The Diamond Jo’s billboard just over the Minnesota-Iowa border off I-35 catches Millie’s eye. She’s only been on the road a couple of hours but wants to pee and stretch her legs. Have a cigarette. The AC’s on the blink and it’s hard to enjoy a smoke while driving with the windows down, wind whipping at your face, all your shit blowing around in the car. She takes the exit ramp that ends at a stop sign, a narrow dirt road to the left, the casino and a Super America to the right. Millie pulls into a parking space at Diamond Jo’s next to an old Mercury station wagon with Iowa plates. The casino is a single-story ranch-style building with a rustic split-rail wood fence along the front. The place looks homey, cozy, like someone’s grandmother should be standing there to greet you, grandpa out back tending the cows or crops.

She lights up a cigarette, the first inhale an elixir. She can’t think of anything more soothing. White noise from the interstate seems far away, the speeding cars and trucks a background blur. A tour bus about the size of an airport shuttle is parked several spaces to Millie’s left, the words Prairiedale Senior Living, Des Moines, IA, on the side. The only other vehicle is an old Peterbilt semi parked at the furthest end of the lot between the casino and the Super America. It seems odd to Millie that a trucker would be at a casino in the middle of the afternoon. They’re always in a rush to get wherever they’re going, drop off a load, pick one up and get back on the road. Even pulling off the highway for some shut-eye eats into their schedules. Time is money. That’s why so many truckers pop uppers, talk to one another on CBs or smart phones, try to help each other keep from dosing off on dark empty highways that hum with speeding vehicles during the day but at night become eerily empty. Jason told her all this. Sometimes it feels like you’re in the bowels of the earth, he’d said. Driving through the night, your headlights illuminating the asphalt a few feet in front of your rig, beyond that nothing but blackness.

Millie drops the cigarette butt on the ground, snuffs it out with the bottom of her sandal, and lights another. She picks up the butt, puts it in the car’s ashtray, rolls up the windows, leaving a crack at the top of each, and locks the doors. She stands outside the car for a couple of minutes. The narrow dirt road is about twenty feet from the parking lot. It looks like a driveway, but no house or other structures in sight.

Icy air hits her the minute she enters Diamond Jo’s. The lobby is small, furnished with an office desk and chair. Behind them a wall map of Iowa. The entrance to the casino is on the right, the Woodfire Grille restaurant to the left. The clink and rattle of dishes and silverware resonate from the restaurant, and voices, probably the seniors from the bus parked outside. Millie steps inside the casino. A woman with yellow hair twisted into a bun sits behind a counter the height of her chest. She wears shamrock green cat-eye glasses.

“You need a ticket?”

“A ticket?”

“For the slots. You can buy a ticket there.” The woman nods toward a machine on the left side of the counter.

Millie hesitates. She should get back on the road. Gambling is the last thing she should be doing.

“We got some of them old-fashioned, one-armed bandits too.” The woman points to several rows of slot machines in the center of the long casino room. “Lots of places don’t use coins no more. But the older folks like to play the bandits. They’re more fun, the way the coins clink when they come tumbling out of them machines.”

The room is larger than it appeared from the outside, a yawning expanse of slot machines, roulette and blackjack tables. The one-armed bandit slots are in clusters of four attached to one another, a stool with a backrest in front of each. A few feet separate each group.

“I take debit and credit if you want some coins.”

Millie buys twenty-five dollars’ worth of quarters and silver dollars. She’s the only person in the room, besides the woman at the counter.

“It’ll pick up. Folks don’t generally start coming in until late afternoon. Except the seniors.” The woman gestures toward the Woodfire Grill.

Millie takes a seat at a one-armed bandit. She’s only been to a casino one time before, on the reservation at the eastern edge of Phoenix. With Jason, way back. She had liked the sounds of the slots, the anticipation as she pulled the lever and watched those images of different kinds of fruit and number sevens line up on the screen. They stayed all afternoon, won enough for dinner at Rawhide Steakhouse and a bottle of Shiraz. She puts a quarter in the slot and pulls the lever, watches a sprig of grapes, two strawberries, and two apples line up on the screen. She goes through all her quarters. Tells herself she’ll leave when she runs out of money.

