The was a mildly attractive woman on the soft side of 50. Her husband called her Vera. He was her age. A largish man with commendable good-looks and a splendid speaking voice. She called him Ernie.
Ernie drove the five-year-old Ford across the lonely desert of southern Nevada. The scorching heat had softened the blacktop and the car's tires hummed as they rolled over the sticky asphalt.
Ernie was a Professor of Physical Sciences at a small liberal arts college in New Mexico.
A few hundred yards ahead they saw the little complex that suddenly appeared as they came to the top of a long dip in the highway.
Ernie pulled the car into the service station bay. Vera walked ahead to the coffee shop as Ernie waited for the teenage girl to fill the tank.
They sat in a small booth in the refreshingly cool little coffee shop. Vera sipped on her iced tea and then slowly put the glass down. "I've been here before," she said.
He laughed politely. They had always been quite close. Their 30-year marriage had been one of enviable solidity. "Unh-uh."
The waitress brought two ham-and-cheese sandwiches. His sandwich was so large that he fumbled with it trying to find a corner small enough for his first bite. "Deja vu," he said, replying to Vera's remark.
"But is deja vu that strong? she said. "I always thought it was a sort of mild passing moment in one's life."
"Mostly-yes. But not always. Sometimes-so strong that it actually causes panic."
"Oh."
"What did you do the last time you were here?" he asked.
"I bet on a horse called Red Bucket. In the casino."
"He win?"
"No. A horse called Black Tears won."
"When was this?"
Vera spilled some iced tea. She spoke as she wiped up the wet spot with her napkin. "I don't know. Maybe two weeks ago-maybe two years ago."
"Forget it. You've never bet on a horse in your life."
They finished their sandwiched and once more drove across the blistering highway toward their destination.
"Ernie."
"Uh-huh?"
"What causes deja vu?"
"Causes it?"
"I mean its origin. What brings it on?"
"Oh. It takes a person back to the time when she-or he-was leaving the womb. The moment of birth."
"It what...?"
"That's correct."
An isolated gust of wind, on the otherwise windless day, blew a couple of tumbleweeds across the highway. Ernie braked softly to avoid hitting the larger one.
"But how could there possibly be any connection between the two scenes?"
"The womb is the one place that everyone has been."
"Oh god. Now who figured that one out?"
"Freud."
"Who...?
"Freud."
"And you actually think he was right."
"Vera."
"Yes?"
"Freud was always right."
"But why-was he that smart?"
"He did his homework."
"And homework is that important?"
"Homework is everything."
Neither spoke as Ernie waited for a chance to pass a slow-moving old camper. After he had passed safely Vera looked at Ernie as she spoke: "Ernie, let's go back there."
"Do what?"
"Please-I'm serious."
"But why?"
"I don't know why-it's such a strong pull."
Ernie hunched his shoulders. "Okay." He continued to drive for a couple of miles until he came to a cut-out alongside the road. After waiting for two oncoming cars to go by he made a u-turn. A little prairie dog scooted across the highway as Ernie spoke: "It's probably better that we go back," he said.
"Oh?"
"I mean that if we didn't go back the scene would be nagging you for a long time."
Ernie made a left turn into the complex and parked in front of the coffee shop entrance which also led into the casino. "Let's go to the bookie," he said, as they walked up the steps to the big entrance door.
"Why?"
"See what happens."
"What is supposed to happen, Ernie?"
He put his arm around her. "I really don't know. But I suspect it has something to do with the horses-the illusion you had of having bet on Red Bucket."
"And Black Tears won." she said.
The entries of the thoroughbreds at the many different tracks were posted on the wall of the sports-betting room.
Vera refused to enter the bookie room-as if it were a bit beneath most people of reasonably good character. But Ernie walked up to the bookie in the cashier's cage. "Is there a horse running somewhere today called Black Tears?"
"Yeah. I saw his name somewhere. Look at the entries on the wall-you'll find him."
Ernie found Black Tears in the second race at Saratoga. "Odd," he said, as he walked up to Vera.
"Odd?"
"I think I've found why you wanted to come back here."
"Oh?"
"There is a horse called Black Tears. And he is running-at Saratoga."
"He's going to win."
"Sure?"
"Positive-absolutely."
"How much do you want to bet?"
"I don't know."
"A hundred?"
"Too much."
"How about twenty dollars?"
She nodded. "Okay."
"It will be at least an hour before the race goes off," he said. "We can kill time-somewhere."
Ernie played a little pool and Vera killed time in the coffee shop over another glass of iced tea.
* * *
Over an hour later.
Black Tears lost by over 10 lengths.
Once more they hit the highway toward the small Nevada college where Ernie was going to give a series of summer lectures.
There was little noise inside the car other than the healthy hum of the big V-8 motor and the soft swishing-sound of the air-conditioner.
"Ernie."
"Yeah?"
"You know how much I love you."
Ernie slowly raised his right eyebrow. He looked over after he had rounded a rather mild curve. "What brought that on?"
"I hate confessions."
"Confessions?"
They were now coming to little dips in the highway. A hundred yards ahead of the dips, which crossed the desert washes, road signs read: Beware Of Flash Floods.
"I'm going to join Gambler's Anonymous."
"You?"
"I've been a gambling addict for years."
"What kind?"
"Just the horses. Nothing else."
"You are serious?"
"All the way."
"Then the whole scene back at the casino was staged?"
"Completely."
"Oh."
Ernie edged a bit onto the left side of the road to avoid a young hitchhiker who was too far out onto the highway.
"I'll never-never-gamble again."
"I do like that."
Vera seemed exhausted from the effort of her confession.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
"Ernie."
"Uh-huh?"
"Say something-please."
"I've been thinking..."
"About what?"
"I've also got a confession to make."
She very slowly looked over at him. "Go on."
"I've known about your problem for years."
"Oh?"
"Almost since you started-over three years ago."
"Who told you?"
"Your first bookie-the old man-Augie."
"Why did Augie tell you?"
"I was suspicious. I called him."
"Why didn't you let me know?"
"You weren't ready to quit."
"You think I'm ready now?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"A successful rehabilitation always starts with a voluntary confession."
She nodded. "Ernie-what made you suspicious?"
"Little things. Tiny things."
"Can you give me an example?" she asked.
"Back at the casino you refused to go into the bookie room-as if it were beneath you."
"A bit too sanctimonious?"
"Uh-huh. If I hadn't already known you were a horseplayer it would have captured my fancy."
"It's like Freud said...," Ernie began.
"Are we back to him?"
"Just one more time?"
"Let's have it."
"Freud said there probably isn't anything that one person can actually hide from another person."
"And you think he was right?"
"I do."
"So do I."
Patrick Quinn has been writing short stories for a decade now. This is his 49th published story. In the past three years he's been able to sell his work to "large circulation slicks such as Gambling Times, Dialogue, Senior Life, Art Times, etc." Some of his own favorite pieces have been sold to the smaller Literary Magazines, where he seems to be much happier. His work first appeared in SOTT in 1986.
For more stories by Patrick Quinn, click here.
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