Page 54 of Anywhere with You
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When I got back to the RV, Cara looked somber, though I was the one with the bad news.
“They said they won’t even be able to take a look at it until tomorrow,” I said. “But there’s a motel and a diner across the street, so we won’t have to sleep on the streetorstarve.”
“I don’t want to abandon you here,” Mildred said.
“Mildred, we can’t—”
“Shut your face, Jeffrey. I can do whatever I want.”
“We’ll be fine,” Cara said hurriedly. “Really. You’ve helped us far more than we could’ve hoped, and I’m sure the car will be a quick fix.” She glanced at me, then away, as though she didn’t want to know if I disagreed.
Between my wet clothes and the RV’s very effective air conditioning, I was visibly shivering by that point and unable to stop. Still, I tried to reassure Mildred and drag Cara away across the gravel parking lot at the same time.
The rain had stopped, at last, and the air felt marginally warmer.
“I’ll send you a videotape on the phone as soon as I figure out how to make one,” Mildred promised through her open window.
“She’ll have it figured out in no time,” Jeffrey said. “She’s already a whiz at theCandy Crush.”
Cara and I waved good-bye and went to unload our suitcases from her broken car.
“I’m sorry,” I said, patting the hood.
“Are you talking to the car or to me?” Cara asked, grinning.
“Uh, you,” I said quickly. “Normal people like me don’t talk to cars, especially weird orange ones.” I leaned down and said in a mock whisper, “I don’t mean it. You’re beautiful.”
Cara rolled her eyes and led the way to the motel.
“What?” I said. “I’m allowed to change my mind. Bessie’s a good car.”
“Don’t name her. AndBessie? Really?”
We were both ravenous, but too cold to consider sitting in a chilly diner until we both had a shower and put on dry clothes.
We got checked into the motel, which—surprise!—had an abundance of vacant rooms. By the time we lugged our suitcases inside, I was hungry enough to snack on one of Cara’s peanut butter granola bar bricks.
We both groaned with relief when we got our wet shoes off, and we laughed at the synchronicity.
Cara said it was my turn to shower first, and I selfishly didn’t argue.
I was pretty sure the tile in the bathroom was older than me, and the carpet around the beds was worn flat and slightly sticky. After my shower, I dressed in jeans and the only long-sleeved shirt I’d brought, then immediately put my shoes back on. I couldn’t tell if the carpet had a pattern somewhere under the grime or just stains.
The room had a painfully loud window unit with a protruding fringe of mold, a beat-up mini fridge, a microwave that looked like it hadn’t been safety tested since the 1960s, and no TV. Also no coffeepot, not even the crappy little single serving ones that weighed less than a banana.
And like a rom-com gone awry, there was one queen bed. And the bathroom didn’t lock.
I recorded some sarcastic comments while Cara showered, leaving out the name of the poor motel that probably didn’t see many visitors here in the middle of nowhere. But their disturbing holographic wall art demanded criticism.
I dried my hair with Cara’s dryer, something I rarely bothered to do with my long, thick mess, but after spending the last several hours with wet hair, I was more than tired of the feeling. I closed my eyes as the heat took away the last of the chill from the rain.
When Cara still hadn’t emerged, I dug out one of my Mary Oliver collections and read, but I was still too hungry to focus.
I patiently waited an entire thirty seconds after Cara was out of the bathroom before asking, “Ready for food?”
“I need like five minutes for makeup,” she said, digging in her suitcase. She was wearing jeans with embroidered flowers at the hem and a tight yellow shirt that brought out the gold in her eyes.
