Page 58 of Road Trip to Forever
“Oh, maybe there are rats!” Lola says, and I tug her out to the hall.
We find Spud’s Burger Bar nestled between an indoor cycle studio and a froyo shop.I LUV DEBRAis graffitied with spray paint over wooden beams, and dollar bills are nailed to a post in the middle of the restaurant. It’s dark and it’s loud, with mismatched barstools and tables without napkin dispensers. In the corner, a Willie Nelson song plays from a jukebox that looks like it’s been around since the dawn of time.
It’s exactly what we’re looking for.
“So,” I say when our food comes twenty minutes later. I dip my fry in ketchup and bite off the end. “My surprise. Can you give me a clue?”
Lola swallows a sip of water and grins. “David Bowie. George Clooney. Tom Hanks.”
“That’s a very eclectic group of people. What else can you tell me?”
“We have to be there early, and you need to wear your sneakers.”
“Lola Jones. After all the years I’ve spent trying to get you to sign up for a 5k, have you finally started running?”
“It’s not a 5k, but physical activity is required,” she says.
“Consider me intrigued.”
“Hey.” Lola sets down her burger and dusts off her hands. Sesame seeds fall into the red wicker basket, and I see salt on the tips of her fingers. “I’m not sure if I’ve said it yet, but thank you for coming with me. It means a lot that you’re going to be at the show.” She pauses. Her grin settles into a small smile, a brightness in her eyes. “I appreciate you, Patrick. A lot.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Lo. I’m here because I want to be here.”
“I forget to say thank you sometimes. You’re a giver. You give so much of yourself to other people. Even when you have nothing left to offer, you still give. I’m a taker. I take and I take and I take, and I’d never want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.”
“I don’t think that at all,” I say. “I know you’re glad I’m here. We all show our appreciation in different ways. Speaking of appreciation, is now a good time to tell you I’m only along for this ride because I really want to meet a ghost?”
Lola launches a tater tot at my head and huffs out a laugh. “Worst friend ever.”
* * *
“I don’t havethe energy to shower,” Lola mumbles. “Sleep. I want to sleep.”
“Five minutes,” I tell her. “Then you can get in bed.” I shove the door to our hotel room open. Lola staggers inside and kicks off a sandal. The shoe goes flying and hits the balcony door.
“How do you have so much energy? You did all the driving,” she says. “Hours and hours of driving. States and cities and so many little towns. There’s an entire country out there, Patrick.”
“Which one was your favorite? I’m attached to Woonsocket, I think.”
“Neversink, New York, obviously.”
“You’re all about resilience, aren’t you?” I ask. “Go shower. I can’t be sure the sticky stuff on our table was spilled soda or something more horrific. If I don’t hear from you in fifteen minutes, I’m going to make sure you haven’t drowned in a bathtub at the Old Virginia Inn.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” With a tip of an imaginary hat, Lola saunters to the bathroom and closes the door.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes as soon as I hear the water turn on.
I don’t let my mind wander to those cutoff shorts she’s stepping out of. The distracting pair with the long threads of denim I want to wrap around my fingers and tug. The thin straps of her purple tank top I want to pull down her shoulders and toss to the floor.
I do the respectable thing instead. I sit at the desk shoved in the corner, glare at the tattered curtains, and pull out my phone.
My phone is safe.
My phone isn’t Lola soaking wet, arching her back and dropping her head against the tiled shower wall.
My phone isn’t my hand sliding up her slick thigh, smiling into her neck as she lets out a breathy moan.
Dammit.