A dozen or so women enter the casino, stop at the counter, chat with the yellow-haired woman, then take out their debit and credit cards. Some of them look quite old, move slowly. Two use walkers, another is in a fancy electric wheelchair. No men. One woman stands out. She approaches the section where Millie sits. The woman is very tall, maybe six feet. Thin. There’s a stately quality to the way she holds herself, as if she was once an imposing figure who walked with a presence that caused people to acknowledge her. A hint of frailness shadows her now, wavers like an aura of fading energy, but she retains a youthful edginess. The woman’s silver-gray hair is cut in a short spikey style that would look too youthful for most women her age. But it suits hers. A streak of deep auburn sprouts from the hairline near her left temple. The woman takes the seat next to Millie, lifts the straps of a large brown leather duffle bag from her left shoulder and places the bag on the floor. A pack of Marlboro Lights falls from the front pocket and a couple of cigarettes roll onto the floor. Millie leans down and picks them up, passes them to the woman.

“Thanks.” The woman drops the loose cigarettes into the pack and lays it next to the slot machine.

Her eyes are deep, almost royal blue, lined with heavy black eyeliner and false eyelashes. She wears wine-colored lipstick that perfectly outlines the shape of her lips.

“You come here a lot?”

“Every week they drive us up from Des Moines. Did you see that bus parked out front?”

“Yeah. You live at Prairiedale?”

The woman nods. “That bus may say Prairiedale, but it’s a Diamond Jo bus.”

“They go all the way to Des Moines to bring you guys up here?”

“Yep.” The woman deposits another coin in the machine and pulls the lever. Five large images of strawberries line up on the screen, followed by a release of silver dollars into the coin tray. The woman scoops them into her bag.

“There’s another Prairiedale in Cedar Rapids. One in Ames and Mason City. The bus goes all over the place. Even up to Albert Lea, Minnesota. That writing on the side, it’s a magnetic panel. They just switch it out depending on where they’re going. Sometimes this place is overflowing with old people.” The woman smiles as if she isn’t old herself, pulls the lever, and another stream of silver dollars flows into her coin tray.

“You mind watching my stuff for a minute?” she says. “I’m gonna step outside for a cigarette.”

“Sure.”

Millie puts a coin in her slot, watches the images of fruit swirl on the screen, then slow down. A strawberry stops then another and another until there are five in a row. Silver dollars stream into her coin tray. She repeats the process and this time gets five cherries. More silver dollars. She reinserts coins from her winnings, more keep coming.

The woman comes back.

“You must bring me good luck.” Millie points to her tray which is nearly full of silver dollars.

The woman smiles.

Millie plays a little longer, wins some more. Silver dollars pile up in the coin tray. Enough to keep playing, inserting coin after coin, hoping for five strawberries or cherries or number sevens to appear on the screen. They do. Then, her luck stops.

“My turn for a smoke.”

“I’ll save your seat,” the woman says. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna take it though.” But she lifts her duffle bag from the floor and places it on Millie’s seat. The bag looks heavy. Its sides hang off the edges of the seat.

“By the way. My name is Kat. Short for Katrina. What’s yours?”

“Millie.”

The lobby is crowded, people streaming in. A Tiffany ceiling light casts a subdued glow over the lobby, much dimmer than when Millie entered earlier. She looks at her cell phone. Almost 5pm. Over three hours since she pulled into Diamond Jo’s. She opens the door and steps outside. More cars in the parking lot than a few hours ago. A dark gray wall with smudges of white hangs from the sky. She lights up a cigarette. A flash of lightning, then a burst of thunder. The Tiffany light flickers, goes out. Then, the other lights in the casino. The Super America next door is dark too. Wind blows rain in slants toward the casino entrance. More Friday night gamblers race in from their cars, heads down in a futile attempt to shield themselves from the rain. One of them opens the casino doors, and the gamblers enter the lobby. Millie bumps into someone standing behind her. Kat. She’s squinting through the rain into the parking lot. Her duffle bag hangs from her left shoulder.

“You done playing the slots?” Millie says.

Kat shrugs. “It gets old. How about you?”

“I should get back on the road.”

“Where you from, Millie?” Kat asks.

“Phoenix.” Millie drags hard on the last bit of her cigarette, takes the pack out of her purse and holds it toward Kat. Kat nods. Millie pulls out two cigarettes, lights each from the butt, and passes one to Kat.

“Thanks. I picked up your winnings.” Kat pats her duffle bag.

“Thanks.”

The two women stand in front of Diamond Jo’s under the awning, smoking their cigarettes, gazing into the rain and growing darkness. Millie had thought about getting to Nebraska before she stopped for the night. It doesn’t matter though. She can take as long as she wants to get back to Phoenix. No one’s waiting for her. Maybe that stray calico who comes around sometime. She might even pull over and sleep at a rest stop or a truck stop, save the motel money. She used to do that with her mom when she was a kid. She and Jason slept at a truck stop between Pueblo and Colorado Springs the first time he took her to Minnesota. Something about doing this appeals to her.

