Jack’s rental. He said he had a motel room closer to Washington but declared that too far and unsafe.
“Got our stuff,” he said. “No reason to go back.”
Evelyn argued—it wasn’t that much further and as long as the room was paid for . . . Jack said nothing, which was his usual way of winning a fight with Evelyn. He just didn’t acknowledge the dispute.
I cleaned up in the car as he drove to the first gas station and bought me two bottles of root beer and a bag of Skittles.
“I’m hungry too, Jack,” Evelyn said.
“You didn’t pass out from blood loss.”
“I think it was more the blow to the head,” I said as he climbed into the car.
“Combination. Eat. Drink.”
I smiled. “Be merry?”
“Sure.” A half-smile my way. Then he glanced at Evelyn. “Can ask her to share. Be nice, though.”
She flashed him the finger.
Jack drove us to a hotel off the highway and checked in while we waited in the lobby. Then he walked over and handed Evelyn the key.
“Getting food,” he said. “Dee’s hungry.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible,” Evelyn said. “Given the sheer quantity of sugar she just consumed.”
“She is.”
“Which she communicated to you telepathically?”
He turned to me. “When’d you last eat? Proper meal?”
“You know, Jack,” Evelyn said. “Women don’t really like it when you make presumptions about what they do and don’t want.”
I shook my head. “He knows that if I’m
not
hungry, I’ll say so. We’ll go eat. I’d offer to bring you back something, but McDonald’s isn’t really your style.”
She looked around the chain hotel, nose wrinkling. “Nor is any room service this place provides. Why don’t we drive—?”
“You can,” Jack said, and he steered me away before she could continue. We’d gone about halfway across the lobby when he said, “How hungry are you?”
“I could do with that”—I nodded at the vending machines—“and a quiet corner to talk.”
He pulled a key card from his pocket. “Got a second room. Talk there? Or . . . whatever.”
Jack didn’t even give a suggestive brow raise at the “whatever.” He only accompanied it with a laconic shrug, as if he meant I could nap or take a shower. I knew better, though.
“I’ll take
whatever
,” I said.
His “Good” hardly rang with enthusiasm, but I grinned, as if he’d accompanied it with the smuttiest suggestion imaginable. We walked to the vending machines. He took his time making selections and feeding in the money. One root beer. One Coke. Two packets of Skittles, one of Starburst chews and a bag of licorice. He handed me all of it.
“What are
you
eating?” I said.
“Whatever you don’t finish.”
I shook my head and fed in a five, getting peanuts and a Snickers bar for him. I handed them over. “Energy,” I said. “You’ll need it.”
Without the barest hint of a reaction, he put the snacks in his pocket, and we headed for the elevator. Silence as we waited for it to arrive. More silence as we got on. He hit the floor and then the Close Door button and only then did he glance my way, just for a split second.
“Hold the elevator!” someone called.
Jack reached out and jabbed the Close Door button again. A middle-aged businessman rushed over as I feigned checking my phone and prayed for the doors to shut faster. He managed to grab the door, and Jack’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. He glanced at me and then back, and shifted his weight, as clear a sign of annoyance as if he’d cursed.
I stood on the right side of the elevator car. Jack was at the left, near the front. When the guy walked on, he was looking at me, and he hit his floor without noticing Jack, too busy checking me out. And I was busy checking out my arm, making sure there wasn’t blood showing, presuming that was what caught his attention.
“Here on business?” he asked.
I was wearing jeans—muddied at the knees—a denim jacket, a T-shirt and my sneakers were
“Got our stuff,” he said. “No reason to go back.”
Evelyn argued—it wasn’t that much further and as long as the room was paid for . . . Jack said nothing, which was his usual way of winning a fight with Evelyn. He just didn’t acknowledge the dispute.
I cleaned up in the car as he drove to the first gas station and bought me two bottles of root beer and a bag of Skittles.
“I’m hungry too, Jack,” Evelyn said.
“You didn’t pass out from blood loss.”
“I think it was more the blow to the head,” I said as he climbed into the car.
“Combination. Eat. Drink.”
I smiled. “Be merry?”
“Sure.” A half-smile my way. Then he glanced at Evelyn. “Can ask her to share. Be nice, though.”
She flashed him the finger.
Jack drove us to a hotel off the highway and checked in while we waited in the lobby. Then he walked over and handed Evelyn the key.
“Getting food,” he said. “Dee’s hungry.”
“I don’t believe that’s possible,” Evelyn said. “Given the sheer quantity of sugar she just consumed.”
“She is.”
“Which she communicated to you telepathically?”
He turned to me. “When’d you last eat? Proper meal?”
“You know, Jack,” Evelyn said. “Women don’t really like it when you make presumptions about what they do and don’t want.”
I shook my head. “He knows that if I’m
not
hungry, I’ll say so. We’ll go eat. I’d offer to bring you back something, but McDonald’s isn’t really your style.”
She looked around the chain hotel, nose wrinkling. “Nor is any room service this place provides. Why don’t we drive—?”
“You can,” Jack said, and he steered me away before she could continue. We’d gone about halfway across the lobby when he said, “How hungry are you?”
“I could do with that”—I nodded at the vending machines—“and a quiet corner to talk.”
He pulled a key card from his pocket. “Got a second room. Talk there? Or . . . whatever.”
Jack didn’t even give a suggestive brow raise at the “whatever.” He only accompanied it with a laconic shrug, as if he meant I could nap or take a shower. I knew better, though.
“I’ll take
whatever
,” I said.
His “Good” hardly rang with enthusiasm, but I grinned, as if he’d accompanied it with the smuttiest suggestion imaginable. We walked to the vending machines. He took his time making selections and feeding in the money. One root beer. One Coke. Two packets of Skittles, one of Starburst chews and a bag of licorice. He handed me all of it.
“What are
you
eating?” I said.
“Whatever you don’t finish.”
I shook my head and fed in a five, getting peanuts and a Snickers bar for him. I handed them over. “Energy,” I said. “You’ll need it.”
Without the barest hint of a reaction, he put the snacks in his pocket, and we headed for the elevator. Silence as we waited for it to arrive. More silence as we got on. He hit the floor and then the Close Door button and only then did he glance my way, just for a split second.
“Hold the elevator!” someone called.
Jack reached out and jabbed the Close Door button again. A middle-aged businessman rushed over as I feigned checking my phone and prayed for the doors to shut faster. He managed to grab the door, and Jack’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. He glanced at me and then back, and shifted his weight, as clear a sign of annoyance as if he’d cursed.
I stood on the right side of the elevator car. Jack was at the left, near the front. When the guy walked on, he was looking at me, and he hit his floor without noticing Jack, too busy checking me out. And I was busy checking out my arm, making sure there wasn’t blood showing, presuming that was what caught his attention.
“Here on business?” he asked.
I was wearing jeans—muddied at the knees—a denim jacket, a T-shirt and my sneakers were
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