The Influence(5)

He left early, not bothering to wake his parents, not bothering to say goodbye, hitting McDonald’s for a quick junk food breakfast before heading out on the highway. He felt a little down as he headed into the pre-dawn darkness and the last lights of Phoenix disappeared behind the low desert hills in his rearview mirror. But the sun came up soon after, rising quickly, clear and bright, and a weird feeling of liberation overcame him as he passed Picacho Peak, heading south.

By the time he reached the outskirts of Tucson, he was filled with a renewed sense of optimism. He raced past a freight train, chugging slowly on tracks that paralleled the highway. He wasn’t merely leaving behind his old life; he was starting a new one. This wasn’t a retreat. It was a beginning. And if it so happened that he never found a job making as much money as he had at Air Research, if he ended up eking out a living doing manual labor or working the land, well, that was okay. He would survive. He might even thrive.

He didn’t know what the future would hold.

And for the first time, that prospect was not frightening to him but exciting.

He’d told Lita he was coming today, but he’d also told her that he’d arrive mid-afternoon and not to save lunch for him, he’d grab something on the way. In Tucson, he found a Target, where he looked for something he could bring to his hosts as a thank you present. Nothing struck his fancy, but he stopped off at a nearby Bookman’s, where he browsed for an hour or so before picking out a Southwest cookbook and a boxed set of Beatles CDs that he thought Lita and Dave would like. For lunch, he ate at a Subway in Benson that was adjacent to the gas station where he filled up, and it was shortly after two when he finally drove down the dirt road into Magdalena.

As before, the directions to Lita’s ranch were on a piece of paper on the seat next to him, but this time he didn’t need them. He remembered the way and turned down the second dirt road, passed the beauty salon and houses, went into open country and turned in at the mailbox, going up the narrow drive until he reached the L Bar-D. He pulled up in front of the main house rather than the guest house, figuring he’d better check in first, but before he could even get out of the car, Lita was on the porch and waving him forward. “Park by the shack!” she called.

Ross nodded, started the car again and drove around the house and several yards down, stopping on the side of the small building.

Dave emerged from the guest house, where he’d been installing a new water-saver showerhead, just as Lita ran up. It was clear almost instantly that the two of them had been fighting—

about him?

—but they were both friendly and welcoming, individually if not together, and Dave helped him unload the heavier items while Lita brought over supplies such as paper towels and bottled water from the main house. The living room/sleeping area was larger than he remembered, which was good, because he’d brought quite a few things. He told Lita and Dave to just pile everything in the middle of the floor and on the counter, and he’d find a place for it. From the Bookman’s bag that he’d taken from the front seat, he withdrew the cookbook and Beatles CDs that he’d bought in Tucson. “Here,” he said, clumsily handing them over. “A little thank you present for letting me stay here.”

“You didn’t have to—” Lita began.

“All right!” Dave said. “The Beatles!”

She shot him a look of disapproval.

“And I want to pay rent,” Ross said. “Each month, I’m going to—”

“No,” Lita and Dave said together. They looked at each other, and something like a smile passed between them. “You’re our guest,” Lita told him, “not our tenant. We invited you here. We’re not taking money from you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Rossie. Discussion over.”

He recognized that voice from when they were young and knew it was futile to argue with her. “Thanks,” he said sincerely.

“We’ll leave you alone, let you get settled. I’ll give you a shout out when dinner’s ready. You can eat with us or take it back here to the shack, whatever you want.”

Already he felt awkward, an intruder in their lives. “Do you need some help?” he asked. “I’m not a great cook, but if you want someone to—”

“I can handle it.” She smiled. “Just get yourself settled in. We’ll sort out the details tomorrow. And thank you for the cookbook. You didn’t have to go to all that trouble, but it was very thoughtful of you.”

“The CDs, too!” Dave called as they headed out the door. “The Beatles,” Ross heard him say as they walked back to the house. “A boxed set!”