“Is that where you’re headed, Phoenix?”

Millie nods.

Kat switches the duffle bag to her other shoulder. “Take me with you.”

“What?”

“Give me a ride.” Kat sticks her right thumb into the air as if she’s hitchhiking. She grins.

The Prairiedale bus is still in the parking lot. Why would she need a ride?

“To Des Moines?”

Kat shakes her head. “New Mexico.”

“I thought you lived in Des Moines.”

“I got a friend in New Mexico. An old boyfriend.”

“What makes you think I’m going through New Mexico?”

“Are you?”

Of course, she’s going through New Mexico. It would be hard to miss it on the way to Phoenix. It’s her favorite part of the entire drive. The mountains, the way the road between Santa Fe and Taos hugs the Rio Grande river. She used to imagine living in a funky little house right along the river. She and Jason.

“Yeah, I’m going through New Mexico.”

“You could drop me off.”

“Where in New Mexico?”

“Espanola.”

Millie remembers the sign for Espanola, north of Santa Fe. More cars pull into the parking lot. Blurs of white headlights and red taillights glisten on the wet interstate.

“Either way, I’m going.” Kat says. “Tonight.” She sticks her thumb out again, mimicking a hitchhiker.

Millie checks the forecast on her cell phone. Storm’s along I-35, but it’s clear after Des Moines. Millie’s suddenly antsy, anxious to get going. She takes her car keys out of her purse, feels Kat watching her.

“Let’s go.”

They walk quickly to Millie’s car and get in.

Kat sets her duffle bag on the floor next to her feet.

“Don’t you need to stop at your place and get your stuff?”

Kat nods toward the duffle bag. “Everything I need’s right there.”

Millie starts the engine and backs out. The rain pounds harder. She approaches the lot’s exit and stops, looks at the Peterbilt in the rearview mirror and lingers for a few seconds. She can almost see Jason sitting behind the wheel of that rig, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, baseball cap on backward, a smile on his face.

Kat notices her looking at the truck.

“It’s been parked there for a few weeks,” she says. “Must be broken down.”

~

Rain slams I-35 until they get to Des Moines and stop at a QuikTrip to gas up, pee, and buy a couple of stale ham and Swiss sandwiches. They take I-80 heading to Nebraska.

“Why don’t you just fly? Espanola’s not that far from Albuquerque.”

Kat shrugs. “I could do that. I’d have to make plans though. I might change my mind. I’ve never been good at planning.”

Millie gets it. Planning isn’t in her wheelhouse either. She doesn’t have any plans now, except to get back to Phoenix. Her home, whatever that means.

“What’s with the semi?” Kat says.

“What do you mean?”

“You seemed a little fixated on that rig back at Diamond Jo’s. You know someone who drives one?”

“I used to.”

“What brings you to Iowa?”

“I was in Minnesota.”

“So, what brings you to Minnesota?”

“Just wanted to make the drive one more time. I used to do it a lot with someone.”

“The someone who drove a big rig?”

Millie nods. “He had family there.”

Kat doesn’t ask for more.

~

Millie drives nonstop until they reach Kearney, halfway across the state of Nebraska. It’s after midnight when she exits at the Fort Kearney Trading Post where there’s a Sinclair gas station with a big green dinosaur displayed on the sign, a souvenir shop, and an Angus Burgers and Shakes. Several semis line up like toys at the back of the lot. Millie parks at the opposite end from the semis, turns off the engine. Kat’s asleep, her head falls forward, chin against her chest. Millie reclines her seat as far back as it will go and closes her eyes.

When she wakes up the sun slams through the windshield, rays as strong as in Phoenix. The aroma of coffee and cigarette smoke greets her. Kat sits sideways in the passenger seat, door open, feet on the concrete, her back to Millie.

“You want one?” Kat raises her Styrofoam cup without turning around.

“Sure.”

“I thought you might.” She reaches to the ground, picks up another cup, and passes it to Millie. “It’s black. I got creamer and sugar if you want.”

“Thanks. Black is good.”

“I thought you looked like a black coffee sort of gal.”

Kat turns and unzips the duffle bag, pulls something out. “Here.” She passes a roll of twenty-dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band to Millie. “Your winnings. $200.”

“You’re kidding. I won $200? I figured it might be $50 if I was lucky.”

