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Remmi’s trip was cut short.
The damned Toyota’s temperature gauge was hovering in the red zone, and Adam had woken up screaming. Dead tired, nerves shot, she was less than a hundred miles from Las Vegas when she spied the gold-colored Star Vista Motel sign mounted high enough to glow over the right side of the freeway. She took the next exit and, nervous as anything, pulled into the pock-marked asphalt and gravel lot that butted up to a single-story, L-shaped stucco building.
After locking Adam in the car and armed with the bills she silently prayed were legit, she hurried to the covered area, pushed a button near the locked glass door, and waited, perusing the offered services posted on the glowing reader board under the gold sign: cable TV, pool, and telephone services, along with 24-hour manager on duty, all as if they were five-star amenities.
She wondered about that as the minutes ticked by, and she hit the button another couple of times before a short man with a ring of graying hair around a bald pate and horn-rimmed glasses appeared from a door behind the desk. Frowning, he switched on brighter lights, fluorescent bars that came on one by one and cast the area under the portico in a watery, unearthly glow. He squinted at her for a few seconds, before seeming to feel satisfied that she wasn’t there to rob the place or murder him. He unlocked the door, let it slide open, but blocked Remmi’s entrance.
“Yeah?” he said gruffly. “Help you?”
“I’d like a room. For tonight.”
He eyed her speculatively, glanced over her shoulder at the near-empty parking lot behind her, his gaze settling on the crappy old Toyota. “You with your folks?” Skepticism colored his words.
“Just my son.”
Bushy eyebrows ticked up, arching over the rims of his glasses. “You have a kid?”
“That’s right.” Setting her jaw, she stared at him, silently daring him to deny her.
“You’re pretty young to have a kid.”
“So I’ve been told.” She was shaking inside but held her ground.
“I bet.”
“Do you have a room?” she persisted. “Your sign says ‘vacancy.’”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” she lied quickly.
He looked like he didn’t believe her. “Got ID?”
Uh-oh.
“You need it if I pay cash?” She nearly shivered under his steady stare and thought all was lost when she heard Adam wailing from inside the car. “And I’ve got credit cards. Visa. Mastercard. Whatever. My baby needs a warm place to stay. The room has to be clean.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that—” he said, then trailed off as she waited impatiently.
What if he wouldn’t let her book a place for the night? What would she do about the car? The baby? “Look, if you don’t have a vacancy,” she bluffed, “I’ll head farther down the road to—”
“No need for that,” he cut in. The man’s greed was overcoming his concerns. He looked hardly able to turn down the rent. He held the door open a little wider. “Okay. Fine. Come in and register. Quick.” Then, as she passed, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“I—we won’t be any.”
“I mean it. You gotta keep that kid quiet. There are other paying guests.”
Not many, Remmi thought, by the looks of the empty lot.
Whether he believed her age or not, he took her cash as she registered as Didi Storm, hoping that this guy hadn’t seen her mother’s act. The credit cards were all issued to Didi, so she saw no other recourse but to use the name. Though she worried he would hold each bill to the light, he didn’t, just stuffed them into the register and handed her a key to room 116. “Right down the porch,” he said. “Ice machine is around the corner. Soda and snacks, too.”
“Thanks.” Snagging the key, she couldn’t get out of the tiny lobby, with its worn, stained carpet and smells of old cigarettes and stale coffee, fast enough. She drove to the parking s
lot in front of the door, then hauled Adam, his diaper bag, and her small suitcase into the room, a bare-bones space with one sagging bed, a dresser on which a TV covered the mirror, and two nightstands. A coffeepot and the smallest microwave Remmi had ever seen vied for space on the counter with the sink, which was just outside the small room holding a toilet and tub shower. Not the Ritz, by any means, but clean enough and safe enough for one night.
As advertised, the room did come with a phone, complete with instructions about how to dial “out” and even connect to long distance. She wasted no time, but double-checked the Toyota’s trunk to make certain it was locked and that none of her mother’s costumes and valuables would be stolen; then she bolted the door to the room, drew the chain, and checked to make certain the windows were latched before pulling Adam from his carrier.
“Sorry, buddy,” she said as she changed his diaper, then made a bottle of formula with water she’d gotten from the tap and heated in the microwave. It was far from ideal, but it would have to do, and as she cradled her brother in her arms, watching bubbles form in the bottle as he drank, she worried about the coming days.
