CHAPTER EIGHT
I t was the day of our road trip. My enthusiasm had been curbed by an overzealous criminal the night before. I was sleep deprived but alert, if that was at all possible. A lengthy phone call late last night had roughly set our plans for the days ahead. Amelia was in charge of logistics. I was in charge of finding the correct Frances.
It took me no time at all to discover Frances Williams’s last known address. If it was the Frances Williams, of course, she was one of three in the Houston area. The other two were significantly younger, so it checked out.
I jumped out of bed, donning my trainers and a questionable thrift shop sweater Brittany promised would make me look “less rigid”. I disagreed. I thought it made me look even more rigid because I felt so uncomfortable in the Aztec patterned waste of wool that it made me hate rainbows.
It didn’t take long for me to be immersed in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The thought of spending hours on the road called for a strong cup to keep me energised. Amelia had already promised me two coffee breaks, or “coffee and doughnut breaks” as she so politely mocked. The association was a popular stereotype, and I understood it to a degree. A convenient twenty-four-hour coffee house did give me the caffeine boost I needed, but the doughnuts didn’t appeal to me. Nobody would ever convince me a slice of French toast wasn’t the most delightful thing to grace the earth.
Fried bread slices served with a drizzle of maple syrup and a sprinkle of powdered sugar— mmm . If I was feeling adventurous, a dollop of whipped cream and a side of crispy bacon. My mouth started to water.
I prepared a typical southern breakfast to fuel me for the journey ahead. Biscuits, sausage, gravy, and scrambled eggs.
Next, I turned my attention to packing an overnight bag. The trip from Magnolia to Houston was give or take a seven-hour flight. I’d suggested flying. I had some air miles gathering dust, but Amelia liked the idea of a road trip, and in her own words, she didn’t fear flying, she just desperately tried to avoid it at all costs.
Through various methods of elimination, Amelia had managed to narrow down Frances’s last known address to Houston. The letters spanned decades, several relocations, extended trips, family vacations, and short-term job transfers. It was almost impossible to build a timeline of events. The letters had dates in the top right corners, but no return addresses. What Amelia took to be the last letter of correspondence between Frances and Caroline mentioned a return to Pearland to enjoy a better quality of life. A quick internet search brought up a city called Pearland on the outskirts of the Houston statistical area. Frances Williams’s last known address happened to be an assisted living facility that specialised in memory care, which also checked out.
I gathered my favourite denim shorts, a couple of oversized tees, and a light jacket for evenings. I carefully folded each item, placing them neatly in my miniature suitcase. My cabin case was too small for any grown adults necessities, but it had travelled to a lot of places, it held a lot of memories, and I wasn’t ready to part with it, plus it was an unusual moon-rock colour that made the plain black one at the local Walmart look like a poor choice in comparison.
Amelia offered to supply the snacks, but I raided the pantry and filled a bag with crunchy pecans anyway. We weren’t yet on a level where I could 100 per cent trust her snacking choices, so, it was better to be safe.
I hope she isn’t allergic to nuts.
I texted her to check. She informed me that a pecan wasn’t really a nut, but a seed inside a stone fruit. I proceeded to spend the next five minutes researching why pecans thought it necessary to masquerade as nuts.
Lastly, I prepared a playlist on Spotify, although, the idea of filling a cassette tape brought back cherished memories. I remembered carefully selecting my favourite songs from my collection of tapes and CDs. I would write down the titles of the songs on the paper insert of the cassette case, creating my own personalised track-list. I would press the record button on my trusty cassette player and wait for the familiar click as the tape started rolling. I could spend hours curating the perfect mix of songs. Each song choice was deliberate. They reflected my personality. It was truly a labour of love that an algorithm couldn’t emulate. The pure satisfaction I felt when I finally pressed play and heard the opening line of my favourite song was unmatched.
I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest as I pictured open highways, music, and Amelia.
Three sharp beeps of a car horn pierced my quiet neighbourhood. Amelia waved emphatically from the driver’s side of her rented blue Toyota Corolla .
“I like your hat,” she complimented as I climbed inside.
The NCAA Alabama Crimson Tide cap was navy blue with a sizeable red A stamped across the front. It was at least ten years old, but the faded look only added to the appeal now that vintage clothing was so “on trend”. Amelia wasn’t aware that the cap only made an appearance when I was due a haircut and my overgrown layers refused the simplest of maintenance. The cap allowed me to tuck my shapeless hair behind my ears and hide all evidence of a cancelled hair appointment. I was already two weeks overdue thanks to work commitments, but I hadn’t foreseen cancelling my appointment for a third time to leave the state with Amelia. She didn’t need to know that.
