Page 29 - WTP Vol. XI #2

ants can submit their applications. Their history with the present Partnership could help establish their credit profile with the new owners.”
“Unfortunately,” Mr. Marshall says, “the trailers there now need to be relocated before any renovations can get underway.”
“That means helping everyone relocate as soon as possible,” Mr. Donaldson says.
“Retired couples from the east and midwest are already submitting their applications in response to our campaign,” Mr. Marshall says.
“In the darkness, in a night full of quiet heat,
I can almost hear the stars. I hear Hunter breathing in a raspy way. I hear him turn in the dark.”
“This is the first phase of a four-part development,” Mr. Donaldson says.
“What do you call it again?” I say. “Desert?”
“Desert Hills Estates,” they say together.
“Certainly your services will be useful during out- placement,” Mr. Donaldson says. “After that, we’re prepared to offer you an attractive—”
“—very attractive,” Mr. Marshall says.
“Yes, a very attractive severance plan. Do you under- stand what I’m telling you, Mrs. Worley?”
“I could learn the security part,” I say.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” Mr. Donald- son says.
“It’s not what the Partnership can do for me,” I say. “It’s what I can do for the Partnership.”
“The new development will require a new position
entirely,” Mr. Marshall says. “No manager will actu- ally live on site anymore, Mrs. Worley. It’ll be shift work, rotating shifts twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It’s a different animal altogether than what you’re used to.”
Nobody needs my memorized lines after all. I get back into my small truck and head back to the court. I wonder what Lloyd would say or do if it was us together getting a very attractive severance plan. Would they talk to him like that or only me?
I drive home on all the back roads I can take to avoid the construction. Still no water with me. What’s the matter with me? I’m about to fall into one of Hunter’s swoons only it’s me alone driving, no one else to help.
When I get home the swamp cooler is on low, slow and steady like.
“Hunter?” I reach into the fridge for water.
I know somehow he’s already gone. The tools. The Pinto. And the way it smells after a man is gone. There on the kitchen table is his letter.
Sugar, thanks for all you done for me including the odd jobs. I do appreciate. Nows the time for me to move
on. Hope you understand and good luck in the future. Sincerely, Ernest Morrie Hunter.
I put it with all my other paperwork from the day. Willie’s gone off to work by now. It’s too late for her to come by and talk. It will have to wait until tomor- row. Seems like Hunter was with me forever.
I stare out the window at Mrs. Sanchez and Sonia. This is the time to give Mr. Sanchez his money while they’re out in the yard and I will in a minute. I will even though I don’t have to because that’s the way I am. I’m always doing for people.
“Look at Sonia,” I say out loud just to hear my voice. “Look at Sonia swinging all by herself.”
I suppose she and Mrs. Sanchez are back from getting their mail. Sonia’s getting big now and walks most of the way herself.
Salas earned her MA from the University of New Mexico and at- tended the University of Iowa Writers’ Workshop. She studied under, and was influenced by, the late Rudolfo Anaya. Sugar is the title story of her first collection of short stories. Salas lives in Tucson, AZ, and is currently at work on a memoir.
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