Take Me to the River Read Free Page A

water—some still live that way.”
    As we pulled into the Starlight’s almost empty parking lot, Cannon told me that the store on the left, the Terlingua Trading Company, was the modern-day incarnation of the company store from the era when the quicksilver mines here produced nearly half the nation’s mercury.
    The pickup rolled to a stop. My eyes were on the Starlight in search of my cousin and my uncle. The only people in sight were two guys on the bench at the back of the long porch that connected the store and the restaurant with an art gallery in between.
    L.B. wished me luck as he drove out. The two men at the back of the porch came to the rail, not to greet me, but to gaze into the distance.
    I turned around to see what they were looking at, and there were the Chisos Mountains, bigger than life and all lit up by the setting sun, their battlements aglow with brilliant reds and golds.
    I climbed the steps to the porch, dropped my stuff on the bench, and went into the restaurant. This time I was keeping my expectations in check. Something told me this wasn’t going to work out, either. Maybe there would be another message.
    Folding metal chairs, concrete floor . . . there was nothing fancy about the Starlight, but it was loaded with atmosphere. I felt like I was five hundred miles deep into Mexico, in the time of Pancho Villa. The plastered walls were watermelon red giving way to mango gold. If I wasn’t mistaken, some of the plaster was pocked with bullet holes. Up toward the ceiling, the plaster had fallen away, revealing the bare stones. The walls had to be massively thick to be able to soar that high and support the rafters running clear across. “On the Road Again” was playing on the PA to a nearly empty house. Only three tables had customers, and the bar stools were empty.
    I stayed planted for a minute just inside the front door. I was thinking of what to do when a lanky kid with shaggy brown hair appeared at the kitchen doorway. He was wearing an apron. At first I wasn’t positive it was him. This kid looked like he might be older than Rio’s fifteen, and was taller and more muscled than I was expecting.
    Yep, it was Rio. Soon as he had me spotted, my cousin broke into a big smile and gave a couple of fist pumps. He called my name as he was closing in, and I called his. He grabbed me with a bear hug. I was pretty well shell-shocked.
    â€œI can’t believe it!” Rio exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’re actually here!”
    â€œMe neither. You’ve shot up since your last Christmas card.”
    I looked around for my uncle, but I didn’t spy any candidates. “It’s been a long day,” I said.
    â€œI’m so glad that you came, Dylan.”
    What came out of my mouth in return was, “Can I still get something to eat?”
    â€œNot a problem. I was hoping you’d get here before closing. It’s two-for-one burger night.”
    â€œBut you’re working, right?”
    â€œMy boss said he would finish the dishwashing when you got here.” Rio took off the apron, folded it, and placed it on the side of the bar. “No more pearl diving until August.”
    Rio led the way to a table. I asked if my backpack and duffel were okay where they were, outside on the bench.
    â€œSure thing—this is Terlingua.”
    Just then a very attractive waitress came around from behind the bar and headed our way. She was my mother’s age, but she didn’t dress anything like my mother. She wore black, with lots of silver and lots of style. “Howdy, boys,” she said. “Who’s your friend, Rio?”
    â€œThis is Dylan, my river-crazy cousin from North Carolina.”
    The lady gave me a big smile. “Lot of rivers back in North Carolina, Dylan?”
    â€œYes, ma’am, and lots of trees.”
    â€œBeen out here before?”
    â€œNo, ma’am, I haven’t.”
    â€œWhat does it