She stood on the porch at last, puffing, sweating. Staring at her friend.
Like Bea, Opal was a physically generous woman—as Bea’s mother used to generously phrase a thing like that. Unlike Bea, she had a shock of white hair, thick and glossy, that fell all the way to the middle of her back. The hair made Bea jealous, as her own had been thinning into near nonexistence for years. But she had never said so.
“I’ve come to ask a series of favors,” Bea said. “I’ll just put that out up front. If you’re in no mood to be asked favors this morning, you’d best tell me to hit the road right now.”
“Depends on the favors,” Opal said. She had a slow way of talking. Lazy, almost. Like a southern woman sipping a mint julep in a movie, but Bea happened to know Opal was from Duluth. “You can ask whatever you want. If I can, I will. If I can’t, I’ll say. You know that about me by now.”
They held still a moment, regarding each other. As if there were a protocol dictating who would speak next, but neither knew what it was.
Then Opal said, “Start me off with a nice, easy request.”
“A cup of coffee.”
Opal pulled her great bulk up out of the porch swing. “That’s simple enough, yes. But I hardly think it’s one of the favors you drove all the way over here to ask me.”
Opal held the door open for Bea, who stepped into the glorious air-conditioning with a sigh.
“Actually, though, it is. I really do need a cup of coffee. I’m out of coffee at my house.”
She followed Opal into the massive, modern kitchen. It had a chopping-block island, and Italian marble tile counters, and LED lights recessed into the ceiling, and one of those ovens that are always on and cost more than Bea’s trailer had when it was brand new. And the kitchen was bigger than Bea’s trailer, too. Maybe by half again.
“They sell it at the grocery store, you know,” Opal said, taking a foil package of imported coffee from the stainless steel freezer.
“There’s a problem with the store, though. They want you to bring money for every little thing you care to buy.”
Opal looked up at Bea and narrowed her eyes with concern.
“Uh-oh.”
“Yes. Uh-oh.”
“It ran out?”
“It ran out.”
“I’m afraid I know what the other favor is,” Opal said. “I feel just terrible about it and I want you to know I would if I could. But honey, I swear, things being what they are between me and my daughter-in-law, I’m never sure from one month to the next if there’s always gonna be room in this place for me.”
“I didn’t come here to ask to move in. I know you can’t do that.”
They sat on a glass-covered porch at the back of the house, overlooking a duck pond with a fountain, and the golf course. At least, it looked like glass to Bea. But she had been told it was some material more resistant to stray golf balls. In any case, it held in the air-conditioning.
“I would if I could, Bea, I swear to that.”
“I know. Besides. Nobody wants to live with me, and I know it. And I don’t want to live with anybody because I don’t like anybody. Oh, don’t be too offended. I like you well enough, but I’m sure that would change if we tried to share any kind of space together. I didn’t for a minute imagine that anyone would want to put up with me.”
“You’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be.”
“I’m worse. You just don’t know because we only visit for a few minutes at a time.”
“You’re a little disagreeable, I suppose.”
“Ha! You have no idea.”
“I’ll just let you ask in your own good time, then.”
“Ask what?”
“Whatever you came here to ask.”
“Oh. Right. That. I need to borrow twenty dollars.”
“Seems to me you need to borrow more than that. How will you pay the rent on that little place? And keep the utilities on? And feed yourself and the cat?”
“I can’t just borrow money to get out of this fix. Because I’ll never be able to pay it back. I mean, twenty dollars I can. I can pay that out of my next check. I bought cat food to last the month with what cash I had in my purse. Then I didn’t have enough for food for me.”
Opal snorted. “Some priorities.”
“She relies on me.”
“She could eat the cheap stuff. That dry food for pets they feed at the shelters. Costs nearly nothing.”
“She can’t eat dry food.”
“Why can’t she?”
“She has no teeth. You know that.”
“Oh. Yeah. I guess I did know that. I guess I just forgot. You sure you don’t want to borrow more than twenty?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I can’t get out of this by borrowing.”
“Then I won’t loan it to you. What I will do is I’ll give you twenty dollars. And don’t be arguing about it with me, either.”
“Thank you,” Bea said.
They watched in silence as two women smartly dressed in sportswear—their own age but quite a bit more fit—played through on the third hole.
Then Opal said, “I keep wanting to ask what you’re gonna do, but I hate to even bring it up.”
“I have a plan.”
“I’m relieved to hear that.”
“I’ve decided it’s all about the weather.”
A silence.
“The weather, you say. News to me. Here I thought it was all about the money.”
“Well . . . yes. Of course. Everything is. But when you don’t have money, it’s all about the weather. You see . . . I’ve been thinking. I can pay my rent. My check covers that. I can even pay my rent and have money left over for food. No problem. But I can’t pay rent and then both eat and pay the electric bill. Now if I lived somewhere the weather was mild, never very hot or very cold, my electric bill would be low. Or I could even live without electricity. But here in the valley, if they turn off my power and there’s no air-conditioning, the heat’ll kill me.”
“Got that right,” Opal interjected. “You know the public utilities have to offer discounts to low-income folks and seniors, right?”
“They already do. And it’s still my biggest expense after rent.”
“So let me get this straight. Your plan is to make the Coachella Valley cooler.”
“No. Of course not. I was just lying in bed last night, and I thought, ‘Imagine if I could pick up my home and move it up into the mountains.’ You know. Instead of turning on the air-conditioning.”
“Those mountains get cold in the winter.”
“Then I could move it back down.”
“Honey,” Opal began. It was clear from her tone that she had decided Bea’s thoughts needed straightening out, and fast. “I know they call that place you live in a mobile home. But in this case it’s just a figure of speech. That particular one isn’t going anywhere.”
“I know that,” Bea said. “I’m not talking about my trailer. I’m talking about my van.”
A long silence fell. Bea sipped at her coffee. In time she braved a look into Opal’s eyes. Their gazes met, and stuck. Because now they both knew exactly what Bea was talking about.