Turning from the sight of Dante’s beautiful body, she walked to the closet and eased the door open. Mary immediately spotted the shorts and T-shirt she’d worn the day of the accident among the male clothes inside. Her gaze slid over what appeared to be a dozen pairs of jeans, and twice as many black T-shirts, followed by several more colorful T-shirts, and finally a black leather jacket. Her eyebrows rose. The man was apparently a clotheshorse, she thought, wishing she had more of a selection herself. However, she didn’t.
Retrieving the two hangers holding her T-shirt and shorts, Mary turned away, and then paused and glanced around the room, wondering what Dante would have done with her bra and panties. Mary hung the clothes on the bathroom door, and then made a quick, quiet search of the drawers in the room, but there was nothing resembling panties and a bra anywhere. And then something made her look in the garbage bin. They were there, right on top.
Mary lifted out the two scraps of material, her breathing slowing as she noted their state. Both were ruined, and it wasn’t just because they were so caked with dry blood as well as a more oily substance. It looked like they’d both been cut off of her. She let them drop back into the garbage bin, and rushed into the bathroom to wash her hands, not liking the oily feel to them.
Drying her hands quickly, Mary grabbed the hangers from the doorknob and then closed the door and quickly pulled on the clothes. The first thing she noticed was that they were both now quite large on her. The shorts were at least four or five sizes too big. Although she automatically unsnapped and unzipped them to put them on, she didn’t have to. Mary figured that out when she did them up and then reached for the hanger holding the T-shirt and her shorts dropped to pool around her feet on the floor.
Muttering under her breath, she left the shorts where they were for the moment and pulled on the T-shirt. While it had been almost clingy before her turn, it was now quite blousy on her. Shrugging, Mary pulled the shorts back up and tucked the shirt in, hoping the extra bulk would help keep them up. It wasn’t enough, however.
Holding them up herself, Mary went back out to the bedroom and considered her options. She already knew there was nothing in the closet to use as a belt. That left the room at large. The only thing in there that she might have used was the drawstring from the curtains. She even actually considered that, but it was vandalism, or theft or something, so she let that idea go.
Mary glanced toward the closet, considering using one of Dante’s T-shirts, but then her gaze dropped to her own T-shirt instead. It was longer than she needed, if she cut the bottom couple of inches off . . .
Raising her head, she glanced around until her gaze settled on Dante’s jeans lying in a puddle on the floor by the bed. A lot of men carried pocketknives. Did he? A quick search of his pockets proved that no he didn’t, or at least he didn’t have one in them now.
Grimacing, Mary straightened and scowled as she looked around the room, and then recalled the razor in the bathroom.
It would do, she decided and slipped back into bathroom again. Mary ended up having to break the razor blade casing to get the actual blades out, but decided she would explain to Dante and replace it first thing. Even before she found food. There must be a drugstore somewhere nearby. Or maybe they’d have razor blades in the hotel store. They often carried necessities like that in those places, she thought as she took off the T-shirt and began to slice the bottom couple of inches off of it.
Mary’s next thought was that she hadn’t seen her purse anywhere in the room when she’d been searching for things. Which probably meant it had gone up in flames with the RV. Good God, she had no money! She was completely dependent on Dante!
Just like he’d been dependent on her at first, she realized. Only she at least had clothes, even if they were too big and had several slits and tears from the accident.
Sighing, Mary finished slicing off the material she needed, then pulled the T-shirt back on and tucked the bottom of it into her waist again. She then strung the strip of T-shirt she’d cut off through the belt loops of her baby blue shorts and tied it up in front. It wasn’t pretty, she decided as she checked out her handiwork in the mirror, but it would have to do for now.
Shrugging, Mary turned and slid back into the bedroom, then simply stood there, unsure what to do next. If her purse had been there she would have simply slipped out, found a store or restaurant and bought herself something to eat. However, her purse wasn’t there.
It was an odd feeling being without it. Mary had been carrying a purse since she was a teenager. She’d never thought about it much, but now realized that the leather bag was freedom of a sort. So long as she’d had her purse, she’d had pretty much anything she might need in an emergency; money, credit cards, keys, usually a couple of bandages, a lipstick, a tiny deodorant stick, perfume, often allergy pills and aspirin, a little packet of Kleenex, sunglasses, reading glasses, her phone, Handi Wipes, safety pins, a tiny emergency sewing kit, and a brush and compact.