Petty glanced in the bathroom, under the double bed and the couch, then she stood staring at me.
There was only one bed. Every motel room I had ever stayed in had two double beds. I’d thought there would be two. My skin got hot and I couldn’t look at her, because I had a flash of the two of us lying in it together.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, and walked out the door.
I pulled a cigarette out of my pack and lit it up, gazing up at the sky, which was blue and thin and high. I walked back to the office and rang the bell. The old man came out of the back office and just stared at me.
“I’m in Room 5, and I wondered—-do you have a different room available with two double beds?”
“No.”
“Could you check?”
“Don’t need to.”
“Well, then I’d like my money back so we can go someplace with two double beds.”
He pointed at a sign on the back wall before disappearing into the back room again.
NO REFUNDS.
Maybe we should’ve gone somewhere else, just eaten the hundred dollars, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, for fear Petty would pick up on what I’d been thinking.
This was going to be torture. Having Petty so close, staying in the same room. I hoped Mrs. Davis would be semi--lucid tomorrow and tell us where Petty’s real dad was. I would drive her to him, there would be a tearful reunion, then I would get on the road tomorrow to Kansas City with five days to spare. I was suddenly acutely aware of the attraction that had been building. Now that we’d be sleeping in the same room, that attraction hit critical mass. I’d need to practice not thinking about her.
No way I could sleep in the same bed with her and expect not to have a reflexive physical reaction. I’d have to sleep on the couch.
I finished my cigarette and went back in the room.
Petty hadn’t moved from the spot she’d been standing in when I left.
“Wow,” I said. “This is a shithole, isn’t it? This place makes the motels I stayed in as a kid seem like palaces. I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“Okay.” Petty sat on the couch, the middle of which sagged into a crater, and dust rose. She sneezed.
I went in the bathroom and tried to shut the door, but it wouldn’t close. It was too big for the frame. Perfect.
“I’m going to turn on the TV,” Petty called. I was grateful to her for that. I heard the television switch on.
Rust ringed the tub, and the corners of the room were packed with pubic hair. There seemed to be a film of ancient filth on everything. So. Gross. I sighed.
DEKKER CAME OUT of the bathroom and reached for the tan--colored phone. He punched some buttons. “Hey, hippie,” he said. “We’re here . . . it was fine . . . it’s called Motel 9, and it’s a real shithole, but it’s cheap. We’re in room number five.” He listened for a minute. “Yeah, we saw her about an hour ago. She’s got Alzheimer’s . . . I know. We’re going to try again tomorrow morning . . . I don’t know . . . She’s doing good . . . Okay. Hold on.” He held the phone out to me.
I felt a deep flush spreading over my neck and face. Curt wanted to talk to me? Why?
“Hello?” I said.
“How you doing, petty girl? How do you like Denver?”
“It’s big. And loud. And dirty.”
“You feeling overwhelmed?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Whatever you find out there, be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid. And tell your granny hi for me. I’ll talk to you soon. Give the phone back to Dekker, will you?”
I handed the phone over. He’d just wanted to say hello, which confused me and made me glad at the same time.
“Yeah, it’s not exactly what she’s used to,” Dekker said. “I’ll call when I find out anything new. ’Bye.” He hung up. “We have to find a place to buy chocolate--covered cherries for Mrs. Krantz and some groceries so we don’t have to eat out. I mean, eat in restaurants.”
His face got red, but I didn’t know why.
In the nightstand was a smudgy phone book he paged through until he found what he was looking for and wrote on a little pad of paper. He called the number and asked for directions from Motel 9, which he also wrote down.
Once we were back in the Buick, I read off the directions while Dekker drove the Denver streets. When he parked in front of the Walmart, I said, “I’ve never seen one in real life. Just on TV.”
I followed him through the automatic doors. This place was ten times the size of the Walgreens in Salina, and it made me feel dizzy and untethered. The aisles were packed with slow--moving -people who all seemed to be talking at once, and loudly. Not long after we got inside, we got separated by the throng and I started hyperventilating. I stopped walking and backed into the shopping carts, making a racket above the general noise. Dekker was taller than most -people, so I could see the back of his head. But he turned and saw I wasn’t there and pushed his way back through the crowd. He grabbed a shopping cart and put my hands on the push bar then got behind me, not touching me but staying close enough to make me feel safe.