MONDAY MORNING TAKES a decade to arrive.
When I walk into the kitchen, Tony greets me with a extra big smile.
“You’re late,” he tells me, pointing at the clock.
“It’s five-thirty. On the nose.” I hold up my phone to prove the time.
“You’re not early.” He pretends to admonish me.
“If you want me here at five, pay me to show up at five.” I rub my fingers together in the universal gesture for money.
“I’m paying you now.” He taps his giant spatula on the grill before flipping some home fries.
“I’ll bring you coffee when it’s ready.”
I drop my bag and pull on my apron. Silly me believes I’ve avoided him teasing me about my date on Saturday.
When I return with a mug of coffee, he grins at me. “You like Las Chicas?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Best chiles rellenos I’ve ever eaten.”
“Handsome date enjoy them, too?” he asks, too innocently.
“He did.” I give him nothing. “What happened to not wanting to know about our love lives? Should I stay after closing so we can braid each other’s hair and gossip about boys?”
His spatula freezes mid air as he stares up at the exhaust hood. “Hell no.”
“Didn’t think so.” I set his coffee on the shelf near the stove.
Wanda strolls through the back door, all frosted mauve smiles and extra high hair.
“Someone had an overnight guest,” she announces to the room.
Tony mumbles something in Spanish and makes the sign of the cross over his chest. “Why am I the only one working this morning? Wanda, don’t tell me why you’re late. Get to work.”
“Oh, I wasn’t talking about myself. Lucy’s the one with the truck parked in her guest spot.”
Parking in her guest spot sounds like a terrible euphemism for sex. Leave it to Wanda.
Tony’s eyes flick to me and then he shakes his head. “What you do on your own time is none of my business. Now will someone please set up the dining room before the customers have to do it themselves?”
Wanda opens her mouth to speak. Grabbing her by the arm, I pull her out of the kitchen.
“Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she whispers excitedly.
I really don’t want to and contemplate lying to her.
“I’m so happy for you.” She hugs me before I can say anything.
Briefly, I hug her back.
Squeezing me tight, she starts to jump up and down. “I recognized Boone’s truck.”
I have no option but to bounce with her or have my shoulders pulled out of the socket.
Once I manage to escape her hold, I tell her, “Please don’t make a big deal about this.”
Her smile falls. “Oh, no. Was it bad?”
Wrinkling her nose, she holds her fingers about an inch apart.
“No, not that.” Laughing, I avoid looking at her. “I just, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you two gossiping out there?” Tony’s voice carries through window.
As soon as we open the doors, the diner is packed with visitors for the alien festival in addition to the regulars. I barely have time to say hi to Boone and take his order.
When I pick up the plate of pecan pancakes, Tony jerks his head, indicating I should look behind me. I turn around. At his new spot at the counter, Boone’s quietly smirking while tapping away at his phone.
“Tell him if he makes you cry at work, I have a baseball bat back here.” He points to the corner behind him.
Lifting the plate, I roll my eyes. “I’m not going to tell him you’re threatening paying customers with violence.”
Unaware of Tony’s ridiculous threat, Boone smiles and licks his lips when he sees his pancakes.
He pours syrup around the edge, then sticks his finger in the puddle and licks off the sticky liquid.
I want to suggest we meet up in the walk-in fridge for a quick make-out session, but Tony would probably fire me on the spot and chase Boone around with his baseball bat.
Playing tourist with Boone has been a fun distraction. He’s already made plans to take me away this weekend for some sort of super secret adventure.
All week I’ve spent barely any time reading blogs or watching videos online. I’ve skipped going to the Center, making excuses to Zed about taking extra shifts at the Burger Joint in the afternoons. The lies are piling up all around me.
To make amends for being sucked into the Boone vortex, I buy the ingredients to make cookies for Jim. In my little kitchen, which is just a wall in the living room, I mix up a batch of oatmeal dough while listening to one of my favorite podcasts. This episode is about the uptick in UFO sightings around the country.
I save a small amount of dough for myself that won’t be sullied by raisins.
Once Jim’s cookies are in the oven, I sit down and eat my dough with a spoon. Salmonella be damned.
The podcast’s host, a guy named Bert, has a lovely soothing voice as he retells various stories about unidentified lights in the night sky. He reminds me a little of Cecil Baldwin, the narrator of Welcome to Night Vale, my all time favorite fiction podcast. At times, living in Roswell feels like a real life version of Night Vale. While Bert talks about orbs and triangular light formations, I open my laptop and find my bookmark for the Hudson Valley UFO site.
Years before I was born, small towns in upstate New York were inundated with UFO sightings over the course of one summer.
According to the debunkers and skeptics, the massive ship was a group of small airplanes flying in close formation over the rural areas at night. The same explanation has been used for other reported UFOS over Death Valley and in the Pacific Northwest.
I open another tab and scroll through a database of sightings in New York going back decades.
I’ve looked through the dates and locations dozens of times over the years, but I always hope if I keep going back, I’ll discover something new. Or someone will add a new date and description to the collection around the time of my dad’s disappearance.
Nothing catches my attention.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I click on Wikipedia and reread about the Hill abduction in New Hampshire in the sixties.
Betty and Barney.
Just like the characters in the old cartoon, The Flintstones.
The two most interesting parts of the Hill story for me are the missing time and Betty’s dreams about the abduction.
