“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.
“There must be something else you can do, Bea. Honey, there’s got to be something better than that.”
“The only other thing I can think of involves sleeping on a park bench and pushing my belongings around in a shopping cart. Look. Opal. People live with less. All over the world people are living with less. I’ll have a roof of sorts over my head. I’ll have curtains. I’ll have my easy chair, and some books. And my cat.”
“And a litter box right in the middle of the whole deal.”
“That can go on the passenger floor and be out of my way.”
“And there’s no bathroom for you. You can’t use a litter box.”
“I can park by a gas station. Or by a public restroom.”
“And how will you get your monthly check?”
“I won’t have to. It’ll go straight into my account every month and all I’ll have to do is bring my debit card for gas and food.”
But a thought struck Bea, quite suddenly. Before the next check landed in her account she’d better stop by the bank and change that compromised PIN. In fact, she might do better to close the account and open a new one, just to be safe. And notify the Social Security Administration of the change. It made her feel vulnerable and ashamed, and less than sharp-minded, that she had just now thought of it. What else was she forgetting?
Oh yes. Get a new debit card for the new account.
“And you’ll spend all your savings in gas,” she heard Opal say, knocking her back into the moment.
“No. No, I won’t. It doesn’t have to be that way at all. I don’t have to keep moving constantly. I could stay in one place for months if the weather holds. I thought about it a long time. I just need one other thing from you and that’s to put a few of my things in your garage. I can only take just so much along. Just what I need to live. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I really need. About what makes a home a home. I don’t care about my couch or my bed. I can sleep in my easy chair. That’s all the furniture I need. Without my easy chair, life wouldn’t be comfortable enough to bear. But with it . . . I sleep in it all the time, when I have acid reflux, or when my sinuses won’t drain. It’s just as comfortable as my bed, if not more so. So long as I can draw the curtains and turn on a little battery-powered light and read a book with my cat on my lap, it won’t be so bad. I’ll be okay.”