Decision made, she took the Tucker’s Grade exit to Highway 41, driving down the old state road, searching for a cheap place to stay that allowed animals. She spied an older place to her right—the Courtesy Court Motel, a typical L-shaped building, single story. She’d seen many old places like this in her travels. A sign in the office window read LOCALLY OWNED, PETS WELCOME. This usually meant cheap rates. Since it was the middle of summer, the July heat kept most local folks indoors or swimming if they were lucky enough to have a pool or had the time to spend a day at the beach.
Alison parked next to the office but left the Jeep running so she could keep the air on for the cats. “Be right back,” she called over her shoulder, even though she knew they couldn’t hear her.
The motel, painted a bright orange with a green flat roof, was probably built in the early sixties and stuck out like a sore thumb. Each room had an old iron chair and side table beside the door. Hardy foxtail ferns flourished in yellow pots on either side of the entrance. A bell jingled when she stepped inside the air-conditioned office.
An older woman with snow-white hair, sapphire eyes, and an apron tied around her thick waist greeted her. She smiled, wiped her hands on her apron, then took a pair of eyeglasses from the desk. “I was baking—can you believe that? In this heat. I swear, I think this heat is frying my brain. Now, what can I help you with?”
Alison couldn’t help but smile. It should be obvious to the woman, but maybe she offered other services besides the motel.
“I want to rent a room for the night,” Alison said.
“Of course you do,” the woman said. “Just you?”
Alison nodded. “And my cats.”
“Okay, just sign your name here.” The clerk pointed to a large leather-bound visitor guest book with an alligator embossed on the front. “What kind of cats do you have?”
“Just some old strays I picked up. That’s it?” Alison asked while signing her name.
“Yep, nothing fancy here, but fresh linens, good mattresses, and cable TV. We don’t have Wi-Fi, so if you’re looking to play on your computer, you’ll have to try the Holiday Inn further down.”
“No, I don’t need Internet.” Alison didn’t have a cell phone or a computer. They were useless since she didn’t have anyone she wanted to speak to. If she really needed to search the web, she used the library.
“Then it’s thirty dollars a night plus ten bucks for a pet deposit. And we only take cash,” the older woman explained.
Alison took a twenty, two fives, and a ten from her wallet, handing them to the woman. “Thanks. So I guess you’re going to give me a key.”
“Of course. As I said, this heat has fried my brain.” She removed the key from a drawer to room number two. “This is close to the soda machine; there’s an ice bucket in your room if you need it. Ice machine’s next to the soda machine in the breezeway.”
Alison took the offered key. A real key—no key cards to scan here. She liked this place already.
“Checkout is at noon,” the lady told her.
“I’ll be long gone by then, but thanks,” Alison said.
“You’re welcome. I’m Betty. If you need anything, just buzz the office. We do have telephones in the rooms.”
“I appreciate that.”
Once Alison was inside her Jeep, she pulled away from the office, parking in the space reserved for room number two. She shut the engine off, then went to the back of the Jeep for her luggage, dragging the old black case behind her. The key slid easily into the lock; then she pushed the heavy metal door aside, startled when she saw the inside of the room. Alison had stayed in a lot of dumpy motels in her day, and nothing surprised her. Until now. The room was immaculate, with nice wood floors, the furniture modern. The chair and table with a lamp would be a nice place to have a meal. The bathroom had been updated, too. There was a modern shower, with a removable shower head that appeared to be brand new. Little bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and soap were arranged neatly on the counter next to the sink. A tiny green box held a shower cap, mini sewing kit, and three Q-tips. She hadn’t seen this kind of stuff in the dumps she’d stayed in throughout the years. She had her own toiletries, but she’d use what they provided, since she’d paid for them. Never one to waste a dime on anything, she was ever conscious of her finances.
She went back to her car and carried the momma cat and her kittens inside the room. She placed them on a pillow from the bed so they had a soft place to rest. Once they were settled, she took a paper cup and filled it with water. “I know you need more than this, so I’ll be right back.” She rubbed Momma cat between her ears. She wasn’t sure what kind of cat she was, as her coat was a multitude of colors. Each of the kittens was a replica of their momma. The dollar store wasn’t that far, so Alison raced out before the cats ran after her.
Thirty minutes later, she returned with milk for the cats, wet food, and three disposable litter boxes, along with three food dishes and one large dish for their water. She poured a generous amount of milk in the water dish, then added wet food to the smaller dishes. Momma cat practically inhaled her food, while the kitties nibbled at theirs. They all lapped up the milk, then returned to their pillow. Unsure if Momma cat was still nursing, Alison kept an eye on her. The kitties had to be only five or six weeks old.
Once they were nestled together on their pillow, Alison unpacked the few items she needed for her stay, but wasn’t quite ready to call it a night. She found the TV remote next to the bedside table and clicked on the National News Network. The country was in turmoil; nothing new there. She flipped through the stations, stopping when she found a local news station. The anchor spoke about a mango festival in Matlacha Pass, the festivities beginning at eight o’clock tonight. Alison figured she’d scope it out, as she had nothing better to do. Lying around the motel would bore her.
The animals were sleeping, so she left more food out just in case, plus filled the milk dish again. Without giving it further thought, she took a quick shower, then changed into a pair of white shorts and a navy striped top. She slid her feet into her secondhand Birkenstocks. Her long blonde hair was wet, and since it was too hot to use a hair dryer, she pulled it into a ponytail. Checking herself out in the mirror, she decided she could pass for a local. She considered herself a Floridian. Her skin was tan from visits to the beach when she’d had an occasional day off from Besito’s. Her bright blue eyes were those of a survivor who’d seen too much too soon in life. Already she had crow’s feet, something a woman her age shouldn’t have, but too much time in the sun, hard work, and the burdens she carried hadn’t helped the aging process.
Inside the Jeep, she looked at the map, calculating Matlacha Pass to be about a thirty-five-minute drive. As she drove along Pine Tree Road, she thought about her drive to the Keys, thinking it might be fun if she’d made a few pit stops along the way if there wasn’t too much expense involved. She’d take a few of the pamphlets she’d seen in the motel office and see what southern Florida offered.
The drive was uneventful. She drove to Matlacha Pass, where loblolly pine trees flanked the two-lane road. Mangroves thriving in the salty coastal canal waters acted as Mother Nature’s fence, preventing her from viewing the homes behind them. As she neared the bridge to the island, she saw a post office, a CVS, and a Publix grocery store. Approaching the old wooden swing bridge, she saw dozens of people fishing. She saw an old sign naming it the “World’s Fishing-est Bridge.” She slowed to a crawl to get a closer view of the folks with yellow bait buckets, large casting nets, and various types of rods and reels. Some wore white rubber boots, others were in sneakers, and a few in flip-flops. Some were tanned, others as red as lobsters. Alison guessed the latter were tourists. As soon as she reached the bridge, she, along with four other vehicles, drove across the wooden slats at a snail’s pace. The thump thump thump of the tires scared her, as she was unsure of just how sturdy the old boards were. As soon as she crossed to the opposite side of the bridge, she looked in her rearview mirror, watching as the wooden gate slowly opened to allow a fishing boat to pass through. She’d never seen this side of the Sunshine State.