Chapter 17
Chris
The rusty, dilapidated sign simply read “MOTEL.”
The slip I’d signed elaborated that it was the Hickory Hills Motel, located in Weans Hollow, Tennessee. That someone had bothered to give it such a bucolic name struck me as odd.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have paid much attention. I’d have handed the man my credit card without thinking about the affectation the name gave the place. But the carbon paper credit card sales slip made me take note. As did the diamond-shaped plastic key ring I’d been handed. It was almost quaint in its midcentury design, except it wasn’t the kind of midcentury that had ever been cute to begin with.
This was purely utilitarian, and always had been. More like a bomb shelter that no one had remembered to bury. The kind of place where you took notice of every detail. Cementing every stain, cigarette burn, and belly-up bug into your memory, in case you’d be called to testify after witnessing the kind of heinous crimes that happened in places like this.
Shit. This might win the prize for the sketchiest place I’d ever set foot in, and that included real life crime scenes. How this business remained in operation was beyond my comprehension.
“Now or never,” I said, more to myself than to Daphne. I’d been trying to put up a brave front, and I had no intention of dropping it at any point before we checked out, but on the inside, my bones were rattling like a cartoon. I couldn’t help but think of the bodily fluids I’d find painted on the walls. The state of the toilet. The clarity of the water.
I shivered and forced myself out of the car after Daphne had already girded her loins to do the same.
I grabbed our bags from the back.
“Oh, Chris. Look.” She pointed to the sky. “The stars are so bright here.”
I looked up, my eyes immediately drawn to the Pleiades, the Big Dipper, Orion. No Star of Bethlehem, but Polaris was particularly bright.
Daphne held my naked hand in her gloved one and together, we both looked and looked. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. As much as I needed to get away from Daphne as fast as possible, this detour meant a few more precious hours with her. In my heart, I was grateful for more than just a safe place to hunker down through the icy weather.
“Thank you, Chris.” She turned to me with a plaintive look. “I know this is my fault. It’s all my fault that we have to stay here in this shithole. If we hadn’t gone to Fiddler’s Grove, or made the wreaths. If I’d picked grape instead of cilantro jelly. If I hadn’t been allergic—or whatever I was—to that spider. If I hadn’t spent so long talking to Valentine, or pouted about missing the Merry Lights of Christmas—oh, God, I really fucked everything up, haven’t I?”
“Daphne, no.” I pulled my hand out of hers and cupped her cheek, rubbing my thumb across the top. I needed to touch her, to reassure her. “The fault is mine. We should be sleeping at my parent’s house tonight. I was the one who put us both in danger, because… I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That after one more night with you, I’d fall too hard to let you go.”
“You already have,” she said sweetly. “You’re just pretending it’s not true.”
I chuckled. There’d been a Cold War conflict between my head and my heart, but hostilities were heating up. I looked at her and all I could see was that she wasn’t mine to touch. Or reassure. While my fingers burned to pull her close and never let go.
But I did pull her close. Tonight, we were alive, and we were here, and she was mine. And she’d be mine for the rest of the trip.
“I wish you’d told me before all this.”
“That I’m going to be a student?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you didn’t know. We wouldn’t be here. Even if we get murdered in this motel tonight, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend Christmas Eve.”
I dropped my hand. “That’s the sweetest and dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
Somehow, we made it to the door, gliding more than walking.
“Oh my God, look at the key! I wonder if they’d let me buy one.”
“Stay here. Let me take a look inside.”
“Oh, come on. We’re having an adventure.”
Daphne nudged me aside and flicked on the lights as we braced ourselves for what we were about to see.
The bulbs flickered a bit while they warmed up with a vaguely orange glow, but nothing scurried across the floors or up the walls. That alone let me start breathing more regularly. On a night as unseasonably cold as this, any number of critters could be building nests in the empty rooms. So far, so good.
