Chapter 8 #2
That slight accent of his has slipped through again.
And it sounds a lot like Connie’s as she says, “Well, we’d love to have you stay with us longer, but I’m sure you’re eager to get on your way to.
..” She pauses, smiles, raises her chin a bit.
“Wherever you’re goin’,” Connie finishes, sensing that we’re not in the mood to chat.
“Oh. Just one thing before we go up. If you could write down your info for me and sign here. And then you can pay Bud when you check out.”
Hollis follows Connie to a small desk by the stairs to fill out the paperwork. He stops writing at one point and stares at me as if trying to figure something out. Maybe he doesn’t know how to spell my name. “What?” I mouth, but he ignores me and returns to the forms.
After she reviews the information, Connie tucks the papers into the desk and claps her hands together. “Great. Now let’s get you to your room. I’m sure y’all’re exhausted.”
“Extremely,” I say. With my little backpack slung over my shoulder, I start hauling my suitcase up the stairs. I bang the backs of my ankles with the wheels five times before Hollis lets out a huff and orders me to hand it over.
Thankfully, Connie unlocks the first door in the upstairs hallway and pushes the heavy oak panel open.
“We call this the Mustard Seed room,” she says, beaming with as much pride as anyone can at one in the morning.
“It’s our smallest, but I like to think its abundant charm makes up for the size. I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
I walk in and am immediately met by dozens of eyes.
The room’s golden-yellow walls are covered in paintings of.
.. Jesus. That’s definitely Jesus. White Jesus.
Black Jesus. Brown Jesus. And he’s doing all sorts of stuff.
Holding a sleeping child. Pledging allegiance to the flag.
Rescuing a drowning man. Building a table.
Cuddling a corgi. And those are just the ones above the bed.
“Wow,” I say.
“Yes. ‘Wow’ is... ‘Wow’ is a good description of this room,” Hollis says. “The art particularly is... wow.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you like it,” Connie says. “I just love doin’ paint-by-numbers. Not so often lately, what with bein’ so busy and my hands not always cooperating, but...”
“You painted all of these?” I ask.
“Well, if you count fillin’ in bunches of little spaces with the right color paintin’, I suppose I did.”
My lips part to ask her where she found a paint-by-numbers Jesus in space, but Hollis subtly shakes his head. He’s probably right. I don’t exactly need a space Jesus painting in my apartment. But boy, do I want it. I mean, he’s in space and also cupping the entire galaxy in his hands!
“Breakfast is from seven to nine in the dining room. That’s the room to the left when you first came in. You’ve got all your toiletries in the en suite, and there’s extra pillows and a quilt in the chest at the end of the bed should you need ’em. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, this is great. Thank you, ma’am,” Hollis says.
“You’re very welcome, dear. Mine and Bud’s apartment is upstairs if you need us. Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Hollenbeck.”
“Oh, we’re not—”
Hollis cuts me off, throwing an arm around my shoulders and pulling me toward him. “We’re not sure what we did to be blessed with such graceful hospitality. Good night, Miss Connie.”
She hands Hollis two room keys, then shuts the door behind her. When the sound of her footsteps recedes, Hollis drops his arm. The heat of his body disappears from alongside mine as he strides across the room and throws his duffel bag onto the emerald-green velvet armchair in the corner.
“Let her think we’re married,” he says. “She seems pretty religious. Might not be cool with us sharing a room if she knows we’re just friends.”
Pretty religious is an almost comical understatement considering all of the Jesuses staring at us, but that’s not the part of what he said that captures my attention. “Aw. Hey. You said we’re friends.”
Hollis rubs his temples. “It’s been a long day, Millicent. Don’t make a big deal of it. I’m really not in the mood.”
His gruffness doesn’t distract me from the fact that he doesn’t try to deny our friendship. That’s... progress?
My eyes drift from Hollis to the bed. I gaze longingly at the fluffy pillows and the sage-green-and-mustard-yellow floral-print comforter.
Hollis must notice where I’m looking. “Do we need to Rock Paper Scissors to see who’s going to be sleeping in the chair, or can we be extremely tired adults about this?”
“I’m okay sharing the bed if you are.”
“Fine with me.” He tucks a gray T-shirt under his arm and digs around in his duffel bag for whatever else he needs.
“Hollis,” I say, and wait until I have his attention. “I am really sorry, you know. About the car.”
