The thunderheads of summer afternoons in the high desert rose in the west. Black turrets spilling over deep blue, rolling across mesas, mountains, pueblos, villages, towns. A hundred miles away, a portcullis of rain fell onto the mesas. The water swelling the arroyos from dry riverbeds to dangerous currents, all the while moving steadily east. By sunset Zamora would be drenched.
Kate and Troy traveled slowly down the mountain.
“Runs good,” he said, listening to the downshift from third to second. He was raised fixing things. Whenever he got into a pinch, he took a job at a garage. “Runs good,” he repeated with pride.
“Like a top,” she murmured.
In New Mexico, a reliable mechanic was more valuable than a lover. In fact, Troy wasn’t much of a lover but he was an ace with cars. When they made love, she tried prompting him to relax but his mind was too busy. Most men’s minds were too busy.
“Where will you go?” Kate tried to sound empathetic.
Troy rested his arm along the back of the seat, regarding Kate’s pretty profile, pretty blouse.
“Maybe you’ll fly over to Maui.” He passed her a sly smile. “Ever been to Maui?”
“No,” she said. In photos, Hawaii looked like suburbia in the tropics.
“We can hike into the center of Hanna-Akala. It’s emerald inside the crater. Emerald,” he sighed poetically.
New Mexico was the antithesis of emerald. Later when the rains came, the browns would darken into purple, magenta, prune, mud. In the valleys the cottonwoods, apple trees, chile fields would drink the rain. In town lawns and flower beds would drink the rain. But as soon as the rain swept over and was gone, everything would look thirsty and dry again.
“We’ll stay at my condo,” he snapped his fingers. “I got a bamboo bar by a picture window with a view of the Pacific. A swimming pool with a thatched cabana. You’d like it, Kate, I promise.”
Kate’s eyes fixed on the road, counting the miles and minutes into town. Whether Troy was flimflam, quack, victim, or crook, he was tiresome. However, her parentage dictated a fascination with such men. Her father had been convicted of embezzlement. For twenty years he’d stolen money to purchase their large home, large cars, luxury family vacations. Maybe he was smarter or luckier than Troy. A thief instead of a fantasizer. She and her father weren’t in touch. She’d only seen him twice since he got out prison.
Troy caressed her hand. “I’m sailing the Jaguar to Hawaii in October. Maybe you’ll come along.”