The Miracle Mile

            The old headlights dimly lit up the road in front of the old Volkswagen Microbus. Behind the driver’s seat, Stef groaned as he tried to get comfortable. Beside him, his best friend and partner in crime, Izza, stirred slightly. “Where are we?” she asked, her eyes still closed. 

            “About an hour from Santa Fe,” Stef replied. “I stopped for gas about forty, forty-five minutes ago, but you were conked out.”

            “No, I wasn’t,” Izza said, slurring her words as she fought the onslaught of sleep. “I just didn’t get up because I was comfortable.”

            “I’m pretty sure you were out cold,” Stef laughed, guiding the van around a pothole that opened suddenly in front of them. He squinted, trying to see past the end of the high beams. “Glad we got the bulbs replaced,” he quipped, glancing over at the dark jumble of Izza.

            “Bulbs weren’t the issue,” Izza replied. “Front casings are. They’re fogged.” She sat up, blinking her eyes and rubbing her face. Not only did she outwardly have her father’s frizzy afro, but the mind under the curls had his innate understanding of cars and all things mechanical.

            Stef hadn’t known her father well. They had met just before his sudden passing. But everyone in the neighborhood referred to Mr. Isaac as the best mechanic in the area. Izza refused to follow her father’s profession, but it hadn’t stopped her from fixing up the Jeopardy whenever it needed her.

            “Do you really think it’s smart to pull another all-nighter?” Izza asked, fishing for a water bottle from between the seat and the door.

            “We gotta get home, Izz,” Stef said, as if “Isabelle” hadn’t been shortened enough. “Mom still says we should’ve just gotten tickets and flown home.”

            “And leave Jeopardy?” Izza asked, patting the dashboard. “You know we couldn’t do that.”

            “I know,” Stef said. “But either way, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep even if we did stop.”

            They had been gone a month, traveling up northeast, bound for Maine, at least eventually. Born and raised in South California and the surrounding area, the opportunity to fix up an old hippy van and caravan across the states had been too good to pass up for Stef’s adventurous spirit.

            And then they had gotten the call. There had been an incident. Stef’s Grandpa Abe had collapsed. His health was in decline. Stef’s mother, the oldest daughter and de facto matriarch in Grandpa’s absence, had called for the family to come as soon as possible.

            Stef and Izza had turned the Jeopardy around and started driving back. As the hours had turned to the past two days, news kept coming. Grandpa Abe was stable, but things could continue downward at any second.

            “Any new texts?” Izza asked, picking up her phone.

            “Not since they got denied to go home,” Stef said.

            Izza sighed. Their families, only separated by a few houses, were close, and Grandpa Abe had been especially kind to her after her father’s death. Grandpa Abe had dealt with a son-in-law’s death. The event has brought Stef’s family back to live with him, but more importantly, made him especially tender to a family who were now grappling with the same emotions he had dealt with only a few years later. Still, though, there was a degree of separation for Izza. Grandpa Abe, while kind, was not a relative. 

            Stef, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to sleep without the aid of melatonin. Even then, his sleep was fitful. His grandfather had helped drag him out of depression after his father’s death, and the thought of losing the most stable figure he knew was heart wrenching. He preferred to be awake and wait for the updates as they came.

            “If we’re going to drive all night,” Izza said, clearly trying to direct Stef’s spiraling thoughts away from the situation at home, “You’re going to need to have something to eat. It’s been at least six hours since your last meal.”

            “It has not,” Stef said, looking at the dashboard clock. He had to look closely – it didn’t light up well anymore. It seemed to be the norm for the Jeopardy.

            The name had started as a joke. “We should call the van Jeopardy,” Stef had said, “because then we can tell people not to worry, because we’ll always be in jeopardy!” After that, there was no going back. The puns had continued, until their motto had become, “We don’t fear danger, because as long as we’re in Jeopardy, we’re safe!” If anything, the name made them seek out excitement and places to get an adrenaline high. A shortened form of the motto “Always In Jeopardy” was painted along the side with their best ability in bright, alternating colors, proudly declaring their confidence. 

