“That’s a pretty name,” he said.
She looked at him strangely with her black eye until Hawley felt uncomfortable, so he moved farther away, toward the door, and leaned against the wall there. She was still sitting on the bed. The baby had fallen asleep beside her, his face to the side and his arms over his head like he was in a holdup.
“Did those hurt?” Hawley asked, pointing at her ears.
Her fingers floated to the hoops, caressed the purple feather. “The ones up top did,” she said. “But now I don’t even think about it. I get a piercing whenever something important happens, something I want to remember.” Amy poured a third drink for herself. She threw it back like a shot and sighed. “Is that the right time?”
The clock on the bedside table said 4:16 A.M., the same numbers as when Hawley arrived. It could have been 2:00 or even 5:00—there was no way to know because the sandstorm outside had turned the sky so dark and yellow. Hawley took another sip of his vodka. “Probably not.”
“I’m so tired,” Amy said. She closed her eyes and rubbed them.
“I’ll go see if they’re back,” said Hawley. He put his drink on the table, unlocked the door and stepped onto the landing. The wind was still fierce. He jogged down the stairs and around the building, thinking about the holes in Amy’s ears. He wondered if she’d ever want to forget the things that had happened to her. Remove the hoops and let the skin close back over itself.
He tried the motel doors again. They were still locked. He beat on the window but nobody came. He checked for cars. There were two parked in front, a pickup with an Arizona license plate and a brown van from California, but they were both empty. He walked around the corner. His Ford was still where he’d left it. A few spots down there was a blue hatchback with a big dent in the passenger side. Through the window he could see piles of clothes and a few taped-up boxes and a baby seat in the back. He stood in the parking lot and looked up at his room. All the other windows in the motel were dark.
Amy was stretched out next to the baby on the bed when he opened the door. He could tell from the way her shoulders moved that she was asleep. He closed the door gently and then he went into the bathroom and checked the toilet. The licorice jar was still there. He threw some water on his face and then he came out and pushed the bag of guns deeper into the closet. He walked to the other side of the bed and took the Beretta from the back of his pants and put it in the drawer of the table, next to the Bible. Then he slipped off his shoes and sat down on the bed.
The smell of cigarettes still hovered in the corners of the motel room, but all the bed smelled of now was baby powder and apples. Hawley leaned back against the headboard. He could barely keep his eyes open but he didn’t feel right lying down with them. The baby made little sighing noises and sucked on air, its mouth moving like it was going at a bottle. The bruised side of Amy’s face was against the bedspread, and without the black eye showing she looked even younger. She’d taken her hair out of the bun and it was spread across the pillow. Hawley listened to the girl and the baby breathing. Then he reached over and turned out the light.
When he woke up it was still dark and Amy was kissing him. Hawley didn’t know where he was at first and then he saw her face leaning over him in the red of the motel clock. The numbers still read 4:16. She was soft and warm pressed up against him. Hawley was afraid that touching her would end it, so he kept still. She was kissing him slowly and carefully. When he couldn’t help himself anymore his hands went to her waist and she moved away. Then after a minute she slid forward again and kept her mouth just out of reach, hovering over his, their faces close and their breath going into each other.
Her hair fell down and brushed his lips and there were the apples—the smell was coming from her hair. He wound his fingers through to her scalp and pulled. His knuckles brushed the line of hoops in her ear, all that cold metal going through her skin. She tugged at his shirt and he threw it off and she ran her teeth along his shoulder. And then they got hold of each other’s belts and tried to unlatch them in the dark. She got his done first and threw it to the ground, then pushed his fumbling fingers away and stood up next to the bed and slid her jeans down each of her long legs and stepped out of them, her bare skin glowing in the clock light.
Hawley caught her around the hips and buried his face in her neck and together they fell onto the carpet. He pushed her knees open and she made a sound like it was hurting her. Hawley tried to see her face but she only wrapped herself tighter around him and their bodies spun and he cracked his head on the frame of the bed. And that’s when he heard the gunshots. Two quick pops in a row and then silence.
The girl was still panting and shaking beneath him. Hawley covered her mouth with his hand. They waited like that in the dark on the floor of the motel room. And then there was another blast, and the baby woke up and started crying.
Hawley scrambled to the table and pulled open the drawer and took out the Beretta. He went to the window and pushed back the curtain. He couldn’t see anything but the two cars. He turned around and Amy was still lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.
“Shut him up,” Hawley said.
The girl got to her knees and then climbed onto the bed. She pulled the baby to her chest and started rocking. Hawley found his jeans in the dark and then went to the closet. He grabbed some mags and his father’s rifle and then he hurried back to the window. The baby was still crying. Every scream screwed Hawley’s nerves tighter. The girl was searching through her bag. She found a bottle but her hands were shaking and she dropped it twice and then she got back on the bed and stuffed the nipple into the baby’s mouth and the baby was quiet.
Hawley took a deep breath. He told the girl to keep the light off. Then he told her to take the baby and go into the bathroom and lock the door. She cleared her throat a few times like she was going to say something but then she didn’t. He listened to her gather the kid and her clothes and then he heard the door to the bathroom click. His eyes never left the parking lot. The sky was paling, just a few stars left. He could still sense the clock behind him, the stagnant numbers like heat, illuminating the side of his face in the gloom.