“Thank you. It’s the Alabama Crim—”
“The University of Alabama football, right?” Amelia finished.
“Yeah, I didn’t have you down as a football fan?”
“I’m not really, but my—” Amelia paused. “My dad, he erm, he used to play, so I know a little,” she trailed off. Amelia jarringly changed the subject. “Have you been on any road trips recently?”
“Does it count if it involves a prisoner?” I asked.
“I was thinking more on the open road with your friends and less one on one with a felon,” she bantered.
“I drove to Charleston last year with my best friend, Brittany.” It was a fantastic trip.
“I like Charleston.” Amelia smiled.
We hit the open road, ready to face whatever knowledge Pearland might bring. We drove mile after mile, and I filled the time with conversation about our respective music tastes. We played guess the year of the song as Amelia flicked from one radio station to the next. I found myself desperate to make her laugh. The sound was genuine and unrestrained. Her soft giggle brought me a wave of happiness.
We stopped at a gas station just outside Jackson, Mississippi. The promise of snacks and a refreshing drink made it the ideal afternoon stop. It was my turn to take the wheel. In five hours we would arrive in Beaumont.
“I really don’t know that much about you.” I moved my sunglasses to the top of my head, using the brief respite the clouds gave me to see Amelia clearly.
“What do you want to know?” she offered.
“Tell me about your childhood. What was school like? Were you popular? Do you still have friends from high school? Will you attend your fifteen year reunion?”
I turned the dial on the radio down, and the soft melody of a classic Mariah Carey song faded into the background.
“No, yes, and undecided.” Amelia smirked.
I raised my eyebrow in response. “You have to give me more than that.”
“School was challenging pre-ninth grade. I had these awful metal braces that basically took over my whole mouth. They caused me to develop a lisp that I’m still self-conscious about today.”
“You don’t have a lisp,” I reassured her.
“I hide it well now. Anyway, once my boobs came in and I began to understand the importance of a good facial routine, I became a little more desirable to the... erm... male population.” She was hesitant to reference gender, maybe she thought it would offend me.
“Oh, I see, so you became a hot ticket.” I smirked.
“I think I was briefly seen as a new conquest, but I was too clever and too focused on tennis to let boys soak up my energy.”
“How many of these boys asked you to prom?”
“Only one, my boyfriend. He actually nearly died at our senior prom,” Amelia revealed too calmly.
“Wait, what? How?”
“Almost choked on a jalapeno popper,” Amelia said whilst she removed one of the all-time choking hazards, a bunch of grapes, from her snack bag.
“Was he okay?” I asked, concerned.
“Oh yeah, absolutely fine. He continued dancing right after the medics checked him over and the colour returned to his face.” She tried again to switch the focus from her. “I guess you see a lot of that with your job though, right?”
“Not as much as you would think.”
“Have you ever saved someone’s life?”
It was a topic that often sparked interest amongst my friends and family but one I preferred to avoid.
“Once or twice.”
“Please tell me. I’m intrigued. What does it feel like to know someone is still alive because of you?”
Amelia shifted her body, curling her left leg up onto the seat and angling her body towards me. It was hard to concentrate knowing her attention was focused on me. The radio had been reduced to a suppressed buzz. The open road stretched for miles in front of us, and the navigation clearly signified we had all the time in the world. I recalled the first time I ever saved someone’s life like it happened that same day.
I heard the call for help, and my training kicked in. I raced to the scene. A young female clutched her throat, gasping for air. I will never forget the tension in the air and the urgency radiating from those around her. I instantly applied pressure to her abdomen. With each unsuccessful thrust I felt the weight of responsibility on my shoulders.
I had only been a police officer for nine months. I was barely qualified, and the inexperience in that moment could’ve broken me in two, but I persevered. With a sudden release, the piece of meat obstructing her throat flew out, and I watched her eyes widen in relief.
“Wow. Were you scared?”
“Terrified,” I admitted.
“Did you get a medal of honour or something?” Amelia asked.
“Erm, like a Medal of Valor?” I smirked.
“Yeah, what’s funny?”
“They tend to be for exceptional courage or bravery, specifically in dangerous situations. I don’t think saving a woman from choking on a piece of meat counts.”
She pursed her lips and exhaled, the pfft was short and sharp.
“The appreciation from the woman was enough for me. She came back to the station a few days later with a big bunch of flowers and cupcakes for the whole team. It was sweet,” I recalled.
