25 Panic in Detroit
Panic in Detroit
“After all that, she just leaves?” I slam the diary shut with a loud sigh and shove it back into the tote tucked between my feet in the front seat of the Tesla.
I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. What happened on my mother’s trip has nothing to do with me.
But I can’t help but feel cheated. “My mom was a player.”
“What are you talking about?” A deep groove forms between Dash’s eyebrows.
“Mom and Ryan. They had this epic romance going, then she dips out the next morning without a backward glance. No explanation. She goes on to the next stop as if it ... as if he never happened.”
Dash shifts in his seat, stealing glances at me while he drives. “Do you think maybe she knew it wasn’t realistic to expect more with a guy she literally just met?”
The parallels between Mom’s trip and ours hang between us like a thick fog.
“You’d think after having sex they would’ve at least exchanged phone numbers. I get this was before social media, but it’s not like they lived on different continents. And even if they did, they could’ve been pen pals!”
A wide smile takes over Dash’s features. “You wanna be pen pals?”
“Maybe?” I glance at his wrinkled shirt and rumpled hair, falling for him all over again. Our eyes lock, and I slip my fingers through his across the console. Saying goodbye to Dash once we’ve visited all of Mom’s stops will be one of the hardest things I’ll ever do.
“Maybe Ryan lacked a certain ... finesse ?” He locks his gaze on mine and brushes his thumb across my wrist.
Heat climbs up my throat, pinking my cheeks as I replay every glorious moment from the night before. There was no lack of finesse on Dash’s part. In fact, he more than exceeded every expectation. Hours later, my bones are still jelly.
As I contemplate asking him to find somewhere secluded so we can pick up where we left off, a buzz from my bag drags me back to the present. With a wistful sigh, I dig out my phone and glance at the display before pressing it to my ear.
“Hey, Jeanie. How’s the leg?”
She lets out a loud snort. “Hurts like hell. And it’s screwing with my tan lines.” Leave it to my sister to be more worried about her tan than broken bones. “You should be riddled with guilt for ruining my summer.”
I roll my eyes, wishing she could see the gesture. “Did you really call to torment me again?”
“Actually, no.” She laughs. “The Cleveland police just called to say someone turned in your wallet.”
“No way.” My eyes widen, and I turn to Dash. “They found my wallet.”
“I know, right? I figured it was a lost cause. I mean, your money and your cards are long gone. They totally cleaned you out. But apparently your license and your library card were still inside. I can’t believe you actually filled out the stupid ID card that came with the wallet.
That’s how they knew to call the house.”
“That’s what it’s there for.”
“If you say so.”
“Are they mailing it home?”
“That’s why I called. They said they could send it, or you could swing by the police station and pick it up. I checked your location on the app and saw you were a few hours away, so I figured I’d see if you wanted to grab it before they stick it in the mail.”
Ignoring the fact that my sister is openly stalking me across the country, I turn my attention to Dash. “They said I can pick it up.”
“Where?” He glances at our location on the display.
“Cleveland.”
He smiles. “It’s on the way.”
With my temple resting on the passenger window, and my wallet—and license—back where they belong, I count the mile markers as we fly down the highway.
Dash pulls his gaze from the road and quirks a brow. “Food or sleep?”
“What?”
“That look. Are you fantasizing about food or sleep?” Less than a week together and he already gets me better than Damian did after several years. And if the grin is any indication, he knows it.
As if answering for me, my stomach rumbles. Other than splitting a few stale graham crackers and half a chocolate bar that escaped the pee-bomb, we haven’t eaten since breakfast.
He chuckles. “Dinner it is.”
He takes the next exit and pulls into a diner that reminds me a lot of BB’s. All it needs is a giant guitar on the roof and it could be the same place.
Inside, the similarities end with the Formica counters and red vinyl stools. Instead of bright neon and rock and roll paraphernalia, the unadorned walls are covered in greasy stainless steel panels that are way overdue for a good cleaning.
The place is packed, so we grab the only two open seats at the counter.
“So what’s the plan?” Dash side-eyes me over the dirty menu. “After the last few stops, I’m almost afraid to ask what your mom has in store for us next.”
“Now that you mention it ...” Smirking, I drag the diary out of my bag and flip to Mom’s entry for the Motor City.
