American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,46

that the martini between her legs is not her first. “Mona. Moan. See?”

“I see.”

The woman sits up. She’s definitely of A Certain Age—her tan is interrupted by liver spots flowering on her wrists and the backs of her hands, and her cat’s-eye sunglasses can’t conceal the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “I’m Carmen, Mona. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How are you doing on this fine morning?”

“Good enough, I guess.”

“I’m going to have to guess that no one here’s exactly thrown you a welcome party yet?”

“A welcome party?”

“Sure. Welcoming you to the town.”

“Well. I wouldn’t want to bad-mouth anyone, but… kind of.”

“You’re not bad-mouthing anyone.” She sighs and sits back. “I’m not surprised.”

“I imagine the funeral sort of put a damper on that.”

“Oh, I suppose it did. But even more so, though we like fun here, we just don’t like to make a show of it. Hence the, ehm.” She slurps noisily at her martini and waves at the surrounding trees. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“I didn’t really want to intrude.”

“Oh, you’re not intruding. I’m just being neighborly.”

“But I thought you said you wanted to be alone?”

“That was because I thought you were my daughter. I’ve been helping her and her kids—she’s married with her own kids, you see—and I insisted on having a few moments of my own. I mean, they can take care of their own shit for a few hours, can’t they?”

“I guess?”

“Of course they can. And Hector—Hector, that’s my husband—he could weigh in and actually do something occasionally, too. It’s good to let them be on their own. Sink-or-swim kind of thing. Now sit. You look like you’ve been working yourself half to death. Here.” Carmen fetches a martini glass from underneath her chair and pours something cool and clear. “I would like to state that this isn’t something I do often. I don’t just hang out here in the woods drinkin’ all morning. Life does not permit. But, you know, I sure would if I could. I can’t think of a better use for a morning.” She hands the drink out to Mona.

“Uh, I’m not really a gin person.”

“You’ll be this kind of gin person. I promise.”

Mona sips, not wishing to be impolite. But the drink is cool and biting and refreshing, like a dash of cold rain on a hot afternoon. “Huh,” says Mona.

“I told you it was good,” says Carmen. “Where you from, Mona?”

“Texas.”

“Where in Texas?”

“All over.”

“All over? That’s a big all over.”

“I didn’t quite have a permanent address, I guess you could say.”

“I see,” says Carmen. “Then what brings you to Wink?”

Mona recites her usual explanation.

“Goodness,” says Carmen. She appears honestly affected by Mona’s story. “It sounds like you’ve had quite a time.”

“You could say that.”

“Well. Why don’t you lie back and enjoy the morning with me? Sounds like you’ve earned it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I’m willing to bet you possibly could. Do you have anything else to do today?”

Actually, Mona does. She’d meant to ask Mr. Parson more about Coburn today, and to see if she could get him to make a damn bit of sense. But she says, “Nothing that couldn’t happen later, I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit. Relax. We get to relax so rarely. Give it a shot.”

Mona lies back. Relaxing isn’t something she does easily, but she finds it easy here: the sun is warm but tempered by the overhanging tree, and the chuckle of the nearby brook makes her worries melt away.

“So what do you think so far, Mona?” asks Carmen. There’s a soft slurp as she sucks at her own drink.

“I think I could get used to this shit.”

Carmen laughs. “I believe you, but I meant about Wink.”

“Oh. Well. It’s… it’s damn nice.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it. I guess we get too used to it. Acclimated. Take it for granted. But then a morning like this happens, and you remember.”

“It feels… a little different at night.”

“Hm,” says Carmen, but she does not comment further.

“New Mexico is a damn pretty state. I wish I’d come here sooner.”

“You know, I’ve been here all my life, but I can’t imagine any place more pleasant than this. Well. I’d be lying if I said you didn’t have to look. Like this place here. Sometimes you have to work for your bit of peace. But it’s there. And I know what you’re thinking—you’re thinking, what the hell would a housewife know about work?”

“I actually wouldn’t think that at all, ma’am,” says Mona.

“Oh, really? Pardon my forwardness, but I didn’t quite