The room was unsurprisingly outdated, but almost warm. Even better, it was clean. The bedspreads were tucked carefully over the pillows. There were no bits and pieces of trash on the floor. A quick look in the bathroom told me the minimal stains on the tub were a natural result of age and rust rather than lack of cleaning. The overhead tube lights were unappealing, but there were towels and plenty of toilet paper. It wasn’t a spa, but it was functional, and... I tested the water in the tub faucet... scaldingly hot.
“I wouldn’t recommend a soak in the tub, but I think it’s safe to say you won’t come out of the shower with a bacterial plague. Although, now that I know you and your propensity for sudden almost-death, maybe we should knock on wood.”
Daphne had already turned on the TV and was bouncing on her bed while she flipped through the channels.
“How are you feeling, by the way?”
She took a deep breath and ascertained. “Tired.”
“It’s been a long day.” I leaned against the doorframe of the toilet and shower room, and crossed my arms. “Especially for you.”
“Not long enough. You’re going to leave me tomorrow.”
I studied her face. I had only hours left to capture it, sending it deep into my hippocampus. I already knew I’d get no sleep tonight. I’d be lying awake in bed, holding on to every twitch and smile.
She came over and wrapped her arms around me. Her eyelids fluttered closed. She was close enough I could feel her soft breath on my neck.
“Do you think he’ll be okay out there?” Her eyes shot open as she pulled back, having practically shouted into my face.
“Who? Did you see an animal?”
“Winston.”
“Who?”
“You know..." she jutted her bottom jaw out. “Winston. That’s what I named him, anyway. His underbite reminded me of a bulldog, but it seemed disrespectful to call him Bulldog, so I gave him a human name. After Churchill.”
“Yes, thank you. I made that connection. Just not why you’re asking about the skull. Nor why you’ve chosen to give him a name at all.”
“We’re spending so much time with him—”
“Unfortunately.”
“He’s the reason we’re together—”
“We’re not together.”
She made a face like she didn’t believe me.
“I needed a name to call him when I thought about him.”
“Like my car?”
“Yes! Did you feel the way Brigitte handled that rough driveway?”
Now I couldn’t help but smile. I knew exactly what she was talking about. The smoothness of the ride almost halted my hesitation about the motel stay.
“Well? Do you think he’s okay out there? Should we bring him inside?”
“I think Winston’s used to being exposed to much higher and... well, maybe not lower temperatures, but every other possible weather element in the hundred years or more he’s been dead.”
“But..." She glanced out the window wistfully and bit her cuticle, a gesture I was starting to recognize as one of real concern. “I feel bad.”
“Alright. I’ll bring him in. If that’ll make you feel better.”
“Thank you, Chris.”
I stole my coat back from her. When I turned the handle, the wind blew the door open. Fuck, it was freezing. I’d already forgotten the bite of the cold after a few minutes of being in the warmth.”
The ground was so slippery, I had to swish my feet back and forth to keep from falling.
Suddenly my feet weren’t under my legs. My hand shot out and Brigitte caught my fall. I was able to grab on to the rear bumper to keep my ass from hitting the ice.
That’s when I noticed the music. I’d absently assumed it was someone’s car radio, but now that I was actively listening, I recognized human voices.
A fire burned in a metal trash can in the parking lot, just a few doors down.
“The Holly and the Ivy.” It was one of my favorite traditional carols, only this was sung to a different tune. Dark, lush, and beautiful.
I slid back into the room and tore off my coat, grabbing all our clothing and telling Daphne to put on every warm thing she had, which now included every warm thing I had.
“Chris, wh—?”
“Just come with me.”
“Anywhere.” She rushed to get dressed.
I locked the door behind us and made our way closer to the singers. Four men and four women were bundled in thick parkas and hats, singing together with perfect intonation. Vapor clouds puffed in the air around them, adding to the fog and making the night even more ethereal.
I closed my eyes as their next carol, which had started in C, took a turn into a darker key. Not A minor, though. Something more atonal and haunting.
“Oh, wow.” Daphne gasped. “They’re really good. Aren’t they?”
