The blond boy followed us out, coming around to lean against the pump, smiling at Lacey. She smiled back.
“How much you want?” the dark-haired boy said as he unscrewed my gas cap.
“Fill her up, please.” I looked around, noticed a small peach-colored brick motel across the road. Someone had put hanging flower baskets at the front entrance and the sign promised free Wi-Fi and continental breakfast. Beside the garage there was a pub with a little awning over the front entrance. There were a couple of parking spots in front of the pub, but it looked like there might be a back parking lot on the road behind.
I remembered Crystal telling me how a biker dude and his son had helped them. I looked up, noticed an open window with curtains. Did he still live there? Would Crystal have spoken to him? I looked back at the motel, shielding my eyes from the sun as I checked the cars in the parking lot. I didn’t see Crystal’s, but the motel might have parking in the back.
“Is that the only motel in town?” I said.
“Yeah,” the blond-haired boy said. “We call it the Peach. There’s another one north of town, like back on the highway, but it’s a lot more expensive.”
“You looking for a place to stay?” the dark-haired boy said as I handed him the gas money.
“Maybe,” I said. “Not sure yet.”
Lacey gave me a curious look.
*
We got back in the car and the boys went into the gas station office. It looked like the dark-haired one was putting the money into the register. They both kept glancing at us through the dirty window. The blond boy smiled, said something to the other one.
Lacey was sniffing the air through her open window. “Oh, my God, that smells good. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
I caught the scent of barbecued meat. “I saw you at McDonald’s.”
“I was just changing, didn’t have any money for food.” She shrugged like it was no big deal. She’d told me her dad was out of work. Things must be really bad. Mom always made sure we had a full fridge even when times were tough—and she still gave money to homeless people. I asked her why one day and she said, “You never really know someone’s story.”
I glanced up, noticed the diner beside the hotel. It looked cheap.
“I’ll buy you dinner, but then I have to get going, okay?” I wanted to start searching for Crystal, but I couldn’t leave her starving and I was hungry myself.
“Really? That’s so awesome. Thanks.”
We parked in front of the diner. Down the street a bit farther there were a few more stores, one looking like some sort of a hardware store, with a sign for the post office and another sign showing you could buy lottery tickets, ice, and bait. A few men out front stared at us as we got out of the car. I didn’t like the feeling in this town, the dust on the streets, the heat. Everything felt dirty and worn-out, and kind of creepy. I wondered if it was because I knew what had happened to my mom here, but it felt like more than that. Like this town had given up years ago.
The waitress in the diner was about my mom’s age, with long black hair and short bangs. She offered us coffee, menus, and a friendly smile. We both ordered the special, chicken potpie with salad.
“Now, can I get you girls anything else?”
“No, that’s good, thanks.”
We handed her back the menus. I was putting sugar in my coffee, and Lacey was staring out her window at the pub across the way.
“He’s hot.”
I followed her gaze to a man working on a motorbike in front of the pub. He had some tools out and his shirt off. He was kind of cute for an older guy, with shoulder-length blond hair parted in the middle and a close-cropped dirty-blond beard. He put his shirt back on and was walking into the pub when the waitress came back with water for us.
“Who is that guy?” I said.
She looked out the window. “Owen? He runs the pub.”
Crystal had said that the biker guy’s son had driven them to the bus station. Was it the same guy? Did his dad still own the pub? I decided I had to talk to him. If Crystal was here, the pub was probably the first place she went.
Lacey was watching me. I turned back to face her.
“What?”
“Where are you supposed to meet your aunt?”
“Not sure yet, I have to give her a call later.” I took a sip of my coffee. It was awful, grounds floating on the top, but I kind of liked the burnt taste.
“Does she live here?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. We’re having some family problems.” I knew I sounded nervous, but what was I supposed to say?
“I get it, sorry.”
I texted Mom again, told her I was fine and wouldn’t be able to check in for a couple of days. I’d disabled the location services on my cell phone before I left Vancouver and hoped she hadn’t noticed yet.
The waitress brought our food. “Here you go, girls.”