“I think you’re amazing... you know... erm... in a police officer type way.” Amelia turned abruptly to face the windscreen. I could see her head shake in my peripheral view.
“Thank you.” I grinned. “It can be a pretty rewarding job.”
“I bet. Could you ever see yourself doing something else?” she asked .
“I don’t know. I love my job, but sometimes I think if I have children, I don’t know if it’s fair to put them through the worry.”
I grew up watching the concern on my mom’s face whenever my father didn’t arrive home on time, or whenever a police car pulled up at the house that wasn’t his. Ten years before he retired, he was shot in the leg while attending an armed robbery. Two of his officers showed up at our doorstep to inform my mom. I watched her face turn white in anticipation of the worst news. We were fortunate enough as a family not to receive that news, but the fear it instilled in my younger self stayed with me.
“You want children?” Amelia sounded surprised.
“Sure, don’t you?”
“I love the idea of having children. I kind of want to have my shit together first though, y’know? This world’s a big enough mess as it is. I don’t want my children to have a mom that doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing with her life as well.”
I nodded. “I understand that.”
“Would you like to adopt? Or would you try IVF?”
I shrugged. “It’s kind of hard to know how I’ll feel when the time comes. I think it depends on my partner as well and what they want to experience.”
The children topic was a live conversation over family dinner. Katherine was beating me 2–0.
“Would you carry?” Amelia asked.
“I’m open to it,” I admitted.
“How many kids?”
“Three.”
“Why three?”
“Just so I can one up my sister,” I joked.
Amelia was fishing for valuable information like a tabloid newspaper, except I wasn’t famous, and nobody had any interest in reading about my mundane life.
“In all seriousness, I would like two, ideally girls. That way I have two chances to nurture either the future female president or the next Olivia Rodrigo.”
“Interesting.” Amelia laughed.
“Well, what about you?”
“Two girls for me too,” she admitted.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve always liked the idea of two girls.”
Amelia looked out of the window, watching the passing landscape whilst she devoured a small bag of salty peanuts.
“Would you like some?” she offered.
“No, thank you.”
“You don’t like salted peanuts?” she mumbled.
“I love salted peanuts, but I brought some fried pickles.”
“Fried pickles?” Amelia squirmed. “Pickles make me feel funny. I just don’t do well with tangy things.”
“Trust me, try fried pickles with ranch dressing, you will never look back.” I pointed at my bag on the back seat. “Could you pass me the green tub from my backpack?”
Amelia reluctantly placed the small plastic container in my lap.
“These fried pickles are from the summer festival, there’s a guy called Randy, and he specialises in all things pickle.”
“How do you specialise in all things pickle?” Amelia laughed.
“I honestly don’t know, but he does a great job. ”
Randy had a food truck dedicated to pickles. The menu consisted of twelve different pickle recipes ranging from pickle bacon bombs, to cheesy pickle chips, to pickle egg rolls, and my personal favourite pickles in a blanket.
“Just try one,” I urged.
“Fine.” Amelia reached over and carefully selected the smallest one. “I do this, and you have to try my favourite snack.”
“Deal.”
I was from Alabama, which meant I loved pretty much anything deep fried.
She took a tentative bite. The crunch echoed, closely followed by a moment of contemplation from Amelia. Her face shifted from surprise to delight? I couldn’t quite work it out, but I knew from experience the burst of tangy pickle mixed with the crispy outer shell was unbelievably addictive.
“Huh.” A smiled tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Do you approve?” I asked, amused.
Amelia reached across for another pickle. “Let me try it again to be sure.”
She took another bite and nodded in approval. “Mmm, okay, you win.”
“Yes, I knew it! Eventually, everyone conforms.” I laughed.
We ate some of Amelia’s peanut brittle, which was another recipe of her grandma’s, and we finished with my pecans. If the trip had taught me anything so far it was my love for the nut variety.
We pulled into the empty parking lot of a quaint motel nestled on the outskirts of Beaumont, Texas. Aside from a beat-up Honda and two motorbikes we were the only other vehicle. The building had seen better days. The single-storey structure was now a faded grey with bright blue doors, but the surrounding greenery looked well-manicured.
“This is the place,” Amelia confirmed.
The receptionist gave us a quick tour of the grounds. She suggested local attractions and dining options, but the vending machine at reception would suffice. Breakfast was included as was free use of the outdoor swimming pool.
“I didn’t bring my swimming suit,” I whispered to Amelia.