I knew this piece, too. But I’d never heard it arranged like this. The melody was sad and lilting, more felt than heard, as the fog created an acoustic shell around their voices. The choir’s pristine tones, dissonant harmonies, and the facility of their voices told me they weren’t just good. They were a professional ensemble. Stuck here just like us. Making the most of this murder motel by offering an impromptu Christmas Eve concert.
“Yeah.” I laughed. “They’re good.”
Daphne lifted my arm and put it around her shoulders as she hugged me. It was so frigid, her body temperature barely registered against mine, but somehow, I was impervious to the swirl of cold wet air around us.
More and more people began coming out of their rooms. Singles, couples, and families all silently joined us around the fire. We looked into each other’s faces, acknowledging our situation, our shared humanity, our gratitude.
All in this together. Listening— worshiping —together with quiet reverence. Giving thanks that our lives were spared tonight. That we’d had shelter. That we were here to experience this pristine beauty together.
My parents were “diet Episcopalian” and had occasionally dragged me to church for midnight services on Christmas Eve. It was okay, but church had never felt like this. Standing here in the cracked parking lot of a dilapidated roadside motel, the woman I loved under my arm, strangers coming together in fellowship, was maybe the most perfect, pure spiritual experience I’d ever felt.
The choir sang a few more songs, easy ones, gesturing for everyone to sing with them. When I looked down, Daphne was staring into the fire rather than singing. “You okay?”
She nodded, but I didn't believe her. Everyone clapped and began to part ways, too cold to stay outdoors any longer.
“That’s twice you got to sing carols—no thanks to your mom.” I said, when we were back in the room.
“I wasn’t even thinking about that. I’m just... overwhelmed with it all. I’m happy, but I know you don’t want me to show you how much. It’s just hard to hide it from you when you’re the one person who’s going through this with me. It’s happening to both of us. I just wish you’d let go a little.”
“I can’t.” I couldn’t disguise the pain in my voice. Our time left was too short.
“I know.”
“There’s no just a little with you. If I give in, I’m off a cliff.”
She nodded. “I’ve been off the cliff. Jump with me. We’ll figure it out.”
I laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Do you always get what you want?”
“I rarely get anything I want. Just my job with Decca, and school. The only things I wanted, I fought tooth and nail for. And they’re the best things in my life. Now you. And I’m going to fight for you, too.”
Part of me wanted her to fight for me. Maybe all of me wanted that. I shouldn’t let her, but I was too tired tonight to stop it.
We’d been through too much today. She’d faced death twice. Tonight, I just wanted to hold her, settle into the shitty, lumpy mattress and pretend that I didn’t have to leave her tomorrow.
“Stay here.” I went back out to the car and returned with a bottle of wine and some food I’d packed us. I always swiped a couple bottles from Mom and Dad’s cellar whenever I visited them, and this time, I’d taken a few extra. Celebratory bottles of wine and whisky I’d wanted to share with Daphne. Most could wait two years. But it was Christmas Eve. We’d survived the night. We deserved something special to help us celebrate instead of sulk.
Daphne flipped through the channels until she finally landed on It’s a Wonderful Life . It had just started. Little Mary was whispering into George’s trick ear over the ice cream counter.
I unwrapped the paper cups from the bathroom counter. Lord, help me, but I was pouring a 2000 Chateau Lafleur into paper cups. I almost cried at the injustice. When the cork creaked its way out of the bottle and the scent wafted into the air, there was no mistaking why this was such a good vintage.
“You brought wine?” Daphne smiled as I handed her a cup.
“I’d intended to save it for your birthday,” I smiled. “Whenever that is.”
“March thirtieth.”
“Or another special occasion. But, seeing as how I won’t be around for your birthday, it’s Christmas Eve, and we’re making our own Christmas traditions...” I poured the wine into my own cup, “Uncorking a special bottle of wine, and watching It’s a Wonderful Life is one I wouldn’t mind repeating every year.”
“What’s special about this wine?”
“It’s from your birth year. I happened to notice it on my way out. It’s one of the few good bottles from the region that are ready to drink now.”
She held up her glass. “To fancy wine and George Bailey.”
“And us surviving this night.”