeks. Matilda could keep him in line, but since she’s been gone . . .” She shrugged. “I keep my distance from him. You’d do well to do the same.”
“Thanks for the warning, but I’ve seen men like him before at poker tables.
If he ever pushes his luck and touches you, we will buy three shovels and bury him beside a big old yucca plant.
We wouldn’t want to make the coyotes sick.
” I stood up, picked up an eraser, and removed yesterday’s special from the board.
“I saw a sawed-off shotgun under the counter. I expect that would do the trick.”
She gasped. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You are a lot tougher than I thought you would be,” Scarlett said. “Got a question, though: You called them ‘whiny kids.’ Don’t you like children?”
“Depends on whether they are whiny or not.” I finished cleaning the board and turned around to face Scarlett. “What about you? Do you ever want to have a family?”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes, I do. I want a husband who treats me like a queen and a whole yardful of kids. Don’t you?”
“My lifestyle has never had room for that,” I told her.
“Then change it,” she said. “You aren’t too old to have children.”