He says, “It’s not your fault.” But the tone in which he says it and the grumbling under his breath certainly makes it seem like he actually believes otherwise.
“Then why are you mad at me?”
A sigh so heavy it could fall right through the floor escapes him. “I’m not mad at you, Millicent.”
“But you’re... huffy.”
“That’s just my personality.”
“Well, what can I do?” I ask.
Hollis chuckles, but there isn’t much humor in the sound. “To change my personality? Nothing. Many people have tried, none have succeeded. I’m like a haunted house. They go in very brave and confident, but they always run away screaming.”
If he’s a house at all, he’s a gingerbread one that’s been baked a few minutes too long but still has plenty of sweetness to offer. I’d tell him that, except his scowl is a great reminder that he’s already annoyed enough at the moment.
Hollis mentioned his low premiums before, and he wanted a thousand dollars for letting me come along with him to Miami. Maybe it’s about the money. “I’ll pay for the repairs. I know I won’t be with you when you pick up the car from Chip Autobody, but—”
“Insurance will cover it,” he says, hanging his hoodie on a hook beside the door. “Now, I would like to get to sleep before anything else terrible happens. Do you want the bathroom first or second?”
I hang my head in defeat. Whether Hollis actually blames me or not, the result is the same: I’m going to have to share a bed with a hot grump who probably wishes I would disappear. “First, I guess.”
“Fine. Go ahead, but make it quick. I’m completely beat.”
The small pink bag that holds my toiletries is still right on top inside my suitcase, despite the thing getting jostled throughout the day’s adventures. I’m already inside the bathroom with my jeans halfway off when I realize the problem. “Um. Hollis?” I call through the door.
“What?”
I open it just enough to stick my head out while still hiding my underwear-only lower half. “Uh. Do you happen to have an extra T-shirt or something? I didn’t pack any pajamas. I don’t... I don’t usually wear them.”
He looks at me wide-eyed for what feels like forever, then blinks a few times as if trying to catch up for the ones he missed while staring. “You don’t... wear...? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I sleep hot,” I explain. “So the fewer layers...”
“You sleep hot.” Eyes wide again, lips pressed together, Hollis turns to the painting hanging by a large oak dresser. “She sleeps hot,” he tells the portrait of Jesus shaking hands with Elvis. Okay, I have to find out where the hell Connie is finding these ultra-specific kits.
“Do you have a spare or not?” I reach my arm out, waiting.
Hollis goes to his duffel in the chair and riffles through.
He pulls out an old, faded blue Bookstore Movers T-shirt and tosses it toward my outstretched hand.
I fail to catch it, and it falls to the hardwood floor outside the bathroom.
Before I can reach down to pick it up, Hollis is in front of me, balling it up and pushing it into my palm.
“Here,” he says. Our eyes meet and his look.
.. lustful. Or maybe just annoyed. Perhaps one is lustful and one is annoyed.
It’s hard to tell with them being different colors.
Regardless, it’s making me feel like I ate some static, so I slam the door shut in his face.
When I’m stripped to nothing but underwear, I pull the T-shirt over my head and down my body.
It falls to mid-thigh—short, but it covers what it needs to cover.
I pee, brush my teeth, wash my face (only accidentally poking at the painful lump on my forehead three times in the process), and secure my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head.
“All yours,” I say to Hollis as I slip back into the room.
As he passes me, his gaze hastily sweeps my body. He murmurs something unintelligible and disappears into the bathroom.
After throwing my dirty clothes into the designated plastic CVS bag in my suitcase, I pull back the covers and climb onto the absurdly high-off-the-ground mattress.
Even though I haven’t shared a bed with someone else since Josh, I notice I’ve automatically claimed my usual side.
Old habits die hard, I guess. The bedding smells like lavender, which is one of my favorite smells.
When Hollis comes out of the bathroom in his gray T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, I’m rubbing my face all over the comforter like I’m a cat in a patch of catnip.
He doesn’t acknowledge it, only turns off the overhead light.
How quickly he’s grown accustomed to—or maybe completely fed up with—my eccentricities.
The weight of his body settling into the mattress makes me feel like I’m a piece of space trash getting pulled into his planet’s orbit.
I shift a bit farther toward the edge, trying to resist snuggling up beside him.
The bedding is nice and warm, but I bet he’s warmer.
And I might sleep hot, but right now I feel chilled to the bone.
“Hollis,” I say to his back since he’s turned away from me. “I know things aren’t going as planned, but—”