How (Not) to Fall in Love(81)

We’d been driving for about an hour when I counted the third Ford F-150 truck about the same age as mine. That was an unexpected bonus; we were even less conspicuous than I’d hoped, just in case Mom totally freaked and put out an APB.

The wind buffeted the truck as we passed oil rigs and cattle. Clouds had chased away the sun and light snow glanced off the windshield. I hoped I wasn’t heading into a storm. Maybe I should’ve checked the weather forecast before I left town.

The clouds darkened and the snow increased in intensity the farther north I drove. My sweaty hands gripped the steering wheel. Lucas had said the new tires were in good shape; I hoped he was right. I turned on the radio and a staticky voice told me that parts of Wyoming and Montana were under a winter storm warning until eight p.m. Up to eight inches of snow was predicted, with gusting and blowing blizzard conditions on the highways.

Crap.

While newer SUVs and trucks continued to pass me, I drove slower and slower. This sucked. I tapped the brakes to test them, and the truck started to skid into the next lane. I needed to stop. There was a town coming up called Buffalo on the map, but I wasn’t going to make it that far. I looked anxiously for the next exit sign.

The Sleepy Side Motel had one of those cheesy neon arrows that flickered sporadically. The hand-lettered sign read “$35.95/night.” The motel looked old and worn, not scary, but like it had suffered through the Wyoming weather for many years. Warm orange light spilled from the office windows onto the snow. “Friendly dogs can come on in,” read a sign taped on the front door.

“I think we’re in luck, Tobes.”

A tiny old woman sat behind a counter, watching the news on a small TV. She peered up at me over her bifocals. Immediately I thought of Mrs. Beasley, a funny-looking old doll of my mom’s with yellow hair, rectangular wire-rimmed glasses, and a blue polka-dotted dress.

“Hello, honey,” she said, slowly straightening up from her chair. She peered over the counter at Toby. “And who have we here?” She reached into a fishbowl of dog treats and tossed one to him. “Hope that’s okay,” she said, after he inhaled it.

I smiled. “Sure, it’s fine. I’m so happy you take pets here.”

“I do believe we’ve done so since the first day we opened back in 1959. My husband always insisted dogs were part of the family. He’d get so sad when families came in telling us they had to board their dogs while they went on road trips.” She paused for a breath, but not long enough for me to agree. “Sometimes we get a cat, which we aren’t as partial too, but as long as they stay in their little travel cases, we don’t mind.”

I waited to make sure it was my turn to speak. “So, can I get a room for the night? For me and Toby?”

“Well, of course, sweetie.” She blinked her Mrs. Beasley blue eyes behind her glasses. “Are you traveling alone? Or do you have a parent who can sign in?”

What could I say? That my mom was standing right here under Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak? Crap and double crap. Toby whined restlessly, his eyes fixated on the treat fishbowl. Mrs. Beasley tossed him another treat.

“You on your own, honey? Just you and your dog?”

I nodded.

She tapped her cheek with a ballpoint pen with a red feather taped to it. I wondered if it tickled.

“As a rule, I don’t let out rooms to minors. Had some trouble with that in the past.” Her eyes squinted, examining me for signs of trouble-making ability. “You sure you aren’t hiding a boyfriend out there in that truck?”

Lucas and me in a motel room? My whole body flushed. I knew I looked guilty even though I wasn’t. “No ma’am.” I hesitated. “I’m…on my way to meet my dad.”

“Well, then. It’s a bad storm out there. Of course you can stay.” She turned around and took a key off an old peg board. “Room twenty-three, around the back. Make sure the windows are locked; that wind’s blowing mighty hard.”

I paid her and took the key gratefully. I was surprised to see my hand trembling. The impact of what I was doing was starting to hit me. Once we were safely in our room, I let myself crumple. I fell on the bed and cried softly, all the stress leaking out through my tears. Toby jumped on the bed next to me and licked my wet face. This made me laugh, which totally freaked me out. Was this what hysteria felt like? Did I inherit the insanity gene from my dad? How could one crazy person rescue another?

“He’s not crazy,” I whispered out loud. “He’s not. He just needs to come home.”

Fortunately, all it took was a giant bag of salt and vinegar chips and a can of soda to restore my sanity. Now for the phone. How many voicemails and texts would I find?

“Courage,” I whispered as I held down the power button. Toby sighed next to me on the bed. I rubbed his belly while I watched the screen fill with notifications.

Where to start? I wanted to start with Lucas, but knew I should start with Mom. I’d look at text messages first.

There were a dozen texts from Mom. “Darcy how could you! Why didn’t you wait until we talked? You shouldn’t be alone.” And on and on.

From Sal: “What the hell? You did this without telling me, your BF? I am done with you Darcy. D.O.N.E.” That hurt. But twenty minutes later she’d texted again. “Please call me. Let me know you’re alive. Just tell me u r safe. And call Lucas. He is totally manic.”