“And you don’t eat flour because . . .”
“Well, I could. But why would I? I ordered fruit and oatmeal. That’s food. Why should I have a bunch of bleached white flour instead? There’s no nutrition in it. They take out all the nutrients when they refine it. And then they fortify it with vitamins, but it’s just like taking a vitamin pill. You might as well pop a daily vitamin and skip all the refined carbs, because they only make you hyper and crash your blood sugar and make you irritable. They don’t do your body any good. And the only way they taste like anything is after you slather them with butter and syrup, and butter is from animals and syrup is just pure sugar, and sugar’s like the worst thing we could possibly be eating . . .”
The waitress came with their breakfasts just then. Bea looked at her four strips of bacon and her three greasy fried eggs, and the mountain of crispy golden-brown potatoes. And the four pancakes on a separate plate.
“My goodness, that looks absolutely delicious,” she said to the waitress. But it was really more for the benefit of the girl. “Extra butter and syrup, please.”
When she left, Bea offered a dismissive look in the direction of the fruit plate.
“Sorry,” Allie said. “But you asked.”
“If you could think of a place to go . . . ,” Bea said, her stomach almost uncomfortably full, “. . . you know . . . someplace where you’d be safe, and they’d take you in . . . I might consider driving you there.”
Allie looked up from her fruit cup. She had been meticulously sticking a fork into each piece of cantaloupe and honeydew melon and using her knife to carve away the slightest bit of white or green from the rind edge. Bea had been watching and wondering, but choosing not to comment.
“That’s pretty generous of you. Especially since you have no idea where I would say I needed to go. What if it was in the exact opposite direction from where you’re going?”
“I can go in any direction I choose.”
“Where do you live?”
“That’s a bit of a personal question.”
“How can it be too personal to ask where you live? People ask each other that all the time.”
“You don’t tell a stranger where you live. It’s like writing your address on your house key and then giving your keys to some stranger who parks cars. It’s just not the right way to stay safe in this world. Which, let me tell you, is plenty different from the world I was born into.”
Allie performed another minor surgery on a chunk of watermelon and then chewed it thoughtfully. “I didn’t ask for your address. I just meant the city. What city do you live in?”
Bea said nothing for a time. Just sat and stared out the window and felt her face redden. The last thing she wanted was to be pressured into telling a relative stranger that she was homeless.
“Okay, fine,” Allie said. “Never mind. Nothing is any of my business.”
“For decades I lived in the Coachella Valley. Near Indio.”
“When did you move?”
“I left about a week ago. Maybe a little more. I think I’ve lost track of the days by now.”
“But you’re not headed back there?”
“No. Dear me, no. Too hot.”
“Why live there all those years if it’s too hot?”
“I had air-conditioning back in those days.”
Allie pushed her empty bowl away, took her shredded napkin off her lap, and wiped her mouth politely. At least she had table manners. “Okay, I know where I want to go.”
“Good. Where?”
“Your house.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not kidding. I’ve got no place.”
“Well, my house won’t do. I was not inviting you to move in.”
“You still haven’t told me where you live now.”
Bea felt the heat in her face grow and deepen. Her gaze instinctively flickered out the window to the van in the parking lot.
“Oh, I get it,” Allie said.
“What do you get?”
“You live in your van. That explains a lot. Like why you have a recliner in there. And a cardboard dresser. And blankets. And your cat and his litter box.”
“Her.”
“Her what?”
“My cat is a she. Her litter box.”
“Fine. Whatever. She. Wow, we have a lot in common. A week ago you had a regular place to live and now you’re out in the world alone. Just like me.”
“I think that’s where our similarity ends.”
“Still seems like a lot for two people to have in common.”
The check arrived, and Bea laid a twenty on it, which covered both meals and a small tip. She made no effort to continue the conversation.
“So where were you going before I came along?” Allie asked.
“I thought I’d go north along the coast.”
“Fine.”
“What’s fine?”
“You asked me where I wanted to go. I want to go north along the coast. With you.”
“I meant someplace you could jump off.”
“Well, give me a chance to find someplace. If you let me come with you for a few days, maybe I could find someplace to be. Maybe I could find some work, or make a friend who would take me in. If you get sick of me, you can put me out anytime.”
“Well, I definitely agree to that last part,” Bea said.
As they walked across the parking lot together, something that had been roiling in Bea’s mind found its way to the surface.
“You certainly have an optimistic view of the world for someone who’s just been through what you claim.”
Allie stopped walking. It took Bea a moment to notice. A few steps later she turned around to see where the child had gone.
“You still don’t believe me,” Allie said.
“It’s quite a story.”
“You’re not a very trusting type, are you?”
“No. Why should I be?”
“Because lots of people are good. Or that’s what I believe anyway.”
“Well, I haven’t met anyone matching that description recently.”
The man with the two blonde girls forced his way into her head, but she pushed him out again. She refused to dwell on the tank of gas he had bought her, because it only complicated her thinking.
“Yes, you have,” Allie said. “You’ve met me.”
Bea stood a moment, feeling the sun bake down on her scalp at the part of her thin hair. It was making her uncomfortable. Everything was.
“Says you. Are you coming or not? Because, with you or without you, your ride’s leaving.”
Within minutes of driving, the big breakfast and the big ordeal seemed to gang up on the girl and put her to sleep. Her head lolled until it touched the window, then stalled and did not move again.
Bea yawned, suddenly feeling too full-bellied and mentally muddy to drive.
She pulled off into a dirt parking area on the ocean side of Highway 1, just north of a little beach town called Cayucos. There she drew the curtains and settled into her easy chair.
“Why did we stop?” she heard the girl say just as her eyes were closing.
“So you could sleep.”
“But you can still drive if you want.”
“Your sleepiness was contagious.”
“Oh. Sorry.”