WE CREPT PAST THE ghost-town cemetery. The graves were mounded with bare dirt and flat stones. Rio’s mother was buried here, I remembered. When Rio was only three, she died somewhere along those eighty miles I had just traveled. She was on her way back from grocery shopping in Alpine.
As we rolled past the rocky ruins of old buildings, the rounded facade of the Starlight Theatre came into view. “Where’s the ghost town?” I asked.
“You’re in it,” Cannon replied.
“Where do people live?”
L.B. pointed at the hillside beyond. At first glance it looked more like a rock pile than anything else. On second glance, below the mine tailings that crowned the hill, small rock houses came into focus. Scattered across the slope, they were camouflaged uncannily well by giant prickly pear cactus, ocotillo, creosote bush, and half-fallen stone walls from the mining era. Vehicles were sprinkled here and there. I made out a few people moving around on foot.
Cannon hawked out the window again. “Back in the 1970s, that’s when the artists and river runners and what-not started moving into the ruins. Generally people without two nickels to rub together, mostly Texans who wanted to get away from it all and didn’t mind cohabitating with the snakes and scorpions. For years they had no electricity, no running water—some still live that way.”
As we pulled into the Starlight’s almost empty parking lot, Cannon told me that the store on the left, the Terlingua Trading Company, was the modern-day incarnation of the company store from the era when the quicksilver mines here produced nearly half the nation’s mercury.
The pickup rolled to a stop. My eyes were on the Starlight in search of my cousin and my uncle. The only people in sight were two guys on the bench at the back of the long porch that connected the store and the restaurant with an art gallery in between.
L.B. wished me luck as he drove out. The two men at the back of the porch came to the rail, not to greet me, but to gaze into the distance.
I turned around to see what they were looking at, and there were the Chisos Mountains, bigger than life and all lit up by the setting sun, their battlements aglow with brilliant reds and golds.
I climbed the steps to the porch, dropped my stuff on the bench, and went into the restaurant. This time I was keeping my expectations in check. Something told me this wasn’t going to work out, either. Maybe there would be another message.
Folding metal chairs, concrete floor . . . there was nothing fancy about the Starlight, but it was loaded with atmosphere. I felt like I was five hundred miles deep into Mexico, in the time of Pancho Villa. The plastered walls were watermelon red giving way to mango gold. If I wasn’t mistaken, some of the plaster was pocked with bullet holes. Up toward the ceiling, the plaster had fallen away, revealing the bare stones. The walls had to be massively thick to be able to soar that high and support the rafters running clear across. “On the Road Again” was playing on the PA to a nearly empty house. Only three tables had customers, and the bar stools were empty.
I stayed planted for a minute just inside the front door. I was thinking of what to do when a lanky kid with shaggy brown hair appeared at the kitchen doorway. He was wearing an apron. At first I wasn’t positive it was him. This kid looked like he might be older than Rio’s fifteen, and was taller and more muscled than I was expecting.
Yep, it was Rio. Soon as he had me spotted, my cousin broke into a big smile and gave a couple of fist pumps. He called my name as he was closing in, and I called his. He grabbed me with a bear hug. I was pretty well shell-shocked.
“I can’t believe it!” Rio exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’re actually here!”
“Me neither. You’ve shot up since your last Christmas card.”
I looked around for my uncle, but I didn’t spy any candidates. “It’s been a long day,” I said.
“I’m so glad that you came, Dylan.”
What came out of my mouth in return was, “Can I still get something to eat?”
“Not a problem. I was hoping you’d get here before closing. It’s two-for-one burger night.”
“But you’re working, right?”
“My boss said he would finish the dishwashing when you got here.” Rio took off the apron, folded it, and placed it on the side of the bar. “No more pearl diving until August.”
Rio led the way to a table. I asked if my backpack and duffel were okay where they were, outside on the bench.
“Sure thing—this is Terlingua.”
Just then a very attractive waitress came around from behind the bar and headed our way. She was my mother’s age, but she didn’t dress anything like my mother. She wore black, with lots of silver and lots of style. “Howdy, boys,” she said. “Who’s your friend, Rio?”
“This is Dylan, my river-crazy cousin from North Carolina.”
The lady gave me a big smile. “Lot of rivers back in North Carolina, Dylan?”
“Yes, ma’am, and lots of trees.”
“Been out here before?”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t.”
“What does it look like to you?”
“Huge. Empty. Dry. Snakebit, I guess.”
“Never heard it put better.”
By this time I could have eaten the menus for an appetizer, except the waitress had them tucked under her elbow. Rio looked at me strangely, like I was staring at the lady’s elbow, then introduced her. Ariel was her name. She was his neighbor in the ghost town, and she was also an artist.
Ariel asked if we were up for the two-for-one burgers with fries. Rio recommended the guacamole topping. “Perfect,” I said. We both ordered large Cokes.
“Back to our trip,” I said. “I Googled four different canyons in Big Bend. What stretch of the river are you and your dad talking about?”
“We were going to do the Lower Canyons.”
“Now we’re going to paddle somewhere else?”
All of a sudden, Rio looked real uncomfortable. “Guess I might as well spit it out. My dad isn’t around.”
“Where is he?”
“He took off a few days ago for Alaska.”