It had snowed over eleven inches the evening before up in the mountains and here it was eight in the morning and still coming down. The dry, puffy kind of snow that seemed to pile up as quick as you could shovel it off the sidewalks and driveways. The plows hadn’t even ventured out yet. Should have been a slow business day, not that it’s ever a real busy day up past Story, Wyoming. It was a land of hermits, people who like to take life slow and easy, and folks who would rather have their past forgotten. If you craved the fast paced life of the city, Story was definitely not the place for you.
That’s why Sophie was surprised when she heard the cowbell on the front door clatter, telling her that a customer was coming in. She looked up from her inventory of Green Giant frozen vegetables, and was even more surprised to see that it wasn’t a customer, but her father. They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in who knows how long?
She stood and and watched him as he brushed the powdery snow off.
“Sophie, before you say anything, the first thing I want to say is that I was wrong. I was wrong the whole time and I’m sorry. I should have supported you,” the reverend was having a hard time choking down his tears, so he handed her an envelope, “Here, this came for you yesterday afternoon.”
She took the letter and looked at the handwriting. It was from Jake. For a big man he wrote with a surprisingly nice touch. The stamp was from Mexico.
Her hands were shaking so badly that she handed it back to her father for him to open.
Dear Sophie,
All I can hope is that your Dad gets this letter to you. I don’t know if you have heard the news or not. I’m out. It’s too long of a story to tell you in a letter, but I’m out of prison. I know it’s been a long time and the last thing I want to do is interfere in your life but if you want to write me, here is my address. There is no phone where I live but I’ve enclosed a map if you ever want to visit me. I still feel the same.
Love,
Jake
“Do you need money?”
Sophie looked up from the letter at her father. “What?”
“Money. Do you need money?”
“For what?”
“For Mexico.”
Her old Mazda pickup ran like it had just rolled off the factory floor. Her only complaint was its lack of air conditioning once she crossed the border at Yuma and crossed over to Mexicali. The heat was oppressive.
She had driven non stop after her shift had ended at the grocery store, getting by on Cokes and fast food burgers. Sophie had apologized profusely to the owner that she had to leave on such short notice, but he had merely shrugged his shoulders.
San Felipe had seemed so close when she had first looked at its location on the map, but now that the initial surge of adrenaline had worn off, it seemed like it might as well have been in Peru.
The directions on Jake's map showed that he lived just north of San Felipe in a unmarked location on road atlases. She had been driving for miles on a winding dirt road that seemed like it was never going to end. Sophie had just decided that she was lost and was about to turn around to try to find someone who could give her directions, when she saw the Sea of Cortez and the old Winnebago trailer. Just like on Jake’s map.
She turned left onto the short driveway that came up behind the trailer and parked her truck there. Jutted up against the Winnebago was one of those old Volkswagen camper vans, the kind where the top popped up with some sort of tent. A ratty old hound came bounding around the side of the van and licked her hand, then turned and went back the way he came. Sophie followed after him.
Sitting there in wheelchair covered in Harley Davidson and rock and roll decals, was a beautiful woman with the most incredible tan that Sophie had ever seen. Her hair was silver and was done up in a braided ponytail that wound down into her lap. If you took the braids out, her hair would have easily spilled out onto the ground. On a picnic table next to her was a brass hookah pipe that the woman was puffing away contentedly on from one of the hoses coming off its octopus like body. The hound had collapsed at her feet and was unashamedly washing his balls.
She smiled at Sophie. “I just got my husband back. So I’m celebrating.”
“Excuse me.”
“My husband, Billy. He passed away last month and you know, things move slow in Mexico, so I just got him back.”
“Excuse me,” Sophie repeated, “I don’t understand.”
“From the funeral home, dear. We just got him back from the funeral home. He wanted to be cremated and they were booked up or short on gas for the oven, or some bullshit, so I just got him back. He’s right there.” She pointed at a quart bottle of Corona. “He wanted his ashes poured into a beer bottle. Typical fucking Billy. They had to crunch up the bone junks to fit ‘em in the bottle.”
Billy. Billy was Jake’s uncle, Sophie thought. “Are you Dawn Morrow?”
The woman had an infectious laugh.
“In the flesh. And I know that you must be Sophie. Jake went out partying with the boys last night but he’ll be around shortly.”