“Well, I guess you got lucky.”

“I guess so.” Millie hasn’t felt remotely lucky for a long time. She catches a glimpse of more money in the duffle bag.

Kat finishes her coffee. She reaches inside the duffle bag and pulls out a plastic cosmetics case. “I’m gonna go freshen up.” She goes into Angus Burgers.

Millie glances inside the duffle bag, which Kat has left unzipped. More rolls of cash. Loose bills and silver dollars scattered on top.

“Did you win all that?” Millie points to the bag when Kat returns to the car.

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. I only counted your $200.”

“It looks like a lot.”

“I didn’t win it all yesterday. Some’s from before.”

Before what, Millie wonders but doesn’t say anything.

~

“I can drive for a while,” Kat says when they get back on the road.

“Do you have a license?”

“Yeah. They still give ’em out to seniors.”

“Okay. We can switch off if I get tired. So, who’s this old boyfriend in Espanola?”

“Someone from way back.” Kat takes a postcard out of the front pocket of her bag. “He sent me this.”

Millie glances at a large expanse of brownish earth with cliffs in the background and a couple of cottonwood trees. She can’t read the writing, but makes out the name at the bottom. Billy. There’s a return address in the left-hand top corner.

“He knows you're coming?”

Kat shrugs. “I said maybe.”

The area around the Nebraska-Colorado border is desolate, nothing but the highway and endless dry scrub. A large brown road sign reads Welcome to Colorful Colorado. In Walsenburg, Millie leaves the interstate and takes the backroads. She likes to go through the small towns in Colorado and New Mexico, the roads she and Jason always travelled. She likes to ponder what it would be like to live in one of those places. She stops in the tiny town of Antonito a few miles from the New Mexico state line. It’s only a couple more hours to Espanola.

“Wanna stay here for the night? You can freshen up for Billy.” Millie smiles.

“Okay.”

She pulls into the parking lot of the Railroad Inn, a small two-story motel that looks like a run-down Motel 6. They get two rooms and return to the car. Millie takes her backpack out of the trunk. Kat lifts the duffle bag and sets it on the front seat.

“Shit! Zipper’s broken.”

Some of the loose bills have fallen to the floor on the passenger side. Kat looks tired, haggard. Her makeup is a couple of days old. She’s taken off her false eyelashes, and the spikes in her hair look wilted.

“I can fix that zipper,” Millie says.

Kat scoops the bills off the floor and puts them back into the duffle. Millie watches, waits for her to finish, then locks the car. Their rooms are right next to each other on the first floor. Millie unlocks her door, waits for Kat to do the same.

“Why don’t I order a pizza, and I’ll come over to your room and look at that zipper.”

“Okay.”

~

Kat has emptied the duffle bag, its contents scattered on her bed. Mostly clothes, a bag of toiletries, a washcloth. And the money. She passes the empty bag to Millie.

“I stole most of the money,” Kat says as Millie cuts a tiny slit into the cloth tape at one end of the zipper and maneuvers the slider over the teeth.

“I figured that. You got a safety pin?”

Kat rummages through her cosmetic case. “Here. I’ve been doing it for a while. Mostly from seniors. They’re careless.”

“How did you do it back at Diamond Jo’s?”

“I cashed your winnings and mine, then went back to get my duffle bag off the chair. That’s when all the lights went out. When my eyes adjusted, I grabbed whatever I saw at the slots, dumped those coins into my bag.”

“No one saw you?” Millie places the safety pin as close as she can get it to the zipper tooth, then pulls the slider back and forth.

“I guess not. I’ve not seen anyone coming after us. Those seniors seemed freaked in the dark. A woman with a walker fell, and all the attention was on her. When I got to the exit, Blondie was nowhere in sight. But she’d left that cash drawer open, or it opened when the power went out. I grabbed what I could.”

“You didn’t seem worried standing out there in the rain.”

“I was plenty worried. Wanted to get the heck out of there.”

“How much? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“A couple thousand all together.”

“Here.” Millie pushes the duffle toward Kat. “Good as new. Be careful opening and closing it.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you really live at Prairiedale?”

Kat shakes her head. “I don’t live anywhere right now.”

“But, you had a place back in Des Moines?”

“Used to. Got evicted a week ago. I’ve been staying at a Motel 6. Looked just like this one.”

“Where did you get evicted from?”

“One of those extended-stay, pay-by-the week hotels. Security guard just showed up with a rifle one afternoon. Anybody behind on rent, even a couple of days, was out. Pronto. Stuff in my duffle was all I took. Everything else got locked up. It wasn’t much anyway.”