“Neither did I.” She wiggled her eyebrows and sharply turned away.
She was flirting.
What did that mean?
Do I flirt back? Do I ignore it? Pretend it was a casual passing comment with absolutely no flirtatious intent?
The room was simple but comfortable. The floral bedspread wasn’t necessarily to my taste, but the bedside lamps cast a warm light, which made the décor cosier than expected.
“Did you read the reviews?” I asked.
“Oh God, why? What’s wrong?”
Amelia appeared from the bathroom with her toothbrush balanced against her lip.
“I was just curious what the evening entertainment was like.” I smirked. “This thing doesn’t seem to be working.” I repeatedly pressed the broken remote pointing it at the TV. The back was held together by copious amounts of duct tape, so I didn’t hold out much hope for its resurrection.
“Can’t you just switch it on by the actual TV?” Amelia questioned.
“Without a remote?”
“Erm, yes.” She laughed.
“Is that possible?” I felt around the edge of the unit, nothing. “I don’t think they make TVs with power buttons anymore.”
“Sure they do.”
She used both hands to squarely feel around the edge of the TV.
“Why is there no button?”
“I told you.”
“It doesn’t make sense. If a remote breaks, how do you watch the TV?” she said, baffled.
I shrugged. “There must be a secret button on here somewhere.”
Amelia returned from brushing her teeth to find me still fidgeting with the TV.
“The reviews did say there was a nice communal barbecue area; maybe we could take a look?”
“Yes, please.” I dropped the already broken remote onto the side cabinet with a thud.
We were yet to acknowledge sleeping arrangements. I had left Amelia in charge of that, and she opted for a joint room with two double beds, but what did that mean? She wanted us to share a room but not a bed? She’d opted for the twin room as opposed to a queen or king-sized single bed, but she hadn’t opted for adjoining separate rooms, which could’ve been an option. There was a safety element to consider. We were staying in a motel in the middle of nowhere, in a state we weren’t familiar with, and I was a police officer. Maybe it was purely a safety feature. I was a walking, talking, taekwondo trained safety feature, and it benefited Amelia to have me close by, but not too close.
I was over-thinking it.
The faint smell of burgers and sizzling steaks still mingled in the air, but the barbecue had long since burnt out.
“We were too late for a welcome meal,” I noted.
I grabbed two cold Mountain Dews from the vending machine, and we found a quiet spot by the pool. The gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze was louder than the distant hum of traffic. The backroad closest to the motel was a peaceful slumber at night.
Amelia sat across from me with her easy smile. She traced the lid of her soda, watching it intently. What was she thinking? I desperately wanted to know.
“We are officially a ninety-minute drive away from meeting Frances. How do you feel?” I asked.
“Nervous,” she admitted.
“It’ll be okay,” I reassured.
“Do you think it’s crazy to come all this way? We could’ve just called. What if it’s not even her?” Amelia worried.
“I think whenever you’re given the opportunity to act spontaneously, you should. Life is challenging, and I personally think we get so caught up in the day to day that we forget to really experience life. What we’re doing now is experiencing it. We are taking a chance with no promise of the outcome, and that’s what makes it compelling.”
“How did you get to be so positive?” Amelia leant forward, her voice soft and inviting.
“I probably have my mom to thank for that.” I smiled .
“I bet she’s a sweet soul. She must be to have raised you so wonderfully.”
“You’ll make me blush,” I teased. “She had to be positive for the family, I think. My dad unknowingly put her through a lot. Growing up, she always used to say, ‘If you can be anything in life, be optimistic.’”
“I like that.”
Amelia sat back and swung one leg over the other, causing her right foot to brush lightly against my leg. I had always been content with the quiet. I didn’t have the type of personality that demanded attention, certainly not outside of my job. My personality didn’t suit every situation, but I didn’t feel the need to force conversation with Amelia. The awkward “let’s get to know each other” stage didn’t exist between us. There were so many things I wanted to know, but I didn’t feel compelled to converse all the time. That was new to me.
We weren’t dating. Was that the reason? Maybe if I felt the pressure of a looming romantic relationship my outlook would’ve been different.
“So, question...” Amelia sipped her soda whilst piercing my soul with her stare.
“What?” I smirked.
“Why aren’t you married?” she asked.
“That’s a fully loaded question.” I laughed.
“I’m curious.” Amelia shrugged.
“Do you think I should be married? I’m only twenty-nine.”
Twenty-nine was still young, right? I started to calculate the number of adults in Magnolia under the age of thirty who were married—a lot, actually.
