“Well? Aren’t you going to tell us what he said?” Allie asked.
“He said he’d be here tomorrow. And to be ready to move out the following morning. That was it.”
“At least he answered his phone. That’s a plus,” she observed, and Drake had to reluctantly, if silently, agree.
That evening, after dinner, Drake wasn’t tired yet and decided to see what, if any, after-dark entertainment the town offered. He wasn’t hoping for much, and when he bid Jack and Allie goodnight at the hotel, he was surprised when she offered to join him, ignoring Jack’s stern look.
“Just remember, if anyone starts something, walk away. You can’t afford to be on the radar. Keep a low profile.”
“Yes, Dad,” Allie said, her voice light.
“This is a really bad idea, just so you know,” he warned. “These small working towns can get rough at night. But I know better than to try to talk you out of anything by now.”
“We won’t do anything. Just grab a beer, and hit it. I promise,” Allie said, and she sounded sincere.
Occasional clouds drifted above them like luminous cotton painted against the night sky. They could smell the rushing water as they ambled wordlessly along the riverbank to a bar they’d noticed tucked away under two huge trees at the far end of town. When they made it inside the hut, they found a short, chubby man with an elaborately waxed black moustache tending bar. A dozen blue plastic tables sat crookedly on the hard-packed dirt floor, mostly empty. Seeing them, he left the small portable television he’d been watching and approached. Allie went back and forth with him for a minute, and when he turned away to get their drinks, he had a broad smile on his face.
“What was that all about?” Drake asked.
“I asked him why his establishment wasn’t packed on a Thursday night. He said that the workers get paid every Saturday. They’re out of money by now, so Thursdays and Fridays are usually dead. But look out come Saturday.”
“That was it?”
“Then I asked if what I’d heard was true: that his bar served the coldest beer in town. That’s when he laughed. He said he served just about the only beer in town, but that he’d do his best to find a couple of cold ones for us.”
“I guess at some point I’ll have to learn to speakee.”
“We can add Spanish to your long list of learning experiences, if you like. I’m not fluent, but I’m pretty decent at it.”
“Sounded fluent to me.”
“That’s because you had no idea what I was saying. A native speaker would know the difference.”
The bartender returned with four bottles of beer in a bucket of ice. He sat the dented metal pail on the table and popped the tops off two, adding something in drawling Spanish. It was Allie’s turn to laugh, and then they were alone, the proprietor returned to his TV program, the other patrons focused on their drinking and conversations.
“He said we get the special treatment because I’m so nice,” she explained.
“A bucket of ice?”
“Yes. Because the beer would be warm thirty seconds after it sat out, and he didn’t want to disappoint me.” She batted her lashes.
Drake held his beer out in a toast. Allie clinked hers against it and took a long sip. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and emitted a contented sigh before opening them and setting the bottle on the table. Drake took a swig of his own, enjoying the icy bite in his mouth before placing it beside hers. They sat quietly for several minutes, watching beads of sweat form on the bottles and tear down the sides, and then he drained another third in two gulps and stuck the bottle back into the ice, which had already melted into a frosty soup. Allie did the same as she looked around the bar.
“Not really that lively a place, is it?” she asked.
“Maybe the band doesn’t show up till later.”
She shook her head. “How would you like to live in a dump like this? Most of these people will never leave this town. They’ll spend their entire lives here, by the river, fishing like their parents did before them, living and dying oblivious to the outside world.”
“Maybe there’s something to be said for the simple life. I mean, we’re from the outside world, and they don’t look that unhappy to me. Perhaps they know something we don’t.”
“I’m not sure about that. I think it’s about lowered expectations. If you don’t know any better, then you’re happy raising chickens and wearing rags. But there’s more to life than eking out a sustenance existence.”
“Sure there is. But at its essence, isn’t this the same as anywhere else? Boys meet girls, they start families, they do the best they can, they raise their kids, and eventually get old and die. In between, they enjoy what they can, living off the land in a place time forgot. I’d say they have everything.”
“The noble savage? Really, Drake? You believe that?”
“I’m not saying that their lives couldn’t be better, but for the most part, they’d just be different lives, not necessarily improved ones. Okay, sure, modern health care would be nice, but do they really need the Internet and text messaging and designer everything? I mean, do we? What have we got to show for it? Everyone I know is kind of miserable. Maybe with a fifty-thousand-dollar car, but still, not all that happy. There’s a certain simplicity to knowing your place in the scheme of things. A satisfaction that always wanting bigger, faster, better kills.”
Allie studied him without saying anything, and then finished her beer. “You surprise me. That’s unexpected, coming from a California boy raised in the heart of progress.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot since reading my dad’s journal. He didn’t seem all that impressed by the modern world — it comes through loud and clear in his notes. That was part of the appeal of finding a big treasure. He wrote several times that if he wound up rich, the first thing he’d do was to move his loved ones someplace with a slower pace.”
“Really? Like where? Did he say?”
“He mentioned a couple of islands. In the South Pacific. Away from the crowds, as he put it.”
“And what will you do if we find a fortune, Drake? Have you thought about it?” She pulled the two sealed bottles of beer from the bucket and opened the first with the top of the second and handed it to him, then popped hers open on a section of the pail handle. “Cheers.”
“Cheers. No, I haven’t. Something about staying alive long enough to find it keeps intruding.”
“Well, think about it. What would you do?”
He drank a large swallow of beer. “You know what? I have no idea.”
“None? At all?”
He shook his head. “Pretty lame, huh?”
“No. It just means that maybe you aren’t that motivated by money.”
“What about you? What would you do?”
“Oh, that’s easy. I’d start an archeology team and go in search of the most elusive legendary finds out there. And buy a really cool house and a super obnoxious car. And probably hire a dozen hot pool boys.”
They laughed easily together. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have to hire them,” he said.
“No, that’s the whole point. I’d want to. They’d have to wear little outfits with no shirts, and wander around the house barefoot, attending to my every need. Don’t spoil the fantasy with them being free. I’d want to be ugly rich. Screw being graceful about it. Hot and cold running Sven and Zack. That’s my speed.”
“Would you really do that?”
She giggled, offering a flash of white teeth that made Drake’s breath catch in his throat. “Probably not. It sounds dumb. But I want to buy something to prove to myself that I made it. Maybe a plane or something. That’s what you should do, too.”