I pulled my pages together, left a generous tip, and walked out to my Jeep. I drove east behind them. I saw only a couple of vehicles on the road, most parked off the highway at shabby or even derelict collections of structures. There was enough traffic that my presence was in no way conspicuous or suspicious. Well ahead was the Hummer, easy to spot on this landscape. I saw it turn north toward uneven terrain. I could see from the highway as I passed that the Hummer came to a stop at a chain-link-fence-surrounded compound with a large warehouse and a smaller building. There was an old school bus parked there as well, the rust as prominent as the yellow against the white landscape. It was also easy to see that there was virtually no way for me to approach the compound without becoming immediately and unfortunately conspicuous and suspicious.

I noted where I was by the mile marker, drove east another mile, and then turned around and headed back to San Antonio.

That night I called home and received a report on my daughter’s deterioration. It was apparently going well. Irony and humor were something I understood to be a human way of handling tragedy, but I wondered if it was to be experienced alone, whether it was normal to find the funny in misery without an audience. I decided it didn’t matter.

a pocketknife, a tarp, a map

The two men, Shock of White Hair and the big guy, walked toward the diner, leaving their Hummer parked beside the post office.

“Oh, Lord,” DeLois said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“These boys give me the heebie-jeebies.” She looked at me as if for the first time. “Stay away from them.”

The men eyed my Jeep as they approached, like dogs noticing something out of place. When they entered, they made more noise than a mere two men should have. They sounded like they were coming in from a terrible blizzard, but there was no storm, snow, rain or otherwise, even without the stomping their tan canvas boots. They gave me a sidelong and none-too-friendly glance as they took seats at the counter. I couldn’t hear the questions I saw them putting to DeLois, but she gave me a nervous look that might have been a suggestion for me to leave. I went back to my maps or at least pretended to go back to my maps. I now knew who was sending me the clothes I had ordered, but I didn’t know who was sending me the written messages. One thing was clear: it was neither of these two men.

DeLois came over and topped off my coffee, left me without saying a word, but her apology hung in the air.

The shorter of the men cleared his throat loudly, swiveled on his stool, got up, and walked over to my booth.

“How you doing?” he asked.

“Fine. Kind of you to ask.”