Page 5 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
Two ranchers sat hunched over coffee in sweat-stained hats, murmuring about cattle going missing. A woman with three toddlers was fighting a losing battle with a bottle of ketchup. And behind the counter stood a woman with the kind of presence that filled the whole room without even trying. Nora hadn’t seen Gloria in years, but the woman hadn’t changed. Same lavender hair. Same old apron. Same no-bullshit stare that had once caught Nora sneaking mezcal from Orin’s cabinet.
Gloria glanced up, not missing a beat. “Figured you’d show up sooner or later.”
Nora stopped halfway to her booth and shot Gloria a look. “Still got your sixth sense, huh?”
Gloria was wiping down a coffee carafe with a threadbare rag. “I’d know that slouch anywhere. Same eyes. Same shoulders. Like you’re always about to fight or bolt.”
Nora gave a crooked smile and slid into the corner booth, her legs squeaking on the hot vinyl.
“He passed three weeks ago.”
“I know.”
Gloria poured coffee into a chipped white mug, sliding it across the table with a practiced flick. “You’re gonna want the huevos rancheros, unless your stomach’s gone fancy since you left.”
Nora couldn’t help the dry chuckle. “Some things don’t change.”
Gloria winked and walked back behind the counter, hollering the order to the cook. Ten minutes later, Nora was halfway through the best greasy breakfast she’d had in months, staring out the window at a field of brittle scrub grass and old tires.
Gloria joined her, black coffee in hand, leaning on the table like they’d done this a thousand times before.
“He used to come in every Thursday. Black coffee and two hard-boiled eggs. Then he’d leave some kind of clue on the counter. Like a photo or a newspaper clipping.”
Nora looked up. “Clues for what?”
“Whatever he thought was lurking out there. Mysterious lights, footprints he swore were shifting at night. Once he left a cassette tape and told me to listen to it with the lights off.”
Nora’s eyebrows arched. “Did you?”
Gloria gave her a long look. “Of course I did.”
Gloria caught Nora up with all the gossip in the little town, and Nora filled her in on what she’d been doing, but Gloria stopped her mid-sentence, reaching out and putting her hand on Nora’s arm.
“Honey, I know it all so well, I feel like I was there. Your grandfather never stopped talking about how proud he was of you. You followed your dreams and got out of the desert, just like your mama.”
“Really? He never told me much. I always felt like I abandoned him,” Nora said, her chest tight.
“Sweetheart, your grandfather was always going to be himself, no matter what. He had one passion since yourgrandma left us. That desert. The history, the stories… it was all he cared about in the end,” Gloria gave her a meaningful look. “Don’t go chasing ghosts, honey. He did what he did. So did you. That’s just life.”
Nora stepped out into the sun. The air was still heavy, but something inside her wasn’t. Gloria hadn’t tried to fix her. She just reminded her that she wasn’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.
The rest of the town felt like it was waiting for something to happen. Nora passed a barbershop with a sign reading “CLOSED DUE TO APOCALYPSE” and a mural of a jackalope painted on a crumbling wall. An old woman shuffled by, hunched over a walker, muttering, “Your shadow walks behind you,” before crossing herself and shuffling away.
Nora just kept moving. She didn’t want to know what that meant.
She picked up groceries at the tiny market. It had all the charm of a neglected fallout shelter. Four aisles, buzzing fluorescents, a smell that lived somewhere between old gum and cat food. She grabbed water, chips, pasta, ice cream, chocolate. Wine. The essentials. She could feel eyes on her. The locals were pretending not to stare while absolutely clocking the unfamiliar face in town.
One man saw her turn down an aisle and pivoted so fast he knocked over a can of beans. She offered him a polite nod. He did not return it.
The cashier was a gangly teenager in a Metallica shirt, the sleeves hacked off and a rattail hanging down the back of his neck. He scanned her groceries like they were contagious, barely glancing up.
When he finally handed over the receipt, he paused, like he was thinking of whether to say something or not.
“You’re her, huh?” he said, voice low.
Nora raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Orin’s granddaughter. The one who came back.”
