BY THE TIME I hit Cheyenne all I wanted to do was drink whiskey and eat a cheeseburger. I missed the cheeseburgers from the diner downstairs below my apartment, the ones Papi made for me. I ate there practically every day for months, after my husband kicked me out of the house. Papi made them rare and red for me. I wondered if I would ever have one again.
I found a motel a few exits after the one for downtown Cheyenne. It was cheap and family-owned. Family-owned would have been a comfort in my own town, but on the road it was questionable. I did not know this family, after all. What were they like? I could not drive any farther though. There were some trailers parked out front. Everyone was hiding from the storm. There was a bar next to the hotel that served food, and the girl who checked me in reminded me of Jenny, how she could be so excited and sullen at the same time, like she was just ready to burst. I felt like I would be safe for the night. I filled out some paperwork. I used my married name, then stopped myself, but it was too late. It would look weird if I crossed out my own name and started over so I kept it. Then the girl asked me for my credit card.
“I want to pay in cash,” I said. I knew enough not to leave a credit card trail behind me. Every cop show I had ever watched since I was a kid had taught me that.
“You won’t get charged,” she said. “It’s just for incidentals.”
Incidental, I liked that word. Something could happen at any moment. An incident.
“What kind of incidentals?” I said.
“Well, we’ve got microwave popcorn if you get the snackers after the bar is closed, and there’s dirty movies on channel eighteen if you’re into that.” She sneered a little bit.
“Good to know,” I said coolly. I would not be cowed by a child.
In the room I shoved the suitcase of cash under the bed. The suitcase was made of red leather. I had only used it once before, on my honeymoon. After that, there was no reason to. We had never left town again. I spent my whole life in the same place, with the same people. I never thought I needed to go anywhere. And yet there I was, getting away as fast as I could.
I collapsed on the bed and turned on the TV. To just not have to think for a while, that was what I wanted.
I flipped to an entertainment news show. There was always one on for me, no matter what time of day. There were two hosts, one with dark spiky hair, and one with blond spiky hair. The one with blond spiky hair was break-dancing. The one with dark spiky hair said, “You sure love to pop and lock, don’t you?” The one with blond spiky hair yelled, “You know it.” The dark-haired man grinned, turned to another camera, and said, “And now it’s time for rehab watch!”
The two hosts talked for a while about who was in and out of rehab. There was a tiny image of a revolving door whipping around on the bottom right corner of the screen. They were being funny, but they were assholes, too.
“And finally, we’ve got an off-the-wagon alert,” said the dark-haired host. A swirling police light went off in the back of the studio and an alarm started to ring.
The blond guy covered his ears and grinned.
And there was footage of my all-time favorite TV-movie-of-the-week star, Rio DeCarlo, stumbling out of a limousine and into a security guard’s arms. A whirlwind of flashbulbs went off and she covered her eyes with her hands and rushed through the crowd and into a hotel.
“Her rep says seasickness,” said the dark-haired host.
“Seasickness?”
“And Dramamine.”
“Dramamine.” The blond host smiled slyly.
“She was on a yacht all day.”
“You know, she’s just two visits shy of our Rehab Hall of Fame.”
“That’s going to be an exciting day.”
I threw the remote control at the TV set. I hoped it was Dramamine. I hoped she was going to make it. I wanted someone in this world to make it. I was not sure right then if it could be me.
Then I took a shower for the first time in a week. All I had been doing was sitting around being mad at the world. There had been a lot going on, but it had all been in my head. A shower had not occurred to me the entire time.
The hot water ran out quickly. The radiator near the window banged and moaned. The windows steamed up. It reminded me of nothing in particular but still it felt familiar. I wiped the steam off the mirror with the towel and stared at myself. My hair in damp tangles all over my shoulders, the pink puffed-out rims of my eyes, a jag of tiny red pimples across my nose.