A yellowed photo of Mom standing in the rain in front of a run-down old house with hundreds of brightly colored polka dots painted all over the worn white siding brings a smile to my lips as I skip ahead and read a snippet of the entry to him.
Before we even hit the city limits, Mom told me she had a surprise waiting for me in Detroit.
She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but the familiar gleam in her eye has butterflies crashing around my insides like a bunch of drunks at a football game.
I can only imagine the crazy plan she has percolating in her mad-scientist’s brain.
“Please don’t tell me your mom rappelled from a skyscraper or boosted a car.” Dash laughs, but the tremble in his voice gives his nerves away.
“Don’t be a baby,” I tease before picking up where I left off.
So much for my surprise. We got to Detroit smack in the middle of one of the coldest Julys on record.
Cold and wet. It rained the entire time we were there.
Most disappointing stop so far. At least we got to see the Fisher Theater and a few of the cool houses at the Heidelberg Project.
Hopefully I don’t end up with pneumonia.
“Well, that’s disappointing.” I close Mom’s diary and shove it into my bag. “No grand theft auto, and they didn’t even jump from a single skyscraper.”
Dash lets out a sigh of relief.
“Don’t pack up your parachute quite yet.” I pluck another laminated menu from behind the napkin holder and skim the selections. “There’s always Chicago.”
He snorts. “Don’t even joke about spreading her ashes from the Sears Tower. I draw the line at Base jumping.”
Although beyond reckless and stupid, the thought had crossed my mind. “I make no promises.”
“You jump off a building, you go alone.” He drags his gaze back to the menu. “That’s all I’m saying.”
I grin. “Chicken.”
After stuffing ourselves with burgers and fries, Dash grabs the check before the waitress has a chance to set it down.
“I can pay for my own food.” I scowl at him. “I may not be rich, but I do have a little money, you know.”
“I know.” He brushes my hand as he slides his credit card onto the counter. “But I want to.”
A minute later, the waitress comes back and eyes the shiny plastic card. With a sour expression, she points to the sign above the register. “Cash. Only.”
Just after sundown, we stroll into the lobby of the Hotel Saint Regis, wearing the same clothes as yesterday—and reeking of campfire, sex, and the woods.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles as dozens of eyes bore into my back, reminding me I don’t belong in the fancy establishment.
But by the time I’d finished spreading Mom’s ashes at the park across from the Fisher Theater, it was too late to re-create her photo at the Heidelberg Project’s Dotty Wotty House, so Dash suggested we find a nice hotel for the night, and I willingly agreed.
With my head held high, I tuck my tote under my arm and follow Dash to the registration desk, pretending I’m not tracking dirt all over their pristine tile floors.
He tosses a wink over his shoulder, and the glimmer in his eyes tells me sleeping isn’t all he has in mind.
As long as I get a long, hot shower first, I’m all for that idea.
Now that I’ve had a taste of him, all I want is more.
“Your card was declined.” The dark-haired woman behind the desk slides Dash’s card back across the polished stone counter.
“Declined?” Dash rocks back on his heels and rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve been traveling. Maybe the bank flagged my card.”
The desk clerk raises a finely chiseled eyebrow. She glances at each of us in turn, making her chin-length jet-black hair sway from side to side. “Would you like to try another card?”
Dash nods, glancing at me as he pulls a shiny black card from his wallet.
She snatches the plastic from his fingers and shoves it into the card reader.
Several seconds pass before she flashes a pinched smile. “Declined.”
“What?” Dash’s voice echoes through the lobby. “Not possible. Run it again.”
Lifting that thin eyebrow again in a silent challenge, she slides the card into the reader a second time and waits. “Declined.”
“Fine.” He huffs and pulls out his phone. “I’ll just book a room and pay for it online.”
“You’ll still need a valid credit card to check in.” The woman’s cold smile sends a chill down my spine.
Dash’s expression crumples as he turns to me. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Maybe you should call the bank,” I whisper.
With a curt nod, Dash retrieves his card from the woman’s bony fingers and storms through the lobby.
My dirty sneakers slap against the marble as I chase after him, barely catching the words card and declined before the double glass doors close between us.
By the time I reach him, he’s half a block away, pacing the sidewalk with his phone pressed to his ear and his fingers knotted in his tangled hair.