Somehow, somewhere, that fateful night in New Hampshire they lost three hours of time.
Why only three hours?
Why not a lifetime?
Like the Hills, hypnosis was used on my mom and me by a ufologist after my dad disappeared. We didn’t experience missing time or strange dreams. Mom told me later the hypnotist tried to get her to admit to seeing gray-skinned, little men in military uniforms.
Just like the Hill’s account.
Pretty shady stuff.
My timer dings and the cookies are done.
After sliding them to a cooling rack, I finish listening to Bert’s soothing voice wrap up the episode.
He kind of reminds me of David Duchovny, which makes me think of Shari.
I text her to say hi.
I have more guilt about only hanging out with Boone and ditching her.
Bouncing dots appear on the screen and I wait for her response.
*Let’s all have dinner soon at place. Tell my brother he needs to share!!*
I quickly type a response.
*Sounds good. Check schedules and let me know. I’m free most evenings.*
Smiling, I pile as many cookies as I can on a plate and loosely cover them with foil.
“There. Now you’re protected from attack by electromagnetic rays.”
Jim’s door is open, so I knock on the frame. “Cookie delivery.”
Through the screen, I can see him propped up in his recliner. The television’s on, showing a baseball game from the announcer’s voice describing plays.
“Knock, knock.” I tap louder on the door.
“Who is it?” his thick voice asks as he jerks upright.
“It’s Lucy. Halliday. Your neighbor,” I add. “Were you sleeping?”
I know he spends a lot of his day taking cat naps, so I don’t feel too bad for waking him.
“You say something about cookies?” he asks, flipping down the leg-rest of his chair.
“I brought the oatmeal raisin ones you requested.” I hold the plate in front of my face.
“What are you doing out there with them? Come in already.” Waving me forward, he tries to stand. Takes two attempts before he’s upright.
“Don’t get up, I’m coming to you.” I swing open the door and step into the dim living room. It’s a twin to my own apartment, but his space is cluttered with possessions while mine is a study in minimalism, aka what fits in a Honda Accord and being cheap.
“Did you put the raisins in them?” He accepts the plate and smiles. “Oh, they’re still warm.”
Peeling back the foil, he inhales. Before selecting one, he eyes them carefully.
“I added twice the recommended amount of raisins. They’re in there.”
Making his decision, he bites into one. “Mmm. Good job.”
“Thanks.”
“You haven’t been sitting at home as much. You find yourself a fella?” He squints at me. “No need to answer. I can tell you do.”
“How?” I press my hand to my heated cheek.
“For one, you’re smiling. Two, Wanda came by yesterday all twitterpated about you having a truck in your guest parking.”
Still sounds like a bad euphemism for sex. Worse when he says it and then winks.
“That’s a lot of assuming based on someone parking in my spot. Could’ve been a random vehicle taking advantage of an opening.”
“You’ve got a glow to you. Seen that before a few times when I fancied a lady and she fancied me back.” He bites into his second cookie. “My advice? Enjoy the ride. Love’s a rollercoaster without seat belts. Whatever goes up, is going to come down eventually. Hold on tight and you might get lucky enough to make it to the end with only a few bruises. Or you could get thrown for a loop and end up with your heart busted.”
He coughs, sounding more congested than usual. With his thin, white hair slicked back from his forehead, I notice the hollow in his cheeks. Combined with the loose fit of his shirt, I worry he’s not eating enough.
“That’s a terrible analogy.” I step into his kitchen to get a glass of water for him.
“So be it. Just came up with it on the spot.” He sips the water. “Point is, life’s more fun on the ride than sitting on the side watching.”
My brow furrows as I try to get to that conclusion from his previous description.
“I’m old. You’re too young to understand how this all works.” He clears his throat and spits into a folded handkerchief he pulls from his shirt pocket. “I’ve got no one else to listen to me. Pretend I’m sharing nuggets of wisdom.”
That’s not true. I know Wanda checks on him and he has his goon squad down at the Legion.
“How are you feeling these days?” I inquire out of genuine concern. He reminds me a lot of my grandpa and I hate the thought of him being lonely.
“Doc says the COPD’s getting worse.” He spits again, and I look away. “I’m ready for what’s coming next. Getting tired of dragging this tank around with me like a scuba diver on land.”
“We could get you an astronaut’s spacesuit. Might be more comfortable.”
“And what? Piss in a bag? Or a diaper? Not as glamorous as it sounds. And I know from firsthand experience,” he scoffs at my disgust. “Back when I was a pilot, not recently.”
“Tell me a story about when you were flying planes.” I perch on the arm of his plaid couch.
“Want to hear about the UFO I saw over the Atlantic?” Munching another cookie, he sprays a few crumbs when he speaks.
“You told me that one already.”
“Fine. That’s my best one. Give me a minute to make something else up.” He sips his water and then finishes his cookie.
I sit on the couch for an hour while he tells me stories about his time in the Navy. When his voice fades out with another yawn, I excuse myself and tell him to set the plate outside his door when he’s done with it.
Taking the short trip across the courtyard to my own casita, I stare at the evening sky lit with orange streaked with purple. I’ll miss New Mexico sunsets.
Opening the door, I realize it’s been weeks since I’ve thought about leaving town or where I’ll go when my time here is up.