            “Is there even anything on this stretch?” Stef asked, realizing that he was, in fact, much hungrier than he had realized. He glanced in the rearview mirror, as dark as it had been since they left the gas station.

            His eyes traced down the intertwining cords over the mirror. At the bottom hung a garage key, a memento of Izza’s father, and an ankh symbol, a memento of his own. The loss of their respective fathers had formed a bond between them that few could truly understand or relate to. The items were things that, in everyday life, they wore around their necks, but now, had bequeathed them to the Jeopardy.

            “I’ll check,” Izza said, opening her phone. She blinked in the sudden burst of light, quickly turning the brightness down with a hiss. “Sorry.”

            “No worries,” Stef said, peering at a rapidly approaching sign. “What about that?” he asked as their headlights finally lit up an old faded billboard.

The Miracle Mile: Your last chance for good food! Open Thru the Night!

Izza looked up from her phone, a curious expression dancing on her face. “Strange. Nothing shows up on Maps.”

            “It’s probably just too old fashioned,” Stef said. “Did you see that sign? It looks like it was hung in the prehistoric ages.”

            “As long as they don’t just feed us prehistoric food,” Izza said, turning the phone off. “There might be other things along the way, but Maps isn’t showing them. Want to risk it?”

            “Well,” Stef said, “We’re always in Jeopardy. Might as well taste some danger, right?”

            It was far from an original joke – variations of it had echoed at nearly every greasy spoon they had frequented. Still, it made Izza roll her eyes and grin slightly. “Okay, Indiana Jones,” she said. “Let’s check out the Miracle Mile.”

            It was, unsurprisingly, almost exactly a mile from where the billboard hung. It was pulled away from the road, onto a short hill overlooking the road, just like a rest stop would have been. The outside was blue, lit up by the two parking lot lamps and the soft orange of the neon sign cresting its brick topping: Miracle Mile.

            Stef pulled the Microbus into the lot, Jeopardy bouncing as the asphalt gave way to dark gravel. He parked it between two faded white lines in the middle of the lot, pointing at the magnificent window-wall of Miracle Mile. With interest, he pursed his lips at the juxtaposition of the fairly new-looking building and the roughness of the parking lot. “I guess all their money goes into keeping the building modern?” he asked, looking over at his co-pilot to make sure they still wanted to stop.

            “Half of the roads out here are gravel,” Izza pointed out. “Doesn’t mean they’ll have bad food.”

            Stef grunted, turning the van off. “I guess not.”

            “You’re not losing your nerve, are you?” Izza teased. “Remember, this whole expedition was your idea.”

            It was true. Between the two, Stef was more adventurous. While Izza was no shrinking violet, she didn’t have the same drive for adrenaline as Stef did.

            “No, I’m not losing my nerve,” Stef said confidently. That said, Izza noticed that he still made sure his pocket knife was safely within reach. They got out of Jeopardy, stretching their contracted muscles and blinking their bleary eyes.

            “I hope they have good coffee,” Izza said, grinning at Stef’s look of anticipation.

            “At the very least,” Stef said. He followed Izza to the door, staring into the desert around them. It was timeless, he had realized during their drive. No matter how many years passed, the desert stood unchanged and held a draw for all adventurers in all generations.

            He blinked and turned back to the door, wondering how long he had dissociated from the present time. Izza was waiting for him, the door held open expectantly. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened.”

            Izza shrugged. “Beauty happened, Stefan. Enjoy it.”

            She used his full name, which meant she was enjoying his wonder. Stef grinned, feeling the rush of spontaneity begin to rise. “Let’s see what kind of coffee they have,” he said, following Izza inside.

            As the door closed, a bell rang in a welcoming way. A tall, matronly woman behind the counter smiled at them. “It’s a good night to get caught up in the sky, isn’t it?” she asked. She set two mugs on the counter. “I’m assuming you two will start with coffee?”

            “How did you guess?” Stef asked, taking one of the bar stools.

            The woman winked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Trade secret. My name’s Marge, by the way. Welcome to the Miracle Mile!”

            “Stef,” he replied. “And this is Izza.”

            Izza smiled and sat down next to him, looking at the empty mug in front of her. Her face twitched in slight disappointment and Marge laughed.

