The Dolly Parton room featured color TV; a deluxe, heart-shaped bathtub; and a life-size cardboard cutout of Dolly wearing a purple bell-bottom jumpsuit, her hair a regal sculpture of curls. She was rigged to a turntable, spinning to the song “Jolene.” A purple sequined bedspread and matching curtains, plush lilac carpet that was thick and deep as grass.
Kit seesawed the boots off her bare feet, tossed them to the side, and wiggled her toes in the dense synthetic yarn. Manny locked and chained the door behind him and hoisted his duffel and her backpack onto the bed. He sat on the edge and the backpack slid down the sequins to the floor. He was unsettled. She felt she was in trouble for something. Could be he was still mad from their last fight, when she said she would never forgive him if they got caught. Sometimes he chewed on resentments for days before exploding at her, his argument so detailed there was no room for her to fight back. She went to the bathroom, removed the paper lid from a glass by the sink, and drank until she was full. Dolly stopped singing. Kit heard the TV turn on, change channels, and flare off in a crackle of static.
Then it was still, quieter than sleep. For a moment, she had a flash of walking out to find Manny on the carpet with a gun in his hand, the insides of his skull broadcast across the walls. She held her breath, turned the knob, and slowly opened the door.
Manny stood there very much alive and looking kind of smug, like he had won a game she hadn’t known they were playing. He smiled, sly and amused, lip curled over good straight teeth, a fan of creases at the eyes. She relaxed when he smiled, always. He was holding something out to her, a ring perched like a hat on the tip of his little finger.
“I’ve been carrying this damn thing around with me for weeks, trying to figure out how I’m gonna ask you,” he said and drew a halting breath. “It’s strange, after all we’ve been through, to ask this of you. I never wanted to be married before. But it doesn’t feel right anymore, us not being family in the eyes of the law.”
Kit froze up, terrified of saying the wrong thing. He sank to one knee, and it struck her as so odd and upside down, she smiled. He tracked her closely, seemed to be searching her face for a sign. The ring looked pricey, a teardrop set high on a gold band. It caught the light and winked.
“Where did you steal that from?” she asked, edging away from the proposal like it was a snake.
“I didn’t steal it,” he said, looking hurt. “I bought it. Cash.”
Maybe she should have jumped up and down and thrown herself into his arms, weeping Yes! Yes! Of course, yes! Forever was a good thing, wasn’t it? Especially for someone like her? She should be grateful. She should do whatever it took to keep the good thing going. But everything about this setup rubbed her the wrong way. The fact that he was proposing after shunning her for a week; and that he had either thrown money away for a diamond or stolen one and lied about it. She could not understand him like this, below her, as if begging.
Then, to her horror, an involuntary snicker forced its way through her nose. His smile faded, eyes darted over her face in a silent rage. A sheen of sweat appeared above his lips, which had lost their lively curl and were pressed tight against each other. She looked away and locked eyes with Dolly, curvy and apple-cheeked, willing herself to be serious.
“Stupid fuckin’ idea,” he said, standing, and curled the ring into his fist.
“Wait, no, start over,” Kit said. “I’m sorry.” She had no plan for making this right; once he turned sour it was nearly impossible to bring him back.
“Don’t you have to have a birth certificate to get married?” she asked. Reasoning with him was pointless, but she was frantic. “I don’t have documents. We could never do it legit anyway, I don’t think.”
“It. Was. A. Stupid. Fuckin’. Idea.” He pitched his voice in such a way that her eardrums chimed. “You’re a child.”
“I’m nineteen,” she said, not sure why she was arguing.
“You’re immature. I was trying to do you a favor, make you legitimate. I could have faked your documents, it would have been fine.”
“I’m sorry. You just caught me off guard,” she said, the worry making her sick in her throat. “Just let me think about it.”
“You blew it, kitten. There’s no do-overs with shit like this. Best you learn that sooner than later.” He went to the purple toilet, lifted the lid with his toe, and dropped the ring into the water. “It’s fine. It’s just a fuckin’ rock.”
“You can’t do that.” She scrambled after him, reached into the water, and brushed against the diamond’s beveled edge. He flushed. The ring nudged toward her fingertips and then slipped out of sight.
“No!”
He took the duffel with his clothes and his gun and started to leave. She was furious.
“You can’t leave, you’re being ridiculous,” she yelled. She found an ashtray and flung it at his head. It spun past his cheek and dented the wall. “Get back here and talk to me like a man!”
He kept walking and opened the door. She threw herself into the door, crushing his hand. He winced, spread his fingers out, and then made a fist. She held her breath, waited for the hit, but he just walked out without a word, without looking at her at all. She chased him outside, jumped on his back, choked him in the crook of her arm. She could smell the grease in his hair, the smoke from his last cigarette. He slammed her back against the brick wall of the motel, and she dropped to the ground. Though her head spun, she could see well enough to watch him stuff his duffel through the back window of the Mustang and drive away.
She screamed but could not match the roar of the engine or the distance he had already covered. He had left before, just not like this. She knew she had humiliated him, touched something brittle at his very core. She had ruined everything. She gasped as her ribs curled in on her lungs. She could not breathe, felt she could die here in this deserted lot. She dropped her head, her hair drawing closed around her face. The numbing began, a softness in her lips, a fuzz that spread across her skin and into her bones. It was like static on the television after the screen went blank. The panic sounded a warning—he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s never coming back—that was swiftly, mercifully silenced.