Julie and Brazil were the only customers at a run down, dimly lit bar somewhere in New Mexico about an hour before sunset.
Julie pushed the cocktail glass on the bar. “Maybe we should go home.”
“The last two weeks have been the best in my life,” replied her husband.
“They’ve been great for me too.”
Brazil squeezed her hand. He thought about how well they fit together in bed, how they laughed at the same things like the rooster screeching at daybreak outside of their motel room, or the overdone hamburger that slid off of Julie’s bun at an all-night diner. He liked not knowing much about her—there were no expectations. But they were running out of money—a good reason to go home. He needed to resume his detective work, if, indeed, there was any in Sacramento.
“Yeah, I guess we should get back,” he said.
“I wonder how Gina and Chartan are doing? asked Julie.
“I forgot about them. I bet they’re fine.”
Julie pulled her hand away from Brazil. “I’m not convinced of that.”
“Gina doesn’t stay put. She runs rather than face up to her problems.”
Julie grabbed Brazil’s wrist and brought to her mouth and kissed it. “Honey, I’ve said more than I should. Let’s go home and make sure they’re okay.”
“ What should I know about Gina?”
“For starters, I’m not her aunt. But let’s go.”
“Okay, but know this Julie, “I’m a bulldog detective. Secrets don’t exist for me.”
They left for the front door, but stopped in the parking lot to admire the final day’s light that painted the surrounding mountains with a red glow.
“Quite a contrast to where we just were,” said Brazil.
“Beautiful. Like us. And I don’t mean to be melodramatic about Gina. We did time together for running a Ponzi. You know about Ponzi’s?
“I’m a detective, remember. And I don’t do secrets, remember.”
Julie threw her arms around Brazil and kissed him hard. The driver in a passing semi-tractor trailer blasted his air horn, but it didn’t break up the lovers.
To be continued next Sunday…