“You’re only twenty-nine?” Amelia’s eyes widened.
“Ouch. ”
“I’m joking, obviously.” Her laughter suddenly turned soft and intimate. She reached out her hand, the gentle squeeze a silent gesture of comfort.
“Maybe there’s something wrong with me.” I shrugged. “You know, my grandmother always used to say I was more irritating than the general use of slang.”
“Aww,” Amelia sympathised. “Were you a bad kid?”
“I wouldn’t categorise myself as a bad kid, maybe a little mischievous.”
“How mischievous?” Amelia asked.
“Erm... I used to hide my grandma’s glasses in a different place every day.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“She’s practically blind.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, it was a poor practical joke. Anyway, I’m her favourite now, so all is forgiven.”
“I can’t imagine anyone finding something wrong with you,” Amelia said. Her gaze lingered on my lips. Was that an invitation? It was subtle, but it was there.
“Erm . . . thank you.”
My heart raced.
“I asked why you weren’t married because I find it hard to believe.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, you just seem very solid.” Amelia smiled.
“Solid?” My breath caught in my throat.
“I hope it’s okay I say that; I mean it in the best possible way.”
Amelia thought I was solid . It was a compliment. I would’ve preferred something less rigid, but I’d take solid.
In response I resorted to a stammering wreck. “Erm... yeah... I guess I am quite solid. ”
I guess I am quite solid!
Who says that?
I was immediately embarrassed. My entire face felt warm under the immense pressure of Amelia’s stare. I was suddenly aware of my restless legs, and my right one bopped up and down to its own rhythm as I nervously avoided eye contact.
She’s giving you all the signals. Make a move!
I wasn’t so withdrawn from romance in the female form that I didn’t realise when someone was flirting with me. Mr. Maverick’s wife did it every time I was called to deal with a disturbance at their bar and grill. Mrs. Pine’s daughter attempted to get my phone number every time I stopped at my local coffee shop, despite being married with a child and joint custody of a vast number of animals.
Amelia was flirting.
But she was straight.
Did that matter? It didn’t need to matter.
I spent more than a moment overthinking the solid comment and failed to notice when Amelia’s face drew closer to mine.
“I don’t want to cross a line here, but,” Amelia whispered. There was a quiet intimacy beside the swimming pool. The soft glow of the string lights on the fence and the hum of the hotel’s air-conditioning unit added to the tense atmosphere between us.
“But, what?” I asked.
Her lips parted, answering my inner torment. I closed the gap before she had a chance to respond. Our lips met in a hesitant kiss. Her body leaned into mine as the kiss deepened. The warmth of her breath mingled with mine. It was slow but deliberate as we found a comfortable rhythm.
The motel room door slammed back against the TV cabinet. It was poor positioning on the motel’s part. The huge dent on the corner of the wooden cabinet suggested other guests had misjudged the flexibility of the door hinges too.
“Whoops,” Amelia said.
The click of the door echoed across the empty room. I was still reeling from our first kiss. My heart raced in my chest. My nervousness eased when I saw Amelia’s eyes filled with adoration. She wanted me too. I gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face.
I felt a sudden surge of courage and took Amelia by the hand. I led her to the bed. A moment of nervous laughter left her lips, it was small, but it eased the tension. Amelia’s hand found its way to the small of my back as she pulled me closer. My fingers tangled in her hair. My chest heaved with the intensity.
Our kisses grew bolder, fuelled by a shared understanding that we both wanted this to happen. My trembling hand traced the visible contours of Amelia’s skin. Each time our lips met, a rush of warmth flooded through my body. In the midst of undressing, I could’ve sworn I heard Amelia whisper, “wow” against the crease in my neck in reference to something I hoped I could replicate.
The first time with someone new was always laced with curiosity, but it felt more intense with Amelia. I was aware of her inexperience with women, which made me anxious of the potential for a crippling change of heart. I was fearful she might regret her decision the next morning.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I pulled back, but my body remained tightly locked to hers.
“Yes.” Amelia gripped my face and pulled my lips to hers. The nervous laughter we shared soon turned to soft sighs of pleasure as I found ways to make Amelia reel.
She felt unbelievable to me. I took the time to explore the curves of her body. The smell of her perfume mixed with hair product created a sweet coconut twist I wanted to inhale all night long.
I didn’t have time to consider the consequence of having sex with Amelia. I was revelling in the moment, and aside from one or two positioning prompts, Amelia portrayed anything but a novice.