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long?”
    “I think so.”
    “She can stay here. Might be a better deal for her. It’s cool in that back bedroom. My son moved out.”
    “Where’d he go?”
    “Basic training. I say good luck to the Marines—they’re going to need it the way that boy eats.”
    J. D. smiled. “I’ll let you know what we decide. You’ll call that doctor?”
    “I’ll dial him now.” Win gave directions to the office, made sure of J. D.’s cell number, and said some final words to the girl before he closed the door. To J. D. he said, “You be careful. There’s a storm coming up from the south and it ain’t bringing rain.”
    J. D. nodded and got in the truck. He made his way to I-19, then headed southeast on I-10.
    “Win’s a good guy,” he said finally. “But he’s religioso .”
    She looked straight ahead.
    “Win said your name’s Maria.” He reached out a hand. “Nice to meet you. I like that name. I’m J. D.”
    She handed him a dead fish and turned back to the landscape, which was lonesome desert. Every now and then came a farm or a subdivision, but mostly it was cactus and dust.A murky haze hung over the mountains in the distance, and heat rose from the roadway.
    He scanned through some FM channels, then hit the local AM talk station that rattled in one speaker. Another record scorcher for Tucson with no end in sight. Preparations being made for a speech by a politician—a governor running for president would make an appearance in Tucson on Sunday to talk tough about the border. And a breaking story reporters were investigating about a shooting overnight near Nogales.
    News was change, but a shooting near Nogales seemed to him as normal as the sunrise.
    There wasn’t a car in the parking lot when they pulled up to the gray building. The sign said Everyman Healthcare of Benson . A doctor, a dentist, and a chiropractor were listed at the front. J. D. checked the hours and Thursday wasn’t listed. Probably a golf day for the doctor.
    He cursed and tried to explain to Maria, but she didn’t seem to understand. While he was searching for any Spanish word from high school, his cell phone rang. It was the doctor saying he was almost there. A few minutes later a guy with a ponytail pulled up in an MG. It looked early sixties and out of place for Benson, except for the noise from the tailpipe. The man waved them inside as he fumbled with his keys.
    Dr. Hodding Mercer introduced himself. Under his name on the door it said Internist . “Win called and said you needed help,” the man said, glancing at Maria’s legs as he worked the keys. “Those look nasty.” He looked up at her. “¿Fueron al desierto sin llevar linterna?”
    She smiled. “Sí.”
    The door opened and he ushered them inside a small waitingroom. The carpet was worn down to the pad, particularly at the front desk.
    “This is my day off, so we shouldn’t be bothered.” He looked at J. D. “Does she have a change of clothes?”
    “This is how I found her.”
    “You saw the Walmart coming in. Let me check her and then you can get her some shoes and clothes. There will probably be a prescription.”
    J. D. settled into an uncomfortable plastic chair and put his head against the wall. The office had been haphazardly decorated with Southwest fare—handmade pottery and paintings of cowboys on horses chasing cattle. Manila folders grew on a wall behind the front desk, piled and overflowing on invisible shelves. The wall clock was small and white with a cactus for the hour and minute hands, and the tick-tick of the second hand lulled him.
    The hum of the air conditioner and the cool air on his skin caused him to close his eyes and drift. And in the drifting she came to him, her skin milky white, gliding like some apparition. Perhaps it was the doctor’s office that conjured her, the smell of antiseptic and waiting rooms. Perhaps it was simply the longing of his heart. He could never prepare for these visits and was always left wanting more