Read Online South of Elfrida by Holley Rubinsky - Free Book Online

sisters. She suspects the new gal on duty in the office will let them stay for a night or two because most of the regulars are gone for the season—it being April—and there isn’t an image to uphold. Al says, “Look at that. Should be against the law, letting people like that in here.”
    And she says, “Yes, it’s a shame.” She feels envy mixed with pity. Envy because not having a man to lord it over you would be a relief—every time she has this thought, she asks God’s forgiveness—and pity because some women just fail at being women. Something wrong with that; she’s certain. A woman needs a man, period. A good man is organized and keeps his world that way, even if she herself still chafes, acts out through dark, nasty little deeds. Just a few minutes ago, wrist deep in the muck of meat, eggs, and breadcrumbs, the little rebel in her rose up and she spit into the mixture.
    Here come those two women, out of the office, both wearing beige shorts and white sport socks, showing off their muscular legs. How does God make so many variations on a theme? Sometimes it just takes the lives of others to make you grateful for what you have.
    Mabel and Ed stop by in their golf cart decked out with American flags. The four of them look over at the Class C Adventurer, jockeying to park beyond the row of palm trees. “That is just a crime against human nature,” Mabel says, and Al says, “You wanna Bud?” and so they pull in under the canopy and unfold chairs Al keeps at the ready. Sally slips inside for glasses and Al reaches into the cooler for the beer. In a moment, they’re set.
    The sky turns pimento red, a line of blue lavender above it, and above that, a tender wash of pink, the colour of Sally’s white Zinfandel. They watch stealth bombers returning to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, the eastbound planes taking tourists home, and, to the south, the helicopters on border patrol. Sally nestles into her chair. Here she is, looking exactly like a person living quietly under the radar.

Banished

    Stefan bites into his emu burger at a café in Tombstone. He looks across the table at Karen, her face lit from a window, the café curtains pulled back so customers can see the frontier townspeople passing by, garbed in long skirts and cowboy gear. The splotches where once Karen had acne are obvious. He knows she spends a fortune on facials and creams and puts herself through the expensive ordeal of laser treatments; he has heard all about her adolescent skin traumas.
    A full-time environmental activist, Karen has succeeded in saving, for now, the Arizona pygmy owl, but she focuses on her love life, or lack of it. She blames herself, thinks her inability to find love is her fault, for mysterious, possibly karmic reasons. A merchant in a bowler finishes his meal, pays his bill, and tips his hat as he leaves. “God, this Western town thing is so overdone,” Karen mutters.
    Stefan disagrees. “People need to play-act; they need fantasy.” (He imagines gunslingers naked except for their belts and, of course, their holsters and guns.) He pats his lips with a paper napkin. “The meeting was Danny’s idea?” He knows the answer: the old high school flame found her on Facebook and made the contact. They exchanged e-mails and photos. Danny is on the chunky side, a large man, is how Karen described him when she forwarded the photos to Stefan, but Stefan thinks he looks like a beer drinker wearing a corset. Of course he didn’t say so. This Danny from San Antonio—why a grown heterosexual man would call himself “Danny” is beyond Stefan—was supposed to fly in to spend the weekend, this weekend, with her at the grandly refurbished hotel in Bisbee called The Copper Queen.
    Karen shifts in the chair and gives Stefan a patient look. “He said he loves historic hotels. He is passionate about them. He said meeting me at The Copper