“That sucks.”

“It sure as fuck does. They wanted us out. They’re gonna tear the place down, the whole block. Make room for something else.”

“What’s with Prairiedale?”

“My sister used to live there. She had tons of money. I used to go over there and take the bus with her to Diamond Jo’s.”

“Where’s she now?”

“Dead. Three years now. They just let me keep riding that bus. Driver never said anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just the way things turned out for you.”

Kat takes a deep breath, shrugs. “Where’s that pizza? I’m hungry.”

“Kat, did I really win $200?”

“No. More like $50.”

“You just gave me an extra $150.”

Kat nods. “You don’t look like you’ve got a lot of money either.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And just so you know, I never took anything from those folks at the extended-stay hotel.”

~

The next morning, Kat appears rejuvenated. False eyelashes back on, skin glowing, and hair spikes like new grass sprouting. Lips perfectly outlined. She wears black leggings and ankle boots, a soft fabric tunic top with a rose-and-green design against a gray background. Silver, feather-shaped earrings dangle from her ears.

Kat and Millie are both quiet as they drive toward Taos. It’s late morning, the sky a perfect blue.

“How old are you, Millie?” Kat breaks the quiet.

“Forty-two. Why?”

“I’m seventy-eight.”

“You look great. I thought that when I first saw you back at the casino.”

“Thanks.”

“What did you used to do? Before the extended-stay hotel, before Prairiedale?”

“Lots of stuff. Almost got married, almost finished college. Worked as an airlines stewardess for a while. I guess you decide at some point, you’re just not gonna fit in. Anywhere. And it’s fuck it from then on out. It’s sort of liberating.”

“How did you meet Billy?”

Kat hesitates for a minute. “He’s not really an old boyfriend. I found him through an online dating site. I’ve never met him in person.”

“Jesus. Wow. How do you know he’s not an asshole?”

“You’ve got to take some chances.”

A road sign reads Taos ten miles.

“Do you want to stop there?” Kat asks.

“In Taos? Why do you ask?”

“I get the feeling it has some significance for you.”

“I used to come up here. Stay in a funky little motel in town.”

“With that guy who drove the semi?”

Millie nods. She can almost feel him next to her now, half expects to look over to the passenger seat and see Jason instead of Kat. “No, I don’t want to stop in Taos.”

“Where is he now, Millie?”

Millie doesn’t answer. If only he was next to her now. Just one more time, for one last eternal moment.

“He died six months ago. Semi went off the road.”

Kat nods.

“La Veta Pass. We drove through it yesterday.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Espanola is a small town just west of state highway 285.

“Did you call Billy?”

“I don’t have his phone number.”

“You got an address, right?”

“Yep.” Kat looks at the postcard she’s held in her hand since they left Antonito.

Millie pulls over and enters the address into her phone. Directions take her into town and over a bridge, down an unpaved road with four houses. Billy’s house is beige stucco, old stucco with lots of cracks and a warped-wood front door. A small front patio painted purple and green. Vines creep along the posts and supporting beams. The front yard is dirt and gravel, a small mesquite that looks as if it were recently planted. Millie pulls into a short driveway, a few feet ahead a small garden cordoned off with chicken wire. A man appears on the patio. He’s dressed in a blue T-shirt and white pants with a drawstring at the waist. Thick gray hair hangs in a braid down his back. He walks to the car, stands close to the passenger window, and just looks for a minute.

“Kat?”

Kat opens the door and steps out. He reaches his hand out to shake Kat’s. Millie steps out of the car too. He walks to her side and shakes her hand as well.

“Would you like to come in? I can offer you some coffee.”

“Thank you, but I need to get going.” He doesn’t look like an asshole.

Millie walks over to Kat. Gives her a hug that maybe lasts a minute too long. She doesn’t want to let go, thinks of giving Kat her phone number, asking for hers. But, she doesn’t.

Kat and Billy stand in the driveway and wave as she pulls away.

~

The sun is setting when Millie pulls off Interstate 40 at Holbrook. She and Jason always took 377 home, a two-lane road into Snowflake, then down to Payson and on to Phoenix. The road is quiet, not much around. There’s a small pull-off about half-way to Snowflake, a short dirt road that leads nowhere. Sometimes there’d be a truck or car there. It’s empty now. It reminds her of that road at Exit 214 back in Iowa. She pulls over and turns off the engine. She lets the windows down, breathes in the endless space that surrounds her.