            “I just put on a fresh pot when I saw you pull in,” she said. “I figured you wouldn’t want three hour old coffee.”

            “At this point, I don’t know if I’d care,” Stef said, fingering the mug’s handle. “Provided it’s dark and strong.”

            Marge nodded. “It’ll be both, I promise.” She grabbed two menus and held them out. “Anything else, besides coffee?” she asked. “I won’t be offended if you say no, but we have some great deals for midnight munchies.”

            They accepted the menus with thanks and Marge smiled before turning away. She bustled around behind the counter, cleaning nothing, but giving her guests space. “What brings you through the Miracle Mile this time of night?” she asked over her shoulder as she checked the coffee.

            “We’re heading home to California,” Stef said, looking up from his indecisive analysis of the menu. “Figured we should get something to eat to keep us awake for the rest of the night.”

            “Glad you chose us,” Marge said with a smile. “There’s not much past us in either direction. A few derelict gas stations, perhaps, but certainly nothing for food.”

            Stef grinned, looking back down as he asked, “How long have you worked here?”

            “Oh,” Marge said, “For as long as I’ve been able to work.” She smoothed her graying brown hair. “Let’s just say it’s been long enough and not ask any more questions, hmm?” she said in a joking tone. Stef smiled at the comment.

            Izza cleared her throat. “Do you get very many customers? During the nights, I mean.”

            Marge looked around the empty room. “We have one or two regulars. Tonight is less busy than usual, though.”

            “On this stretch of highway?” Stef asked. “I haven’t seen anyone for at least twenty minutes, probably more.”

            “Oh, you’d be surprised,” Marge said. “You’ll have to come back another night. This place can be so packed that we start having to seat people outside.”

            Izza raised her eyebrows in disbelief, and Stef cocked his head, considering whether it was a joke. Before either of them could respond, Marge put up her hands and said, “Ah! Coffee’s ready!”

            She carried the pitcher to them, filling their mugs almost full. “Cream and sugar?” she asked.

            “Please,” Stef said, holding the mug in his hands and letting the warmth seep through his whole body. “Ah, this is going to be great, I can tell already.”

            “You’re the one who didn’t want to come,” Izza reminded him, accepting the bottle of half-and-half from Marge.

            “I was the one who suggested it,” Stef corrected.

            Izza opened her mouth to continue arguing, but was cut off by the sound of a motorcycle revving into the parking lot. Both she and Stef turned partially to watch the bike park beside their Microbus and a tall, imposing man get off.

            “Well, I’ll be,” Marge said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is that Elliot?”

            The man opened the door, and the bell jangled in its sweet way. He wore a gray leather jacket, and… was that a fedora perched on his head? “Morning, Marge,” he said as the door closed behind him. He walked around Stef and Izza, acknowledging them with a nod, then took a seat around the corner of the bar.

            “Elliot, I had started to wonder if you were dead,” Marge scolded, her finger following his path. “You’ve been gone too long.”

            Elliot smiled. His face didn’t look like one that dealt with the practice very often, but was cheery nonetheless. “You know me, Marge. I get harder and harder to kill every day.”

            “Still,” Marge said, “The least you could do was call.”

            “You and I both know your phone doesn’t work,” Elliot said, tipping his head forward with the tease.

            “Then send a pigeon!” Marge laughed. “Ah, well. How have you been? Where have you been?”

            Elliot absentmindedly scratched within the collar of his leather jacket. “You know why I enjoy our chats so much, Marge?” He paused a second before answering a question. “You remind me why I don’t live with my mother anymore.”

            “Oh, sure,” Marge said, waving a hand. “Compare me to your mother, Elliot. Very wise to insult your supplier of caffeine.”

            “I’ll take it dark,” Elliot replied. “As black as it comes.”

            “You’ll get a peppermint mocha,” Marge warned with a wave of her finger, “If you don’t respect your elders.”

            “Oh, I respect you, Marge,” Elliot said. “I just don’t fear you like you want me to.”

