Sweet Water by Anna Jeffrey Page A

would never be lonely because they would have each other.
    Sheer fantasy.
    Now, she was thirty-four, her biological clock was ticking off time faster than an Olympian sprinter and someday wasn’t even on the horizon.
    Wide awake now, she sat up on the edge of the mattress and pushed the hair out of her face. She shifted her thoughts and ran through a mental list of things to look forward to, forcing her attention to the most important one--staying strong for her mother who desperately needed her.
    And would need her and need her and need her, for an unknown span of time. Amen. The duration of Mama’s illness was an unknown. The doctors had said she could linger another ten or twelve years.
    Another ten or twelve years...where?...And with Marisa doing what to support them?
    Until a few days ago, Marisa had assumed that she would live here in Agua Dulce for the rest of her mother’s life, eking out a meager living for the two of them from the flea market and cafe. Now the sale of the town could change everything in such a dramatic way Marisa couldn’t channel her thoughts toward what to do next.
    She heard no shuffling footsteps, no clattering dishes, so Mama was still in bed. Since Marisa didn’t open the café until 7:00 at this time of year, there was time for a short run before the heat rose. She forced herself to her feet and went to the bathroom where she got into sweats and running shoes. Forty-five minutes and a quart of sweat later, she had showered and was selecting clothing. Another day, another cowgirl suit. Today it was Rockies jeans and a pink T-shirt with a Cruel Girl logo accented with silver nail heads across the front.
    Then she was in the kitchen, cooking bacon and eggs. Mama came in wearing her nightgown.
    “Morning,” Marisa said, glancing at her mother’s feet. She was wearing two different shoes. Shoes were always an issue with Mama. More than once Marisa had discovered her wearing them in bed. “Want some coffee?”
    Her mother didn’t answer. Instead, she went to a cabinet drawer, yanked it open, rummaged inside it with jerky movements and came up with an apron. “I have to clean today.” She tied the apron on, her teeth clenched, her lips drawn tight. “Rosemary’s coming and you know how she is. She’ll inspect...everything.”
    Mama might work at cleaning, but it would be with nothing more than clear water. Months back, Marisa had transferred all cleaning products out of the mobile home to the café apartment. Walking in and seeing her mother eating something sprinkled with Comet cleanser was more than Marisa wanted to deal with.
    The emphasis on the word inspect told Marisa Mama was angry. She and her older sister hadn’t gotten along for years. For as long as Marisa could remember, Aunt Rosemary had never failed to remind her younger sister how foolishly she lived her life. Now that Mama could no longer think or argue, Aunt Rosemary rarely even came to visit, let alone squabble, with her dying sister.
    Hearing Mama make such positive, rational statements always threw Marisa a curve. She never could be sure if her mother and her aunt had had a real conversation or if another of those errant figments of Mama’s broken imagination had taken over. “Who told you she was coming?”
    “Lanny. Yesterday at his house we talked about it.”
    They hadn’t seen Lanny Winegardner yesterday nor had they gone to his house. All they had done was walk on his road and talk to each other about his cows. Marisa dismissed the possibility of her Aunt Rosemary’s visit.
    Mama closed her eyes and the corners of her mouth tipped up in a dreamy smile. “That Lanny. He’s sweet on me. Clyde’s sooo jealous.”
    One more fleeting figment of broken imagination. Lanny had never been sweet on Mama. Indeed they had been friends, just as Mama had been friends with Bob and Ben and Mr. Patel. Clyde Campbell, oil man from Midland and Agua Dulce’s former owner, was another story. Her mother’s relationship