bring our bags
.
Sure
, says Luke.
He snags his own bag and we go up the stairs – our room is 213, on the second floor. He wants to help me up the steps, but I shake my head and hold on to the rail instead, half lifting myself up with my CAM Walker. It takes ages – by the time we get to the top Mom is pretty much right behind us anyway.
I turn, as we walk along the walkway to the room. You can see mountains in the distance, forest, across the blurred brightness of the highway. The parking lot is only half full and as I look, a cop car turns in, headlights on but blues off. For a moment I have that feeling, you know the one? Where you’re convinced they’re here for you, though there’s no rational reason to think so.
Or here for Mom? I mean …
But then they pull a little closer and are under a light and I seethat the two cops inside are just eating something – burgers, maybe – from cardboard boxes, chatting as they have their meal. Something they bought from a drive-through, I guess. One of them lights a cigarette and rolls down his window, blows smoke out of it.
Not here for us, then.
I turn away and follow Mom and Luke, who are gesticulating at me impatiently from the doorway with 213 on it in peeling white paint.
We go in and it’s fine – I mean, it’s not charming, because what motel is? But it’s clean and serviceable. There’s a smell of some kind of pine-based air freshener, tingly and fresh and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Dreaming, but too chemical in its undertones to be more than a hint.
Mom takes my bag into this annexe bedroom and her own stuff to the main bedroom she’s going to … share … with … Luke.
Ugh. Even
saying
that disgusts me.
What do you want to do?
says Luke afterwards.
How about we order room service and watch a movie?
says Mom.
They have HBO
.
Sounds good
, says Luke.
Shelby?
I just shrug at him and go to turn on the TV. But Mom gets up from where she’s been sitting on the bed and stops me.
Why don’t you take a bath
,
Shelby?
she says, with her hands.
We could all use a freshen-up
.
I look at her.
Uh, OK
, I say.
I left some stuff in the car
, says Luke.
I’ll go grab it, get some takeout menus from reception. You two girls do your thing
.
He leaves and I bring my make-up bag into the bathroom and Mom runs me a bath.
Don’t look at me
, I say.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before
, she says.
It’s not the same
, I say.
Oh come on, I changed your diaper ten times a day when you were a baby
.
I just glare at her until she sighs and closes her eyes as I undress. Then I take off the CAM Walker, and she kind of awkwardly helps me to cover my stitched-up foot in plastic bags while averting her eyes; I notice that one of them is the Flagstaff Wines and Spirits bag. She wraps elastic bands around them to make them watertight and then eases me into the water, her hands under my armpits.
I feel pissed off with her for making my entire life so weird and for bossing me around so much but I kind of forget that as I sink into the warm water because it’s kind of amazing.
I soak in the tub for the longest time, before my foot starts to twinge again and I shout for Mom to come and help me out.
Don’t look
, I say.
She crosses her heart and then mimes shooting herself, before closing her eyes and supporting my arm as I get out. I put on a nearly white robe hanging on the back of the door and hobble over to the sink, where my make-up bag is. I look inside and reach for –
Huh.
I could have sworn both bottles of codeine were still in there when I took some pills in the car. I try to picture the scene – the sun setting, the lights of the highway, the panel in front of me saying AIRBAG as I reached into the bag, leaning into the seat belt and –
And I can’t fix the image in my mind. Maybe there was only one bottle then, and the other fell out somewhere. Fell out in the forest maybe? I hope I have enough left in this one bottle.
I count the
.
Sure
, says Luke.
He snags his own bag and we go up the stairs – our room is 213, on the second floor. He wants to help me up the steps, but I shake my head and hold on to the rail instead, half lifting myself up with my CAM Walker. It takes ages – by the time we get to the top Mom is pretty much right behind us anyway.
I turn, as we walk along the walkway to the room. You can see mountains in the distance, forest, across the blurred brightness of the highway. The parking lot is only half full and as I look, a cop car turns in, headlights on but blues off. For a moment I have that feeling, you know the one? Where you’re convinced they’re here for you, though there’s no rational reason to think so.
Or here for Mom? I mean …
But then they pull a little closer and are under a light and I seethat the two cops inside are just eating something – burgers, maybe – from cardboard boxes, chatting as they have their meal. Something they bought from a drive-through, I guess. One of them lights a cigarette and rolls down his window, blows smoke out of it.
Not here for us, then.
I turn away and follow Mom and Luke, who are gesticulating at me impatiently from the doorway with 213 on it in peeling white paint.
We go in and it’s fine – I mean, it’s not charming, because what motel is? But it’s clean and serviceable. There’s a smell of some kind of pine-based air freshener, tingly and fresh and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Dreaming, but too chemical in its undertones to be more than a hint.
Mom takes my bag into this annexe bedroom and her own stuff to the main bedroom she’s going to … share … with … Luke.
Ugh. Even
saying
that disgusts me.
What do you want to do?
says Luke afterwards.
How about we order room service and watch a movie?
says Mom.
They have HBO
.
Sounds good
, says Luke.
Shelby?
I just shrug at him and go to turn on the TV. But Mom gets up from where she’s been sitting on the bed and stops me.
Why don’t you take a bath
,
Shelby?
she says, with her hands.
We could all use a freshen-up
.
I look at her.
Uh, OK
, I say.
I left some stuff in the car
, says Luke.
I’ll go grab it, get some takeout menus from reception. You two girls do your thing
.
He leaves and I bring my make-up bag into the bathroom and Mom runs me a bath.
Don’t look at me
, I say.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before
, she says.
It’s not the same
, I say.
Oh come on, I changed your diaper ten times a day when you were a baby
.
I just glare at her until she sighs and closes her eyes as I undress. Then I take off the CAM Walker, and she kind of awkwardly helps me to cover my stitched-up foot in plastic bags while averting her eyes; I notice that one of them is the Flagstaff Wines and Spirits bag. She wraps elastic bands around them to make them watertight and then eases me into the water, her hands under my armpits.
I feel pissed off with her for making my entire life so weird and for bossing me around so much but I kind of forget that as I sink into the warm water because it’s kind of amazing.
I soak in the tub for the longest time, before my foot starts to twinge again and I shout for Mom to come and help me out.
Don’t look
, I say.
She crosses her heart and then mimes shooting herself, before closing her eyes and supporting my arm as I get out. I put on a nearly white robe hanging on the back of the door and hobble over to the sink, where my make-up bag is. I look inside and reach for –
Huh.
I could have sworn both bottles of codeine were still in there when I took some pills in the car. I try to picture the scene – the sun setting, the lights of the highway, the panel in front of me saying AIRBAG as I reached into the bag, leaning into the seat belt and –
And I can’t fix the image in my mind. Maybe there was only one bottle then, and the other fell out somewhere. Fell out in the forest maybe? I hope I have enough left in this one bottle.
I count the
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