            Marge made an attempt at a frightening face, but poured him a full mug of steaming black coffee. “Elliot is quite the world traveler,” she told Stef and Izza, who were surreptitiously watching the drama unfold. “He used to be,” she emphasized the words, looking hard at Elliot, who pointedly ignored her in favor of the menu, “one of our regulars. But now Mr. Big Britches has too much going on.”

            Elliot laughed at that. It gave Stef and Izza another bout of puzzled glances. Elliot exuded  such a lack of positivity that they wouldn’t have been surprised to see a cloud over his head, but here he was laughing. Just as the laughter faded, though, his face returned to the neutral stone-like position he had been peddling when he walked through the door. “Oh, Marge,” he said. “Even you know how hard my job is.”

            “Yes,” Marge said, “All you do is complain about it.”

            Elliot shook his head but continued to ignore her.

            “He acts like he works for the government or something like that,” Marge whispered conspiratorially. “He’s really just a wannabe private eye.”

            Elliot blew derisively from his nostrils, but refused to say anything. “At least I have a life beyond the night,” he said under his breath.

            “Remember what I said about supplying your coffee?” Marge asked, pointing to the mug in front of him. She turned back to Izza and Stef, who were both smiling at the scene. “Do you dears know what you want to order?” she asked.

            “I think so?” Stef said, glancing at Izza. She nodded, looking down at the menu

            “Could I get the loaded fries?” she asked, pushing the menu to Marge’s side of the counter.

            “And I’ll take the garbage plate,” Stef said as Marge wrote down Izza’s order.

            “I’ll have it out in a little bit,” she said with a smile, then turned and disappeared toward the kitchen.

            Stef glanced in the direction of Elliot, but the big man seemed to be intently ignoring them. “We shouldn’t wait too long here,” he said. “We should get back on the road before sunrise.”

            Izza looked at her phone. “That’s manageable,” she said. “I’m going to use the bathroom while we’re waiting.” She stood up, spinning the barstool seat as she did so.

            Stef leaned into his hands, rubbing his eyes as another wave of exhaustion hit him. As he cleared his vision, he saw Elliot watching him from under the brim of his fedora. Stef blinked, unsure if he was actually seeing reality. He continued blinking as he realized Elliot was, in fact, studying him.

            “Are you related to Phillip Hendricks?” Elliot asked, just as Marge walked back into the room.

            “Yes,” Stef said, cocking his head. “That’s my father’s name.”

            “You look just like him,” Elliot said, carefully considering his face.

            Marge also turned and studied him. “You’re right,” she said. “I thought I recognized him when he came in. He does look just like him, doesn’t he?”

            “How do you know my father?” Stef asked. “I didn’t think he had left Shiftely Woods in his life.”

            “Phillip was another regular here, many, many years ago,” Marge said.

            “He was an old business acquaintance,” Elliot said. “We had a lot of the same colleagues.”

            “My father lived in Nevada. I don’t think he ever came to New Mexico,” Stef said in surprise. “I don’t think he ever came here. How would you know him?”

            Elliot shrugged. “I travel a lot. I’ve had work in Nevada, Michigan, New York.”

            “Part of that busy work schedule, huh?” Marge commented.

            “But when did my dad come down here, Marge?” Stef asked. “You said you knew him, too.”

            Marge opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by a bell ringing in the back. “One moment,” she said, holding up a finger. “Food’s ready. Don’t want it to burn!” She threw a look at Elliot. “If you don’t decide soon, I’ll give you waffles again.”

            Elliot gave another shrug. Stef assumed it was something of a signature move for him. “I don’t mind your waffles. As long as Sandy isn’t making them.”

            Marge laughed, sparkling the air around her, then disappeared into the back.

            “My dad knew you through work?” Stef asked, turning to Elliot. “What did you do before you were a private eye?”

            Elliot seemed to consider. “I was a soldier first,” he said. “Peace keeper after. Then private eye. That’s where I met your father.”

            Stef gave him a disbelieving look. “He was a general manager at Walmart,” he said.

            Elliot nodded, looking off into space. “Among other things. Phillip participated in an artifact smuggling ring heist. He posed as a willing accomplice, providing access to storage and shipping avenues. The ring trusted him, and through him, we were able to gather enough evidence to put all of them away.”

            Stef sat, processing the information. “Did you know he’s passed away?” he asked.

