Chapter 27
SLOANE
The motel phone rings and I ignore it.
I'm lying on the bed in my hot pants and a crop top, on top of the covers, with the curtains closed and the air conditioner off.
The air conditioner makes so much noise that I'd rather sweat than listen to it, so the room is something close to ninety degrees and the only thing keeping me functional is a glass of warm tap water on the bedside table and the determination not to leave this room.
I haven't been to the diner since Friday morning.
I've been surviving on the supplies I got from the supermarket in Cawley yesterday — bread, peanut butter, a tub of hummus, baby carrots, some apples, and a box of cookies I told myself were for emergencies and which I have already eaten half of.
I bought instant coffee for the tiny travel kettle Patty keeps behind the desk and is willing to lend out for a hospitality fee of two dollars.
The reason for the lockdown is Ruthie, who I need to avoid until Sunday service is over.
The phone rings again and I pick up, just in case it's Officer Reeves.
"You've got a visitor," Patty says. "Ruthie from the diner."
My stomach drops and I feel a fine prickle of sweat across my back. There's a brief, blinding moment where I consider hanging up and pretending I never answered. But then I would spend the next six weeks living with the awkwardness and I need to eat at that damn diner.
"Okay," I say. "Send her to my room please."
She hangs up and I look at myself. There's no version of this in which I'm presentable in the next sixty seconds, so I throw on the pair of pajama bottoms Irina packed and run my hands through my hair, just before the knock comes.
"Hi, Ruthie," I say, opening the door just a little. "You look nice."
"Honey." She's in a pale pink blouse and a long denim skirt and her hair is freshly set. "I thought I'd come pick you up a little early. May I?"
"I — sorry. Come in." I open the door wider and realize the room is a mess. "Sit down, please," I say, gesturing at the only chair. "Sorry, I haven't tidied up."
"It's a motel, honey. I've stayed in worse." She sits down with her purse in her lap and starts fanning herself. "Goodness, it's warm. Why don't you have the air on?"
"The noise. I'd rather sweat."
"Don't be silly." She nods at the unit. "Put it on."
I get up and switch it on. The thing rattles to life. The cold air is so good I almost forgive it as I sit back down on the bed.
"How are you?" Ruthie asks, raising her voice over the noise. "You weren't in this morning for your coffee and I started to worry."
"Actually, I have a bit of a headache," I lie, pressing two fingers to my temple. "I was going to try and sleep it off."
"Oh, you poor thing. Have you got Tylenol?"
"No. But I'm sure sleep will help. Sorry I can't come to church today. You shouldn't have driven all the way here."
"Hold on." She digs in her purse and out comes a little plastic pill organizer, a tin of breath mints, a folded handkerchief, a lipstick, a bottle of antibacterial gel, and finally a small box of Tylenol which she presses into my hand.
"Take two of those now. You'll feel right as rain in twenty minutes." She sits back, pleased. "It's an hour and a half, that's all. You'll come, the Lord will fortify you, you'll feel better than when you went in. I always do and you can't argue with that kind of return on investment."
"Ruthie. I really don't think I should go when I'm feeling like this."
"Of course you should. It's just nerves. That's also why you're getting headaches. Everyone's nervous the first time. Pastor Wendell doesn't bite, the choir does its best, and there will be coffee and muffins."
I stare at the Tylenol. I never actually agreed to go. I said I'd think about it but apparently Ruthie took that as a yes.
"Honey, listen. My Buick is parked out front. Service starts at ten. We'll get there with time to spare for me to introduce you to a few people before everyone takes their seats. You don't have to sing, you don't have to do anything except sit next to me and let it happen around you."
She's not giving up and I'm never going to win this. "Okay," I finally say.
"Wonderful." Ruthie claps her hands together. "But you'll need to wear something a little more appropriate."
There it is. There's the door, and she has just opened it for me.
"Oh," I say. "Oh, no. That's — actually, I don't think I have anything like that.
I really don't, Ruthie. I have shorts and T-shirts and a cocktail dress.
Nothing churchy. Maybe what I should do is take next weekend to pick up something appropriate in Cawley, and then I could come to church another time. "
Ruthie shakes her head. "Show me what you've got, honey. I'm sure we can pull something together. Where are your clothes?"
When I reluctantly open my closet, Ruthie comes over to assess the contents.
"Mhm. Mhm. Yes, that dress is too short. The shorts, no." She lifts the blazer off the hanger, looks at it, shakes it out. "This is perfect. A bit big for you maybe but it will do."
I don't tell her it's an oversized fit by design and that it was tailored to my measurements at a price that would cover Ruthie's rent for several months.
She picks up the jeans next. "And these with a T-shirt. There you go!"
I resist the urge to let out a long sigh and give her a smile instead.
Ninety minutes. After four days in county jail I can get through ninety minutes of anything.
And maybe I can ask Maggie to swap one of my weekdays for a Sunday so I can get out of this in future.
Hell, I'd offer to work six days a week if that was the price of never doing this again.
"I'll wait in the car," Ruthie says. "Take your time and don't forget to take the Tylenol."
I put the Tylenol in my bedside drawer, put on the clothes, and run a brush through my hair. I look at the naked Bible on my bedside table. If you're up there, I think, now would be a great time to send a small, very specific stomach bug.