American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,19

by the dark mesa surging into the heavens. The air has chilled considerably with the onset of evening, and Mona wishes she’d brought some winter wear.

“What is your name?” the old man asks.

“Mona.”

“I am Parson, Mona. It is very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“It’s good that you are staying the night here.” He gestures into the dark trees that crawl up the slopes. “The area around Wink can be a little treacherous, especially at night. I would not advise going out at night, especially outside of downtown. People get lost very easily.”

“I can imagine,” says Mona, remembering the steep hills and sudden precipices. “Can I ask you something?”

He stops to consider it, as if this is a very serious proposition. “I suppose so,” he says finally.

“I tried to find this place on a lot of maps before I came, but—”

“Really?” he says. “Why?”

“Well… I don’t really want to get into it too much now, since nothing’s settled yet… but I inherited a house here, supposedly.”

Parson stares off into the distance. “Did you,” he says softly. “Which house would that be, if I might ask?”

“It’s on Larchmont, or so they tell me.”

“I see. You know, I believe I know the residence in question. It is abandoned. But it is in fairly good shape. And you say you inherited it?”

“That’s what all these papers say.”

“How curious…” says Parson. “I cannot remember the last time someone new moved here. You will be quite the oddity, if so.”

“That’s kind of what I wanted to ask about. You might not have anyone moving here because no one knows this town’s here. It’s not on any map. Is there some reason for that? Something to do with the lab on the mountain?”

“Lab?” asks Parson, puzzled.

“Yeah. Coburn National Lab. And, uh, Observatory.”

“Oh,” he says, and smiles. “Goodness. If you’re looking for a job there, I’m afraid you’re about thirty years late.”

“What do you mean?”

“Coburn was shut down years ago. End of the seventies, if I recall. I’m not sure why, exactly. I think they just never produced what they said they would. Lost funding. Wink was originally built around it, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Did you?” he says. “Well. When it was shut down, it just left us all here. Where were we going to go? I suppose they took us off most maps to keep the place undisturbed. No spies sniffing around the lab, or some such. But now that we are forgotten, they never remembered to put us back on. To be honest, I like the peace and quiet. Even if it is bad for business.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“You have done so already—I see nothing barring you from doing so again.”

“Did you ever know a Laura Alvarez here?”

“Here in Wink?”

“Yeah. She would have left about thirty years ago or so. She worked at the lab up on the mountain. I’m trying to find out more about her. She’s—she was my mom.”

“Hm,” he says. “I am afraid I cannot help you. I am not the most social of people. I remember very few names.”

“Even in a town this small, you don’t know?”

“Small?” he says. “Is it so small?” He looks up, examines the room numbers, and selects one. “Ah. Here we are. Our bridal suite.” He smiles at her, but does not open the room.

“Thanks,” she says.

“We do not really have a bridal suite,” he says. “It was a joke.”

“Okay,” she says.

He unlocks and opens the door and shows her in. The carpet is brown shag, and the lamps on the walls are made out of deer horns. The bedspread is done in a colored diamond pattern that Mona identifies as Native American, and it looks comfortable enough.

“The TV,” says Parson firmly, “does not work.”

“Okay.”

“I will help you move in,” he says, and begins to walk back to her car.

“That’s okay,” she says. “I have all my things in my bag.”

He stops and peers at her bag. “Oh,” he says, both irritated and disappointed. “All right, then.”

“Is there a good place to eat around here?” she asks.

“There is the diner, but it is likely closed for the funeral.”

“Oh. Yeah, I saw. Who died, the mayor or something?”

“Someone important,” he says. But he adds, “Ostensibly.”

“And you didn’t go to the funeral?”

He gives her a cryptic look, face suddenly closed. “I do not go to funerals. It would not befit my station. Luckily for you, I do offer a complimentary breakfast. I may provide it now, if you wish, rather than in the morning.”

“I’d be much obliged.”

“Excellent,” he