Right Kind of Wrong(32)
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Looking up at the San Antonio motel I directed us to, Jack frowns. “This place is a dump.”
He’s right. It’s not gross and horrible, but it’s certainly no more than a two-star place to sleep. Paint is peeling off the building, the lit-up vacancy sign is missing two letters, and the roof is sagging in the center.
Grabbing my luggage, I straighten my shoulders and inhale. “Yeah, well. The only way my driving to New Orleans instead of flying makes any sense is if I stay at cheap—very, very cheap—motels along the way. You’re welcome to go check yourself in at the nearest Ritz Carlton if this isn’t up to par for your highbrow taste.”
He shrugs his shoulders and heads for the lobby. “If you’re staying here, I’m staying here.”
I roll one of my suitcases behind me as I follow, leaving the other two in the car since I only need the one for tonight. Jack pulls the lobby door open and a loud chime sounds as he holds it open for me. I step inside and approach the front desk where I’m greeted by a bubbly middle-aged woman with curly brown hair and thick eyeglasses.
“Good evening!” She waves at us even though we’re standing right in front of her. “Welcome to San Antonio. Looking for a place to stay for the night?”
I nod. “Two rooms, please.”
Her cheery smile falters. “I’m sorry. We only have one room available at the moment. Will that be okay?”
Not even a little.
I sigh. “No. We’ll just keeping looking. Thanks, though.”
As I turn to leave, the woman says, “I’m afraid you might have trouble finding a room in this area tonight.” I look back at her and she bites her lip apologetically. “It’s the big art festival this week, you see. So most of the nearby hotels are completely booked.”
Fantastic.
I rub a hand down my face, too exhausted and annoyed to reply in a civil manner.
“Should I book the one room then?” the woman asks.
“Yes, please,” Jack says.
I shoot my eyes to him. “What?”
“You said you needed to save money to make this trip worthwhile,” he says, lifting a shoulder. “What better way to save money than to share the cost of a room with me? And besides, I’m exhausted and don’t feel like driving around searching for a better option.”
The smug grin on his face aggravates me, but the fact that he has a good point aggravates me even more.
I turn back to the woman at the desk. “I guess we’ll take the one room, then.”
The happy woman gets us a room key and we shuffle back out the chiming door and down the cracked sidewalk to our motel room. Jack inserts the key and opens the door to reveal a small bathroom and, much to my relief—or maybe my disappointment, I’m not sure—two double beds.
“See?” he says, shutting the door behind us and locking it. “Two beds. You were stressing out for no reason. And this is really just the same scenario we had last night in New Mexico, but at half the price.”
I sigh. “You’re right. It’s fine.” I toss my suitcase on the bed farthest from the door. “You want to take a shower first or what?”
He checks his phone with a frown then looks up. “You go ahead. I’ve got to make some calls.” Tapping the screen a few times, he slips outside and holds the phone to his ear. Before the door latches shut, I hear him say, “Hey, Samson. How bad is it now?… Fuck… No, I haven’t had contact with anyone…”
The door cuts off the rest of his sentence and I stare at the empty motel room as a wave of unease washes over me. He’s really stressed-out.
Grabbing my stuff from my suitcase, I head into the bathroom and turn the shower on. Even though driving all day with the air conditioner on isn’t filthy or sweltering, I still feel like I’m coated in grime and sweat as I peel off my clothes and step under the spray.
The water washes away the day’s drive but doesn’t rinse the worry from my gut. Next to Pixie, Jack’s the closest thing I have to a true friend. And I’d bet I’m pretty damn close to being one of his good friends too. So you’d think I’d know exactly what was going on with him and his family. But our real shit, the deep stuff that makes up who we are and where we come from, isn’t something Jack and I talk about.
Though now I’m starting to wish it were. Everything inside me wants to assure Jack, or support him in some way. But I can’t do that when I’m in the dark about whatever he’s dealing with.
Finished with my shower, I turn off the water. The room is still empty when I exit the bathroom so I peek outside. But Jack’s nowhere to be found. Huh.