And now I need to think of a last name.
“I have to tell you,” Nick says. “This is the longest anyone has ever taken to write their name.”
My cheeks burn. “Oh…”
“Listen…” He reaches for the yellowing piece of paper. “Don’t worry about the form. You’re just staying for the night.” He looks down at the one piece of information I gave him. “Okay, Kelly?”
“Okay,” I say gratefully.
I reach into my purse and extract fifty dollars to pay him for the room. He takes the money and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. Then he grabs a set of keys from under the counter.
“I’ll show you the room,” he says. He glances at my luggage. “Let me get your bag for you.”
I start to protest, but what the hell? I’m exhausted, and he looks strong. May as well let him carry my bag.
I follow him up a set of stairs to the second floor. The stairs aren’t lit at all, and with every step, they groan like the whole staircase is about to collapse at any second. I grab onto the banister for support, in case the stairs really do collapse, and it immediately shifts under my weight. This whole motel feels like it’s about to fall apart any second now.
Nick notices and flashes me an apologetic smile. “I need to tighten a few of the screws. Sorry about that.”
“No problem.”
The entire second floor seems to be lit by a single lightbulb. There are three doors, two on the left and one on the right. Nick takes me past rooms 201 and 202, and then we stop at 203. He fishes the keys out of his pocket.
As he’s getting the door open, I noticed the door to room 202 has cracked open. I turn around, and I feel rather than see somebody watching me from within the room. I tilt my head, trying to get a better look, but then the door slams closed.
“Is… is there somebody staying in room 202?” I ask.
Nick glances at 202, then back down at the keys. “Yeah. That’s just Greta. She sort of… lives here. She won’t bother you.”
I can’t shake this uneasy feeling that I should leave this motel right now. Grab my bag and get back on the road, no matter how hard it’s raining or snowing. This place is trouble.
But that’s silly. It’s warm and dry in here. And there’s an actual bed that I can sleep in.
Nick throws open the door to my room for the night. It’s about what I expected. A small double bed with a stiff looking bedspread, and an old dresser with a small TV balanced on top. And a rickety wooden chair in the corner of the room.
A crease forms between Nick’s eyebrows as he watches my face. “Is it okay?”
“It’s perfect,” I say.
He nods. “The TV has an antenna… It’s not cable or anything. We might get a little reception, but I’m not sure if you will in the storm. And there’s a phone… But it only calls the phones on the first floor. Most people have cell phones these days…”
I think about the cell phone I tossed in the back of that pickup truck. I wish more than anything that I had a phone right now. But it’s better I got rid of it. I don’t want anyone to track me here. Plus, if I could call Claudia, I’m not sure if I could resist the temptation.
“And there’s a private bathroom,” he adds, a touch proudly. “So you can… You don’t have to leave the room or anything. There’s a shower and everything.”
I shiver. “I don’t shower at motels. When I was a kid, I saw this movie where this woman got murdered while taking a shower at a motel. It scarred me for life.”
He smiles. “Well, it’s there if you change your mind. I promise you won’t be murdered.”
To be honest, I’m tempted. My hair is damp and freezing—a hot shower seems like heaven right now.
As I glance around the room, my stomach lets out a low growl. All I’ve eaten since lunch is those cheese doodles and a few Oreos while I was driving. And I have to say, I’m pretty burned out on cheese doodles and Oreos right now.
“Is there a way to get food?” I ask.
Nick chews his lower lip. “Uh… sure. We don’t have room service or anything, but I could throw something together for you in our kitchen. Like… a turkey sandwich?”
“That sounds amazing,” I breathe.
He laughs. “Oh, it won’t be. Believe me. My wife, Rosalie, she was the cook.”
I freeze for a moment. Did he just refer to his wife in the past tense? That’s odd. And the name Rosalie sounds strangely familiar.