A hot shower, and a motel room, and I don’t know what else, but I want to find out.
We don’t talk much the rest of the drive, but Veer settles her hand on my thigh and leaves it there until we pull into the parking lot of the motel.
16
VEER GETS US A ROOM WITH TWO TWIN BEDS.
It smells like vanilla body spray and bleach smeared over vomit and cigarette smoke. The side-by-side beds gaze impassively into the black mirror of an old TV. I swing my duffel bag onto the foot of the bed farthest from the door.
I’m not sure what the room means, or if it means anything at all.
Veer hasn’t quite looked at me since we parked, a handful of sideways glances instead of her full-bore high-beam stare. Still, there’s a deliberateness to the way she sets her stuff—a battered backpack, massive silver water bottle, and a baseball hat embroidered withOff Duty, Save Yourself—down on the other bed, like she knows exactly where I am without having to look.
But she doesn’t talk. And I don’t quite know how to fill the silence.
I want to. Or, I think I want to. What does she think of me? What does she want? What is she waiting for me to do?
I pull off my shoes without bothering to untie them. Desert dust has crept into the creases in the leather, making them look even more beat up than usual. Out there, the wind and the cold and the fading light made my mom feel very far away. Now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Veer coughs, kicks off her sneakers, and suddenly I can’t hold on to all of it alone anymore.
“My mom’s sick.” It comes out of my mouth before I can think it through. “She’s losing her mind.”
Veer freezes in place, hunched over, one hand pulling her foot free from her sock. White with pink polka dots. Then she snaps back to life again, straightens. Rubs the back of her neck.
“Losing her mind?” She says it carefully, like she doesn’t want to assume.
“Alzheimer’s. Early onset, I’m notthatold.” I laugh a bit, but it sounds hollow. She does the kind thing and doesn’t laugh along.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s just, sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind too.”
I sit down too fast on the bed, and it squeals in protest. I thought sharing secrets was supposed to feel good, but all I can think about is how now there’s no taking it back.
Veer slides next to me and picks up one of my hands by the pad of the thumb, her grip loose enough that I could shake her off if I wanted to. “It’s just you and her?”
“Yeah.” Well, there’s Uncle Bill too, but it’s not the same thing. And he’s gone now.
“She loves me,” I say, because that will realign my compass. “She loves me so much. And I try to love her. I try so hard, okay?” My voice cracks, betraying me, and I swallow to hide it. “But sometimes I just want to quit.”
Wouldn’t it be nice to dig inside myself and sift out all the things I owe, until I find the gleam of what I want. Wouldn’t it be nice to wonder what will happen tomorrow instead of already knowing.
“Forget it,” I add quickly. “I know that’s a messed-up thing to say.”
I only feel Veer shiver because I’m pressed against her side.
“I don’t think it’s messed up,” she says. Then she sucks in air and mutters, “I’m gonna shower.”
She doesn’t wait for me to acknowledge it before sweeping a plastic bag out of her backpack and heading for the bathroom. The door slams behind her like a slap in the face. I stare at my murky reflection in the darkened TV screen. I should have held my tongue.
As the shower sputters to life, I fish the used syringe and empty vial from their cocoon in my sweatshirt and place them side by side in one of the motel-provided paper cups. I wrap it all in a washcloth and bury it at the bottom of the trash can. I try sitting on the bed again, but I hate the way it squeaks whenever I move. It feels too much like I’m waiting for Veer to come back, so I slide onto the ground, then stretch out on my back. The muscles around my spine release one by one as my wary animal paces behind its prison door. I think back to kneeling in the shower, the way it leapt at my call. The agony, like I’ve never felt before. Sudden temptation flutters at my fingertips. To let my animal’s snarl line up with my teeth, to touch for a second the inhuman depths of my own power, and then to cage it again. How’s that for control?
I dig my fingers into the carpet, tracing the faded pattern of red swirls, gone soft-edged and brownish with wear. The shape and the color, together, look a little like bloodstains. I remember the dark patch congealing in Uncle Bill’s office, and for a second, all the air is sucked out of my lungs.
I pinch the skin on my stomach, where a bruise stretches wretched under the seam of my jeans. Don’t think about it. It’s not real.
When the shower stops, I pinch myself again, then scramble back onto the bed.
