Page 148 of Down Bad

“I said I’m fine, Tía. Really. I just …” I shut my eyes.

I guess she wasn’t buying it.

And maybe I was asking for help. Maybe I needed it. I wasn’t myself. I had no strength left. I was a walking shell.

“Stay put ‘til morning,” she told me before hanging up.

Couldn’t sleep five damned minutes last night. I even brought my dad’s book, tried to read that first chapter again, set it aside on the table next to the yellowed hotel bible when I gave up, and laid my body down sideways on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

I wasn’t fighting back tears.

But I was on the verge.

I wouldn’t dare let them come. If they came, they’d never end, and I’d be heading right back to Spruce ready to screw up Wyatt’s beautiful life even worse. Wasn’t my heart in the right place? I kept asking myself that, wondering if I really was in the wrong, or if it really was just me not learning any lessons from anything again, my same routine of bulldozing my way into people’s lives, just as stubborn as my dad was on his worst days.

Now it’s morning.

I’m not any better than I was last night.

And I can’t take another bite of rubber pancakes or these fake powdered eggs.

When the shadow falls over my face and takes the seat right across from me at this tiny lobby table, I look up from my plate.

And my stomach drops.

Tío Marcos.

Mustache. Unsmiling face. Tilted head.

Just like he used to look when I was a kid about to get another talking to. Another scolding.

“Where’s Tía?” I ask instead of greeting him.

He works his mouth, peering down at my plate. “Not planning to eat your continental breakfast?”

I stare at him. “Tastes like paper.”

He pulls the plate to himself, takes my fork, and digs in.

I cross my arms and lean back. “She waiting in the car?”

“Nope,” he says between bites. “All you got’s me. Which is a shame, considering Lottie loves these stale hotel pancakes.” He grimaces as he chokes down the first bite, then looks at me. “But the drive was long. And all I’m running on is coffee.”

“Why’re you here?” I ask, getting to the point.

“Why are you?” he asks right back, chewing.

I’m still trying to figure out why Tío Marcos came and not my tía. “Nothing holding me to Spruce anymore,” I answer. “House is sold. Did my part looking after it. Time to move on.”

“To what?”

“What’s with the interrogation?” He continues eating calmly, not giving my question any attention. I sigh. “I don’t know. That’s for me to figure out.”

One pancake already finished, he starts on the next one, then continues talking without even looking at me. “Funny, how sure you sound saying nothing’s holding you to Spruce anymore. Yet your face is telling a whole other story.”

I ignore him. “Want my juice?” I nudge the cup to his side of the table. “Didn’t drink any of it.”

“Wouldn’t care if you did.” He gives it a look, then shakes his head. “I’ll pass. Not good for my reflux.”