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“The bed and breakfast is a mile and a half away. We can’t walk there in your condition and we can’t drive there with no tail lights.” I say the last two words louder for the benefit of the juvenile delinquent sitting in his truck, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.
“I’ll drive you,” he says, letting his hood on his jacket fall to his shoulders. He has a mass of curly brown hair and bright blue eyes. “It’s the least I can do. My name’s Marcus, by the way.”
When we arrive at the Salt Gap Inn a few minutes later, Marcus hops out of the driver’s seat and grabs our bags out of the bed of his truck. He’s such an eager beaver now, you’d think he was a member of the peace corps and not some jack ass who ruined my car.
“My parents will kill me,” he says, shifting the two bags to one arm and pulling open the inn’s door with the other. “But I’ll have the money to fix your car. Assuming I’m not dead first.” He smiles, but it isn’t very convincing. Maybe he will be dead first. I’d kill him if he were my kid.
He sets our bags on the floor in the foyer of the inn. It’s a massive three story Victorian style home with a wraparound porch and antique wooden filigree decorations in every corner. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wraps around us in that warm Southern welcome I had started to think wouldn’t happen in Salt Gap. There’s a guestbook to our right and Miranda goes straight for it as if this were an ordinary vacation where ordinary vacation-like things were necessary.
When she’s finished signing both of our names, Marcus takes the pen and writes his name, address and phone number on the diner receipt he had in his pocket. “Here’s my information,” he says, handing me the paper. “I’ll have my dad come here tomorrow and talk to you. He will probably write you a check or something.”
“Er, thanks,” I say. The little jerk is too well-spoken to be so apt at vandalism. This will officially be the weirdest car insurance claim ever.
He gives a tiny wave and heads toward the front door to let himself out. Although I do want the little shit gone and out of my sight, I can’t help but stop him. “So what did this Jared Houston guy do to piss you off so badly?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his wild hair and glances at his feet. “He was my sister’s fiancé. She had their baby and he left her. Just packed up his shit and drove off in the middle of the night, not telling anyone.” He takes his eyes off the floor and looks at me. “She’s been raising that baby for a year all by herself and it kills me. When I saw his SUV with a U-Haul at the diner, I figured he moved back here and I couldn’t help myself. But…I guess that wasn’t his SUV.”
“You’re a good brother,” Miranda says. “I wish I had a brother like you.”
Marcus gives her a weak smile and then apologizes to me again before leaving. I’m glad I asked why he vandalized my car. Hearing his explanation put the first real smile on my niece’s face tonight. And even if everything has gone to hell, at least we’re somewhere safe for the night—and that’s really the best outcome I could have hoped for.
Miranda and I stand at the front desk for a few minutes, looking around for someone to help us. Elizabeth had said a woman named Shelly was waiting for us, but we are a little later than expected. Miranda checks out everything in the room with a child-like curiosity, picking up glass figurines and admiring them for a moment before moving on when something else catches her eye. The place looks like something out of an old movie. Dark wooden floors creak under our footsteps and hand-woven rugs and runners soften the sound.
I’m about to give up and suggest we sleep in the car. Miranda’s eyes narrow and she goes up to the front desk. She reaches over the counter and grabs an envelope with the name Carter written on it in delicate handwriting. She raises an eyebrow and opens it.
Inside is a key, a real metal one not a plastic card one like Houston hotels have, and a note written on Salt Gap Inn stationary. I read it aloud.
‘“Ms. Carter, thank you for choosing to stay with us this afternoon. Unfortunately my arthritis is acting up and I must turn in early tonight. Please see yourself to your room at the end of the hallway to your left. If you need any assistance, do not hesitate to call my nephew at extension 519. Thank you and I hope you enjoy your stay, Shelly Singleton.”
I picture a portly old woman with thick glasses writing this note to me before she went to bed. Now this is the kind of southern hospitality I’d expect from a town with twelve hundred citizens.
Miranda leads the way to the end of the hall and unlocks our room. It’s small, with flower print wallpaper, a bay window decorated with pillows and a queen sized bed in the middle of the room. It’s exactly what I’d expect for a mere eighty dollars a night and it’ll have to do. Luckily, it has its own bathroom which is what Miranda needs more than anything right now.
She showers for a long time while I lay on my back on top of the flower-print comforter. There is a single glow-in-the-dark star stuck to the ceiling above me. When I was a kid, my whole bedroom was full of them, minus one empty spot in the corner where I peeled off the stars that spelled out my crush’s name. I guess I should have known back then that relationships were a bad idea.
Miranda sings an off-pitch version of some Katy Perry song. It’s distracting to have another person in the room with me after having lived alone for so long. We’ll have to sleep in the same bed since the only chair in here is a wooden rocking chair and the floor is cold and creeps me out. I’m not about to sleep on the floor and I can’t make a pregnant girl do it either.
It occurs to me that this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I once went skydiving while drunk and I let my college boyfriend talk me into getting a bird tattoo on the top of my foot—which now I hate because it reminds me of him—but those are nothing compared to this. My car is smashed, a pregnant teenager is in my care, I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere without a home to go back to, and oh yeah—I don’t have a job.
There was a time in my life when I thought money would solve all of life’s problems. I’ve pretty much always felt that way, back when I was broke in college and even when I had some money in the bank. But now I have loads of money and everything feels wrong, like it can’t be patched back together with wads of cash, or held down with a stack of gold coins.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand, unlock it and scroll down my contacts list to the—oh, shit…G section. Grandpa’s number is still here, but I can’t call him. A heavy sinking feeling consumes me as warm tears pool to the corner of my eyes. Realizing that I was about to call a dead guy to ask for advice makes my cheeks flush. It’s not like T-Mobile will redirect your cell number to heaven when you die. Not only have I lost my job, I’ve lost my mind too, apparently.
The bathroom door swings open and Miranda walks out in a new set of pajamas and a towel wrapped around her head. Her nose isn’t bleeding anymore, but it’s three times its normal size and completely black.
I sit up in bed. “God, Miranda. You look terrible.”
She cocks her hips and strikes a pose. “I take it you don’t like my new nose job? I hear they are all the rage in Hollywood.” She snorts at her own joke and then her face crinkles up in pain. “Oww, shit this hurts.”
“I tried getting cell service so I could Google broken noses, but I have zero bars out here,” I tell her, attempting to be helpful. I really do feel terrible that I can’t help, having never had a broken nose myself. I have heard that if you
punch someone hard enough in the nose, their cartilage will shoot through their brain and kill them. I have no idea if that’s true or not, but I’m glad it didn’t happen to Miranda.
She sits next to me on the bed. “My boyfriend broke his nose playing football. They just put some tape on it and he was fine in a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” I blurt out, not wanting her face to look like black water balloon for that long.
She shrugs. With slow movements, she brings her middle finger up to her nose and touches it lightly. “I don’t know, I think it looks kind of badass.”
