Sweet Water by Anna Jeffrey

owner’s name, either. How had she had two encounters with a sexy guy and not even learned his name? “What is his name?”
    “Terry W. Ledger is what was on his credit card. It was a Master Card, as I recall.”
    “Hunh,” Marisa said, the name jingling a distant bell in her mind. She pictured a serene landscape on a billboard standing alongside Interstate 30 between Fort Worth and Dallas, advertising ANOTHER LEGENDARY COMMUNITY BY TERRY LEDGER. Oh, Jesus. Did he intend to sub-divide Agua Dulce? “Did you say he’s from Fort Worth?”
    “He doesn’t own my motel or Mandan’s service station,” Bob continued as if he hadn’t heard her question, “but what he plans will affect us. We just want to know what he’s going to do.”
    “It is only fair that he buy my business,” Mr. Patel said. “If he will take away my income, then he should pay. I have already been cheated.”
      Marisa had no idea if that was true. Mr. Patel had bought his service station and the squatty stucco house behind it from Harvey Skillern the year Marisa graduated from high school sixteen years back. Marisa only vaguely remembered Harvey, but   talk had always swirled among Agua Dulcians about his shady deals.
    “I hate to bust your bubble, Man-dan,” Ben said, “but you ain’t been cheated. You took your own risk when you bought that service station. And this Legend fella don’t have to pay you jack. That’s the American way, buddy.” Ben followed that pronouncement with a long glug from his drink.

“If he’s congenial,” Bob said, ever the peacenik, “perhaps he wouldn’t object to all of us inviting him to a meeting. He might share his plans with us. Perhaps you could arrange a forum, Marisa.”
    This morning’s meeting with Mr. Ledger had left her with a funny feeling in her stomach. Not enthusiastic about another encounter with him, Marisa grunted and opened her palms. “Look, y’all, I don’t know him any better than you do. But he won’t eat you. Just go knock on his door and ask him your questions.”
    Bob and Mr. Patel shook their heads. They had a lot to lose, she supposed, but they were in no worse position than her mother—or for that matter, than herself. Now she berated herself for not taking up her own problem with the new owner when she had the chance.
    Ben drained his glass, then reached into a pocket of his cargo shorts, pulled out a silver flask and poured himself another drink. “Well, I don’t give a rat’s ass what he does. If I have to, I’ll just pack up my shit and toodle my sorry ass back to Tennessee.” He sipped another drink, then frowning, set the glass on the counter with a clunk. “I wouldn’t like that much, but I could do it.”
    Ben had stayed put in Agua Dulce ever since Marisa had returned to take care of Mama, unlike his lifestyle in the past when he had yo-yoed between here and Nashville. They all sat in silence, sipping. She could almost see wheels turning behind Bob’s eyes, just as she could almost see steam rising from Mr. Patel’s scalp.
    “You could discuss our issues with him,” Bob said. “Perhaps voice our concerns and ask him his plans.”
    Marisa felt her eyes widen. “Me?”
    “It’s what your mother would do.”
    “Guys, I know Mama did stuff like that, but I’m not my mother. I have no influence with this man. What do you expect me to tell him? I’m sure he bought this place for a reason. Do you think anything I say is going to make a difference in what he does with it?”
    “You should discuss,” Mr. Patel said.
    “You made a difference for Gordon,” Bob said. “And you used to live in Dallas.”
    “Gotcha,” Ben said, giving her a reptilian grin.
    “Listen, you three. I’ve got all I can do figuring out what me and Mama are facing. I see no point—”
    Abruptly Mr. Patel rose and stalked through the flea market, out the front door. They all stared after him.
    “Well, la-dee-dah,” Ben said, pulling a crushed pack of Camels from his