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“But even so, you won’t tell, will you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t blame you.”
He managed a smile. “Good.” He picked up his suitcase again. “And you can see why I didn’t feel that bad, can’t you? It was the scream that killed her. She opened her mouth, and she drowned. If she’d been quiet, she would have lived.” He searched my face. “I mean, I felt bad, but not as bad as if I’d done it myself.”
“I understand.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
Elro walked toward the door. I realized that I wasn’t surprised to see him go. It was as if I’d had a very clear picture of it, as if I’d seen it happen once before. I wondered if I’d been dreaming when he was lying on top of me on the bed. Maybe I’d already dreamed his departure.
“Well, I gotta go,” he said. He put his hand on the doorknob. “The room’s paid for, you know.” He saw me staring at the wide, damp stain on the front of his jeans. “It’s a good thing …” he started to say, and then he stopped himself. He held the suitcase up in front of the stain. “This whole thing was pretty stupid,” he said.
I didn’t respond, and he opened the door. The low, late-afternoon sun pushed past him and made the room too bright. I covered my eyes, and in that moment, he was gone. A few seconds later, I heard the truck start up and drive away. Soon, I fell back asleep.
Much later, the sound of laughter on the frog hole woke me up. The room was dark, except for a slat of yellow light streaking past the curtain. Lying under the covers, I’d grown too warm, and now I was soaked by perspiration. My mouth was dry, and my eyes were scratchy. Again people laughed, this time right outside the window. I got up and peeked out through the curtain. Two couples were there, kids about my age. One girl putted the ball up the frog’s tongue, but didn’t do it hard enough. The ball rolled back down, setting off more peals of laughter.
I left the window and turned on the ceiling lamp. The bulb was dim, and the room too vast to be lit adequately. A low, gray illumination, almost too weak to make shado
ws, covered everything. Except for a slight mussiness on the bedspread and my few things—the pile of clothes, the Piggly Wiggly bag, the box of shoes—the place looked unused.
I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, studying myself in the mirror above the sink. The mirror was broken in one corner and had a ragged, glassy edge that made me uncomfortable. I needed a shower, but that could wait until I decided on my next move. But what would that be? I was alone, abandoned with nothing in the world but $70, maybe $80 if you counted what was left of the money I’d brought. I suddenly realized how much my idea of running away had depended on Elro. Together, it was almost an adventure. Alone, it was—what? More craziness?
I went back into the room. It was important to stay orderly—orderly and reasonable. Maintain patterns, as Mrs. O’Brien would say. Something would come to me. I’ll unpack my bag, I thought. No, that’s stupid, not enough clothes in it to bother unpacking. I’ll sit on the bed and write a letter. No, that’s stupid, too. Who can I write to? What can I say? I started spinning slowly, inspecting the room as if expecting, with each half turn, to find some doorway or sign that would lead me to my next move. Bureau, bed, window, door. Bureau again, bed—suddenly I had an idea: I’ll get some cigarettes. I’d never smoked before, but this was an occasion. Things had changed, and I might as well have a new habit to go with my new situation. Besides, Bunny used to say that smoking helped her focus.
I got dressed quickly and fished in my pocket to make sure I had a few coins. Then I took the key from where Elro had left it on the bureau and went outside. It was a nice night, moonless and starry and noisy with bugs. Five or six cars were parked along the walk, pointing at their owners’ rooms.
I walked down to the motel office. It doubled as the office for miniature golf, and one side was cluttered with putters and boxes of colored golf balls. The bald man who’d watched us before stood behind a counter, reading a newspaper. To his left, on a table at about the level of his knees, a television threw off a flickering light. Gunsmoke was playing to itself. I walked over to the man, and he looked up from his paper. He had a wide, flat face to go with his bald top. His eyes were so far apart they seemed to come at you from two different directions.
“I want to buy some cigarettes,” I said.
“What kind?” he asked dully.
“Luckies.” Bunny smokes Luckies when she smokes.
He searched under the glass counter. He had rows and rows of cigarettes and candy lined up, cigarettes on the top shelf, candy on the bottom. He picked out a pack of Luckies and set it on the counter.
“And a Turkish Taffy,” I said.
“What kind?”
I studied the display. The tall, thin Turkish Taffy packages, each flavor with its own color, were fanned out like a hand of cards. The man must have a wife, I thought. “Strawberry.”
He took out a red package and put it next to the Luckies. I handed him a quarter and and a nickel, and he dropped them in the cash register. On Gunsmoke, Kitty was telling Matt that a young man, a stranger, had been in the saloon that afternoon, asking about him. She talked in that throaty way she has, with her head thrown back, so you can’t quite tell if she’s flirting or teasing or just acting normal.
I scooped up the candy and the cigarettes and started to leave.
“Where’s your husband?” the bald man asked.
“Pardon me?”
“Your husband.”
“Oh. He had to go. He’ll be back.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” the man said.
