Sugar skull with ice cream sundae

The heat broke on Tuesday, the first real cloud we've had since March, and the whole road smelled of wet creosote and burnt sugar. You'll laugh, but I finally got the sundae right. Three scoops of strawberry under a cone of cocoa cream, a cherry on top, and Tomás carved the sugar skull's head so the hair piled up like a bakery tray. The lorry drivers at the Fuel and Fry past the cattle grid stopped just to look at her.

Mind you, the trouble is the candy hearts. Every child who passes wants one, and I've run out twice. I told the tourist from Phoenix that they were pressed by hand in a tin mould my grandmother carried across the border in her apron. He paid double for the story and I didn't correct him.

Last night the wind came up from the south and blew the awning off the stall. I found the little iced skull face-down in the sand by the water tank, one eye chipped, grinning up at me as if it had a secret. I sat on the step and ate the strawberry that had rolled off, and I thought of you saying I'd never keep a shop open on a road with no town at either end.

Well. I'm still here. The awning is mended with baling wire, and the banner you painted for me hangs straight again. Come in October when the road is cooler. I'll save you the cherry.

Love, Inés