He Started It(75)

I didn’t go into the office to meet the desk clerk. I wanted to see the keys. Grandpa didn’t know it, but I wanted to see which rooms had been rented for the night.

There were two: room numbers 4 and 9. We got number 6.



* * *



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Over the past twenty years, the office has been redone. It’s been painted white and the cigarette stench has been replaced with pine-scented deodorizers. A dark-skinned woman with almost-black hair sits behind the desk. She gives me the once-over as soon as I walk in.

“One room, please. For one night.”

She looks behind me, at our car. “For three people?” she says.

“Oh yeah. That’s my brother and sister. We’re on a road trip.” I don’t know what she thought was going on, but I wanted to quash anything unseemly.

With a curt nod, she takes my cash and grabs a key off the board. Some things never get updated. A new key card system costs a lot more than a can of paint. We get room number 8.

“Thank you,” I say to the woman.

She gives me a dirty look and grunts a little. I don’t think she believes Eddie and Portia are my siblings.



* * *



–––––

Yes, the ashes are still in the car this time. Eddie brings them into the room.

Unlike the front office, the room hasn’t been updated or painted. It’s still stuck in the eighties, just like last time, and everything is floral. Everything. The walls, the curtains, even the headboards of both beds. The décor has nothing to do with beaver dams.

“I would’ve killed myself if I lived in the eighties,” Portia says.

That’s funny, because last time she loved it. She twirled around in circles and said it made her feel like she was in the middle of a bouquet.

All I had been thinking about was how to get out of that room and see who was staying in the others. I hoped so hard one was Nikki. Did I really believe she was? No. I’m not delusional, never have been. Even at twelve, I knew how unlikely it was that Nikki was here, if only because Eddie kept saying it.

“You’re such an idiot,” he said. “She’s gone. She’s not staying here.”

“I just want to check.”

I couldn’t, though, not unless Eddie came with me. Grandpa was never going to let me out of the room by myself or with Portia, not after Nikki ran away. But Eddie was his partner, his sidekick. Grandpa trusted him.

Luckily, my family played Risk. I knew that to get someone on your side, you had to give them something. Everyone was bribable.

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I want you to leave me alone.”

“No, really. What?”

He thought about it, toying with the idea while smiling and teasing and having a lot of fun being able to name his price. After some intense negotiation, we agreed that I had to do his chores and give him my allowance for a month.

Grandpa had no problem with us going down to the soda machine. It wasn’t too late, and compared to other motels we had stayed in, the Beaver Dam was almost family friendly. Maybe because the rooms were so floral and they had Disney movies available for rent at the front desk.

As soon as we got out, I went straight to door number 4 and knocked.

“Do you think Nikki will just open the door?” Eddie said.

“If she’s here, she will.” I knocked again.

The man who answered the door wasn’t Nikki. He wasn’t anyone Nikki would talk to. First, because he was older than our grandfather. Second, because the woman behind him was half naked on the bed and half his age.

“Sorry,” I said. “Wrong room.”

I ran. Eddie wasn’t far behind. Room number 9 was next and last. This time I hesitated.

Eddie stepped up and did the knocking. “Let’s finish this already.”

Nikki wasn’t in that room. But the man who was changed everything.





The TV is on but no one watches. We’re all too busy staring at our phones. Eddie sits by the window because we’re back on watch for the black truck.

After checking in with Cooper, who is working late, I take out my laptop and look at my e-mails and the local news from back home. I also check the Oregon news from Hells Canyon and the news from Colorado.

No word from Krista. No news about any bodies being found, not a word about Felix. It’s almost another job checking in on things.

Social media, especially. It’s all fine when I have something good to share, otherwise it’s just post after post of everyone else’s life. Yes, yes, yes, I’m so happy for you—Yay! Living the dream!—but I have nothing good to post about myself. All the wrong people would be impressed that I got away with killing my husband. So far.

“Let’s do a selfie,” I say.

“No,” Portia says.

“None of your friends will see it. I’ll post it on my page.”

“Whatever,” Eddie says.

“Come on,” I say.

They gather in close and we all stare into the camera, seeing our own image looking back at us. We aren’t young or tan or wild-looking like last time. We look like losers trying to make themselves better for social media.

Portia frowns. “Do you really want this floral background?”