"The doctor said the new ones are important," Maya said gently.
"The doctor also said I should rest," Rosa said. "And resting is boring. So I played cards instead. I won twice."
On the counter beside the pill bottles sat a stack of envelopes, and Maya knew what they were. And the thick white envelope from the cardiology clinic in Victorville, with the statement inside that Maya had read three times. The number at the bottom was larger than two months of her wages, and it did not include the next appointment or the next round of tests.
"I read it," Rosa said, following her gaze. "And then I put it down, because staring at a number does not make it smaller. We will pay what we can, mija. That is all anyone can do."
Maya swallowed the lump in her throat. She had been working double shifts for three weeks straight, picking up every extra hour Al would give her. Her tips went into a jar on the kitchen shelf, and every Friday she counted them out and carried them to the bank. The jar filled, and the bills arrived, and the gap between them stayed stubbornly the same.
"You should not be working so hard," Rosa said softly. "A girl your age should be out living, not carrying the whole house on her back."
"You carried it for me first," Maya said. "When Mama left, you took me in. You raised me. This is my turn."
Rosa reached across the table and took Maya's hand. "You turned out good, mija. Better than good. I am proud of you every single day."
She thought about the little house, and the way Rosa had never once complained about any of it. She thought about the diner, the only steady work within thirty miles, and the regulars who asked about Rosa every time they came in. The diner was more than a job. It was the center of everything.
That was why the call from Al that evening had shaken her more than the bullies had. Al had pulled her aside, his face drawn and serious. Victor Brennan had come into the diner that afternoon, and laid a folder on the counter. Inside was an offer to buy the diner, the lot, and everything on it. The number was large. But Al had said no. He had built the Desert Star with his own hands, and he would not sell it to a man who wanted to tear it down.
But Victor had smiled when Al refused. He had reminded Al that the diner sat on leased land, and that the lease was up for renewal in ninety days. A truck-stop plaza was coming to that corner whether Al liked it or not. If Al would not sell, the lease would simply not be renewed, and the Desert Star would be bulldozed.
Maya had stood there listening and felt the floor tilt under her feet. Ninety days. That was all the time they had. Ninety days, and the diner would be gone, and with it her job, Al's life's work, and the place where the whole town came to eat and talk. She had not told Rosa any of this. Not yet. Rosa had enough to carry without adding the diner's troubles to her own.
"Eat your pie," Rosa said now, pushing the plate toward her. "And then you should sleep. Tomorrow is another day, and tomorrow we will figure out what comes next. One day at a time."
Maya ate the pie. It tasted like apples and cinnamon and home. Outside, the desert wind moved through the Joshua trees, and the stars came out one by one. Inside the little house, the lamp glowed, and for a few quiet minutes, the bills on the counter and the developer's threats and the bullies at the diner all felt very far away.
Later, after Rosa had gone to bed, Maya stood at the sink washing dishes and looked out the window at the dark road. She thought about Earl, the old man who had sat so quietly in his booth. She thought about the way the bullies had laughed at him. She only knew that she had done the right thing, and that whatever came next, she would face it the same way she faced everything else: one day at a time.
Chapter 7: Thunder
Two hours after the bullies left, the Desert Star Diner had settled back into its evening rhythm. The dinner crowd had thinned. A couple of truckers lingered over coffee at the counter. A family with two sleepy children paid their check and headed out into the cooling desert night. Maya wiped down the booth where the bullies had sat, scrubbing a little harder than she needed to, as if she could erase the whole ugly scene with a wet rag.
Earl was still there. He sat in his corner booth with a fresh cup of coffee, his cane leaning against the seat beside him, reading the newspaper as if nothing had happened. Every so often he looked up, and when his eyes met Maya's, he gave her a small, grateful nod. She had checked on him twice, and both times he had told her he was fine, that she should not worry, that he had been in worse scrapes and come out smiling. She believed him. There was something steady about the old man, something that made the whole room feel calmer just by being in it.