            Elliot took a drink of his coffee. “No,” he said. “He was a good man. I’m sorry for your loss.” There was a pause, during which Izza reappeared, looking in confusion at the solemn scene. The big man cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I ask how it happened?”

            “Car accident,” Stef said. He waved a hand, trying not to think about it. “You know the story. Drunk driver doesn’t obey the rules of the road, the innocent bystander gets caught up in the aftermath. Driver gets punished, but the family is punished more.” He shrugged. “It was almost twelve years ago now,” he said, as if that meant it wouldn’t hurt him now. Both he and Izza knew that wasn’t how grief worked.

            Marge came out of the back carrying two trays, which she set down in front of the travelers. She smiled comfortingly as they looked at their food, Stef sighing as he saw an escape from the conversation. “I heard what you said about your father,” she said. “I’m very sorry, too.”

            “Thank you,” Stef said, looking up at her quickly. “I appreciate it. You didn’t tell me how you knew my father, though.”

            “Like I said,” Marge said, smiling, “He was a regular here for a while.”

            “In the middle of New Mexico?” Stef asked.

            Marge nodded. “Where else?”

            “But when would he have come down here?”

            “A long time before you,” Marge said, a touch of a laugh coming into her voice. “You know Phillip the father and husband. I met him when he was like you. Young and on an adventure. He’d stop here in the night back from the desert. There was somewhere out there that he’d like to go. Sometimes he’d have friends, sometimes it would just be him. But he’d have a smile on his face and adventure in his heart.” She looked into the distance, remembering the faces of the past. 

            “The desert?” Stef asked, looking out of the window, past the Jeopardy. He remembered his thought from earlier and wondered how much he was like his father. “Where in the desert?”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Marge said. “They’d never told me. I was old before your grandfather was young. No one tells the old people where the cool places are.” She grinned at her joke, picking up the coffee and silently asking if anyone needed refills. Elliot raised his hand, pushing his mug forward.

            “He probably went to the Chimera Circle,” he said. He caught the questioning look from Marge. “I was young, once, too, you know.”

            “If you say so,” Marge said. “You’ve always seemed old to me.”

            “I’ve heard it called “maturity” in other places,” Elliot returned, taking another drink from his now-full mug.

            “I’ve never heard of Chimera Circle,” Stef said. “Where is it? And what is it?”

            “It’s a table mesa,” Elliot explained. “About fifty miles from here. It’s an old haunt for a lot of ultrarunners, backpackers or anyone looking for an adventure. But you don’t know about it unless you know about it.” He threw a glance at Marge. “And yes, I know what I said. You need to have someone in the know bring you. Or find it yourself.”

            “Is it still there?” Stef asked, looking at Izza, who gave him a small shake of her head over her food. “Oh, come on. Don’t you want to check it out?”

            “It probably is,” Elliot said. “Places like Chimera Circle don’t close down very easily.

            “We don’t have time,” Izza reminded him.

            Stef sighed, picking idly at his garbage plate as he realized she was right. “That’s true. Maybe if we come back out this way.”

            “I’ll go,” Izza promised. “But we have to get back to your family.”

            “My grandfather isn’t doing well,” Stef explained. “That’s why we’re heading home.”

            Marge nodded. “I pray you get back soon, then. Watching from a distance can be harder than being present.” She looked out the window. “How about I make those to go?” she asked. “It’s almost dawn.”

            Stef sat upright, looking at the sky. It was getting slightly brighter. “Have we really been here that long?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. Marge was bustling in a cupboard behind the counter, muttering to herself.

            “We’ll still have all day to drive,” Izza said. “Plenty of time.” She lifted her coffee and took a long drink, shaking her head as she prepared for the ensuing hours in the car.

            Marge emerged, holding two takeout containers. “There we go,” she said. “Someone decided to store a couple old coffee mugs on top of them. Don’t worry, I took them from the middle of the stack, so they’re still clean.”

            They accepted them with thanks. Even though there was no pressure other than their self-imposed timeline, they hurried to empty their plates and close up their boxes.

            Marge watched them, a gentle expression on her face. “Before you rush off,” she said as they began to stand, “Listen to the counsel of an old woman, if you will?”

