Things were never quite the same after William Sutton died. His Mama just plain, flat out shriveled up after they put him in the ground, and the town gave up hope that things would ever get better for those of us he left behind.

Billy had meandered out in front of a cattle truck -- a simple boy, he couldn't realize they wouldn't be able to stop for him. Everyone talked about how he'd smiled up at the driver, unaware, and hadn't made so much as a squeak as his broom flung up and out of his hands.

The faces of Avery faded to a pasty gray, and the only place to find salvation was inside the four greasy walls of the Texas Moon. Where the laughter was veiled with cautionary pretense -- where we could smile and fool ourselves into thinking everything would be all right.

The death of Billy Sutton seemed to be the final blow to a town already on its knees, and I could barely watch as humanity blew away with the rolling tumbleweeds that mocked our standing still.

****

The dry season stayed longer than usual in the year of Billy's death. It seemed the very soul of Avery had gone with him ... and taken the rains too, even though the dark clouds that dared build up in the southwest would rumble and growl, the moisture went around. Always up to Texarkana. Away from Avery and the thin line between life and death.

And so it was, one evening of darkened skies, that the bus rolled in from the North, bearing a man not one of us knew. I kept swiping the diner's counters as he entered the Moon with his knapsack sagging his thin shoulder down. And something in me came alive, as I looked into the sad brown eyes that searched the room for a friend.

"Howdy, Stranger. Welcome to the Moon. What can I get'cha?"

A huge sigh escaped his lungs, as if the weight of the world were crushing his chest. "Coffee. Yeah. Just coffee, for now. Thanks."

"You got it." I turned to the silver urn and it revealed his image to me almost as clearly as a mirror. Long brown hair fell across his face. The oldsters here would chastise him, but I didn't care. I felt quivers, or maybe simple awakenings, where none had been for years.

"What brings you to Avery?" I set the coffee cup in front of his hands.

"Just passin' through, I'm afraid. I'm on my way to Phoenix -- job change, you know how that goes. Just need a break from the bus." He glanced up, his smile thin and tired.

"Well, the rooms are clean and comfortable over at the hotel. Old, but not bad. Cheap too. We don't have many travelers here anymore."

"Thanks. Can I get a sandwich to go? That old bus 'bout beat me half to death, but I reckon I'm hungry anyhow." He smiled again. This time white teeth gleamed and I knew I would be his tonight. His for the rest of my life, even if I never saw him again.

"You go on. I'll bring it over since I get off in just a few. How's that sound?" I braved the waters and winked.

"I'll be waitin'. What's the damage, Miss, uh ... ?" He squinted at my name tag. "Rachel?"

"Six fifty, even." He handed me a ten and I gave him five back. I could see he wasn't made of money. I didn't need a tip this time; I needed much more than that.

He drank the coffee, bid the room good-night and left, shutting the door so the bell wouldn't ring, and disappeared in the dust and wind.

I waited almost forty minutes, my heart beating with emotions long buried but released and crawling up from dark demise. The hotel was only five hundred feet away, but seemed five hundred miles as the night winds whistled and whipped around me like demons trying to waylay my trek down the cracked and uneven sidewalk. Down the dusty street that led to the decrepit hotel. I stopped beneath the dim neon sign. Earl refused to fix it. And maybe rightly so, since few lived or stayed there anymore.

I remembered the days of my life as a child there, living and playing on the landings and stairs while mama entertained her men. I thought back to last month. To the days that seemed like yesterday, when little Billy Sutton had been here to help keep the place clean. Always sweeping, helping ... and being the sweet kid that he was.

Another tumbleweed flitted down the street, and I looked up at the sign that used to read Lone Star Hotel, but now blinked, like one good eye on an onery old man, 'one Star Hote', and contemplated my desires. The sign flashed with the buzz of an electrical short, and I hoped it wouldn't catch on fire.

****

The door to Room Seven was ajar, an invitation. A welcome, an 'I'm lonely too'. I knocked lightly, then almost turned and ran. I didn't know this man.

Moist air from the shower filled the room and warm hands clasped my waist, my breasts and the place where desire burned hot. Gone was the trepidation as my mouth was engulfed with kisses sweeter than strawberry wine. The hot sandwich fell to the worn carpet, as forgotten as the world outside the door.

I never knew his name, even though he said mine many times as we loved, lusted and played the night away. We shut reality out. Let go the pain of living. We let go the inhibitions and rules, gave completely to the moment, let the room become our world, and our Savior too. It held us up from the dark and cold, and we loved our hurt away.

****

For days, I pined, and longed, and wished that he had stayed. And I look up at the sign above my head. And out beyond it too. Out to the beckoning light of the beautiful Texas moon.