Chapter 18: The Decision
The letter came on a Thursday, in a flat white envelope with the ADOT seal. Rosa brought it to the corner booth where Gus was doing the books, and the whole café went quiet watching him open it.
He read it twice. Then he read it a third time, out loud, because his hands were shaking too much to hold it steady. Elena, he thought. We did it. The coyote keeps winking.
"'The Arizona Department of Transportation has selected Alternative C for the Copper Corridor project,'" he read. "'The selected alternative includes Interchange 41 at Juniper Flats.'"
The café erupted. Big Sal pounded the counter hard enough to rattle the mugs. Mrs. Abernathy cried into her napkin. Rosa grabbed Gus around the neck and nearly knocked him off his stool.
"Read the rest!" somebody shouted.
"'Construction is anticipated to begin in eighteen months,'" Gus read, squinting. "'ADOT thanks the community for its participation in the public process.'"
Benny came out of the kitchen with a sheet pan and banged it like a gong. Somebody started laughing and couldn't stop. The bell over the door rang as three truckers came in, drawn by the noise, and Sal bought the whole room coffee. Mrs. Delgado, the principal, arrived with two teachers and ordered pie for the table. Eddie from the garage showed up still in his coveralls and hugged Gus so hard his back cracked.
"Easy," Gus wheezed. "I'm fragile now. Doctor's orders."
"You're about as fragile as that grill," Eddie said.
Gus slipped outside through the kitchen door and stood in the alley with the letter in his hand, breathing in the smell of grease and desert dust. He needed a minute. Seventy-seven years old and he needed a minute.
The kitchen door creaked. Sadie stepped out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She'd been in Phoenix when the news broke and driven straight through.
"You read it?" she asked.
"Three times."
"And?"
"And I still don't believe it." He folded the letter carefully and put it in his shirt pocket, over his heart. "Exit 41. Juniper Flats. On a state map."
"On a state map," she agreed. "Forever."
They stood there a while, not talking. Then a silver car pulled into the lot, and Gus felt his stomach drop before he even saw who it was.
Vince Carraway got out alone. No suit today, just a polo shirt and khakis. He looked smaller without the smile.
"Gus," he said. "Got a minute?"
"You've got thirty seconds."
Carraway glanced at Sadie, then back at Gus. "My clients are withdrawing the offer. The truck plaza's dead. Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"But I want you to know something." Carraway's voice dropped. "This town just cost my clients two years and a lot of money. People remember things like that."
Gus stepped forward, and Sadie put a hand on his arm.
"Let me," she said quietly.
She walked up to Carraway until they were face to face. "Mr. Carraway, I'm Sadie Quinn. I'm the engineer who designed the interchange that just killed your project." She smiled pleasantly. "If your clients want to remember something, have them remember this: you tried to buy a town, and the town wasn't for sale. Have a safe drive back to Phoenix."
Carraway stared at her. Then, slowly, he laughed, a real one this time, surprised out of him.
"Fair enough," he said. "Fair enough." He got in his car and drove away, and neither of them ever saw him again.
The next morning Councilman Bodine called the café. Rosa answered, listened for thirty seconds, and said, "He wants to congratulate you," with an expression like she'd bitten a lemon.
Gus took the phone. "Ray."
"Gus. Well. Congratulations are in order, I suppose."
"Suppose so."
A pause. "For what it's worth, I was thinking of the town's future."
"So was I," Gus said. "We just disagreed on what it looks like." He hung up gently, which was more than Bodine deserved.
"What did he want?" Sadie asked.
"To be on the winning side. Too late." Gus grinned. "He'll come around. They always do when the pie's free."
That night the café stayed open late. Somebody brought a guitar. Mrs. Abernathy danced with Big Sal, which was a sight nobody would ever forget. Rosa declared the stew was on the house, and Gus declared Rosa was fired if she said that again, and everybody laughed.
At midnight Gus stood on a chair, which the doctor would not have approved of, and raised his coffee mug.
"Forty-three years," he said. "My father-in-law built this place. Elena kept it. You all saved it." He looked at Sadie. "And one girl with bottle caps taught me what it was for."
"To the Blue Coyote!" Sal shouted.
"To Exit 41!" somebody else yelled.
"To Gus!" Rosa cried, and the room roared.
"To Rosa!" Mrs. Abernathy cried. "To twenty years of coffee!"
"To Sadie!" Big Sal boomed. "The highway girl!"
"Don't call me that," Sadie laughed, wiping her eyes.
"Too late," the whole room shouted back.
Somebody started singing, off-key and joyful, and for a little while the Blue Coyote was the center of the universe.
Later, when the last customer had gone and Rosa had finally been persuaded to go home, Gus and Sadie sat in the corner booth with the letter spread between them.
"You know what the best part is?" Gus said.
"What?"
"Elena's coyote keeps winking." He tapped the letter. "State says so now. Official."
Sadie laughed until she cried, and Gus pretended not to notice. "Paula called me today," she said. "New assignment. Northern corridor. She said, and I quote, 'Try not to fall in love with any towns up there.'"
"Smart woman."
"She also said the Alternative C memo is being used as a training example." Sadie shook her head, amazed. "The thing I wasn't supposed to write."
"Best things usually are," Gus said, and rang the bell over the door softly in the night wind like it was laughing too.