            Izza sat down, but Stef remained standing.

            “Life is like day and life is like night,” Marge said. She motioned to the sky. “Sometimes, you see the day coming, but you’re still in the night. Don’t give up, but don’t try to rush the sun. And sometimes, you can see night falling, but you are still in the day. Don’t try to hold onto the sun any longer than you should. But don’t let the nightfall ruin the moments in light.”

            “And if you prefer the night over the day,” Elliot interrupted, “Ignore it, because it only works the one way.”

            Marge threw him an evil eye. Any questions on whether or not she had raised children were cleared with the perfectly executed glance. Only someone with unruly children ever used such a look with such effect. Elliot nearly physically recoiled, putting his hands up. “I’m sorry.”

            “As you should be,” Marge said. She turned back to the pair, still waiting. “Enjoy life. Take the moments as they come and embrace them for all they’re worth.”

            “Thank you,” Stef said. He picked up his coffee, realizing there was still some in the bottom. “Better finish this.”

            As he lifted it to his lips, Marge cut him off. “Don’t chug it,” she warned. “You’ll just make yourself sick.” She picked up the coffee pot again. “I’ll fill you up new ones and you can take them with you.”

            “Oh, we couldn’t,” Izza said.

            “You will,” Marge said, and somehow, they knew it was a threat. She expertly set two to-go cups emblazoned with the orange Miracle Mile neon logo in front of them, filling them to have just enough space for cream and sugar. “There you go,” she said, smiling fondly. “Take it, and may you return home safely and swiftly.” She looked over at Elliot. “Any last words of wisdom?”

            Elliot nodded. Oddly, his attention was fixed on Izza. “You’re so strong, and you don’t even know it. There’s power in you, Isabelle. I both hope you find it and pray it does not turn to ego.” He turned Stef. “If you’re anything like your father, Stefan,” he said, “Then I know you’re going to make him proud. In fact, you probably already have.” He inclined his head, his expression serious. “And if you’re as much like him as I think you are, then we’ll meet again.”

            It wasn’t until they were at the door that Izza paused. “Wait,” she said, as Stef pushed the door open, “How do you know our names?”

            “Like I said,” Elliot said, lifting his mug, “I’m a private eye.” He took a drink, returning his gaze forward.

            “That’s all you’re going to get out of him, I’m afraid,” Marge said. She made a shooing motion. “Now hurry! You want to be on the road before daybreak.”

            In bewilderment, they walked to the Jeopardy, throwing confused glances over their shoulder. “Uh,” Izza said, still trying to piece the night together, “Do you want me to drive? You should get some rest.”

Stef paused, looking at the keys in his hands. He looked at the dawn, approaching with a slow certainty. “Yeah, I think I’ll sleep for a bit. You’ll wake me up if we get a message?” 

Izza promised she would, and Stef handed her the keys. They climbed in silently, neither sure what more to say. She put the van in gear, maneuvering around Elliot’s bike and flipped the lights on. Between the oncoming morning and the fogged casings, they lit up little more than the ground directly in front of them.

They pulled out of the lot, finding traction back into the stream of travel. Behind them, the sky was lit up orange and purple in preparation for the introduction of the sun. They had driven only a short ways down the road when it peeked over the horizon, blinding them with the brilliant rays.

            Stef blinked in the sudden shift, shrinking down in his seat to watch it through the side mirror. As they crested a hill, he caught his breath. Through the lens of the glass, the light seemed to be breaking through the diner on the hill, making it hard to see. He blinked, and suddenly couldn’t find it again.

            Thinking they had just rounded a bend and lost sight of it, he turned in his seat. Behind them, as far as he could see, was nothing but the desert, now lighting up with the breaking of the dawn. He angled side to side, trying to catch sight of the diner, but there was nothing. Other than the two black bands of the highway, there was no indication humanity had ever touched these wilds.

            Stef looked forward again, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Had it been a dream? An illusion from sleepless nights and the constant movement?

            His eyes fell on the to-go coffees in the cupholders. Their orange logo seemed to smile up at her.

            The Miracle Mile!

Open Thru The Night!