Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
At two a.m., they checked into a motel by the state border.
Jack was cautiously optimistic. Nothing had gone terribly wrong. He’d taken the wrong exit and almost sideswiped an old, clattering truck, and they’d very nearly run out of gas, but those were only close calls. Nothing of real consequence, he reminded himself, even as his insides squirmed.
They stopped at a diner on the way to the motel and scarfed down slightly burnt bacon and runny eggs. Jack ate like it might be his last meal. If he woke up in Hidden Cove, he’d be back to a diet of hot dogs and muffins. For now, he’d eat anything and everything he could get his hands on.
The motel clerk didn’t watch them sign in. Didn’t even blink as she took the cash from Carla. The shadows under her eyes darkened with each passing second.
Jack wondered what she thought of them—if she cared. He and Carla didn’t go together at all. Her casual jeans contrasted with her purse and wallet, made of coral-colored Italian leather, complete with shiny gold clasps. On no planet was she Jack’s girlfriend, let alone an affordable call girl.
The clerk’s brow furrowed when they requested separate beds. “None left,” she said.
Jack groaned inwardly. What terrible luck. But it was only one night. He could sleep on the floor.
Carla made a face. “You’re sure? There’re no doubles left?”
The clerk frowned down at the guestbook. “Yeah,” she said finally, her voice a drone. “All out. Best I can do is a single queen.”
“Fine,” Carla huffed. “I don’t have enough cash for two rooms. Sorry, Jack.”
Jack tried to keep his face neutral, but his cheeks burned. He hoped no one noticed. “It’s fine,” he said, even though it wasn’t.
He should’ve thought this through. Should’ve run back to the hotel to collect his things before they left. Now he’d have to sleep in his suit pants and undershirt in front of Carla.
It shouldn’t matter. But he was exhausted and sore, and had longed for pajamas for hours, sick of the stiff waistband of his pants, the collar of his shirt.
Jack was thin enough not to be inconvenienced by a tight belt, but formalwear always grated on him after a while.
He was miserable at the thought of being stuck in it all night.
Under no circumstances would he force Carla to look at any more of him than she had to.
Sure, she’d flirted with him off and on throughout the night, but that didn’t mean anything.
Jack was her only companion in this hell.
Maybe she felt like she needed to keep her options open.
Stay on his good side, just in case. At any rate, he doubted she particularly liked him.
If her flirting was genuine, it was only for fun.
Besides, he wasn’t sure if he liked her. Sure, she was clever and beautiful, but she was crass and bossy and impulsive, all things that Jack tended to avoid in his admittedly limited dating life.
If things went well, this would be their last night together. They’d go their separate ways in the morning. Carla would take him to a train station (she would, he knew she would), and then she’d zoom away in her convertible. Jack would go home and look for a new job.
A solid plan, as plans went.
The hotel room was clean, empty of everything but a bed, a scuffed dresser, warped mirror, and a tiny bathroom. The lights flickered. The television only turned on when he gave it a solid thump.
Carla dropped her bag onto the floor. “Home sweet home,” she said, flopping onto the bed with a groan.
Jack eyed the grimy carpet and bit back a sigh. Maybe they could ask for an extra set of sheets. Or perhaps he could just use a bathroom towel. Even the rickety chair by the window might be better than the floor.
Not that he particularly wanted to know what the rickety chair had been used for.
It was just one night. He could deal with it.
“I, um, I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said, jutting his thumb toward the bathroom.
“Fine,” Carla grumbled. “Use all the hot water, why don’t you?”
There was a smile in her voice, but Jack winced. “I’ll hurry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Take your time.”
He showered quickly, scraping the bar of complimentary soap over his skin and scalp. The water was blessedly hot, but he only let himself bask in it for a few minutes before reluctantly turning the handle.
The towel was old and threadbare but smelled of detergent. Jack pressed it to his face and inhaled deeply. He dressed and hung his suit jacket and dress shirt from the hook on the back of the door. Reluctant to walk barefoot on the carpet, he wore his dirty socks again.
“My turn,” said Carla when he emerged. “Fuck, it’s been a long day.”
While she showered, Jack dug an extra set of sheets from the dresser drawer and set about trying to arrange them in the most convenient place possible, which was more difficult than he anticipated. No matter where he went, he was blocking something: the door, the bathroom, the bedside, the sink.
By the time Carla emerged, he’d hauled the rickety chair from the window and was in the process of laying down the sheets.
“What is this?” she exclaimed. Jack turned to see her glaring, hands on hips, curls dripping onto the floor.
She’d changed into shorts and a worn, loose t-shirt.
The hem was tied into a knot at her back.
Unlike Jack, she wasn’t afraid of the dirty carpet.
He noticed with some detachment that her toenail polish didn’t match her fingernail polish.
“Um,” he said, wondering if he’d done something wrong. “I was going to let you have the bed.”
“It’s a queen,” she said, gesturing.
“Yeah, and?”
“That means it’s big enough for two people. We won’t even have to cuddle.”
Jack’s stomach flipped. Thank goodness for that. “I… are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure!” she exclaimed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. Come on, let’s watch some TV.”
Which was how he ended up under the covers with Carla, watching some comedy sketch show he’d never heard of.
Even with the comfortable distance between them, he felt the bed shake when she laughed, full-bodied and carefree.
Her hair dripped onto the pillow. She barely seemed to notice.
Occasionally, she’d turn to Jack and grin, and he’d debate whether the burnt bacon had gone bad, or if something else gnawed at his gut.
When he fell asleep, it was to the sound of the wind howling outside and canned television laughter. Across the bed, close enough to touch, Carla radiated heat.
Jack woke up alone, choking on a startled gasp as the telephone rang beside him. Tangled in the sheets, he flailed, disoriented as he groped for the receiver and brought it to his ear.
“What?”
“Wake up, motherfucker!”