He Started It(80)

“Probably?”

“Well, now you know.” He walks away from me and heads into a fast-food restaurant.

Once we’re all back in the car and on the road, no one speaks. Eddie doesn’t mention the extended stop. Portia doesn’t say anything about the giant non-diet soda he’s drinking. I don’t mention anything at all. No one speaks until Eddie takes an exit near Duckwater, Nevada.

“Looks the same,” Portia says. “Doesn’t it, Beth?”

It does.

“Our last night,” Eddie says.

Overkill. We all know what night it is. We check into the same place, the Pine Cone Motel. We even go out to eat at the same place, a steakhouse and saloon called the Rib.

Portia orders a salad, Eddie orders a sirloin steak. I get a sandwich and a molten lava cake for dessert.

When we’re done eating, Eddie leans back in his seat and puts his hands on his stomach the way Dad used to. “I think it’s safe to say this is the last time we’ll have to take this road trip.” He side-eyes Portia, who looks at me.

“It better be,” she says.

“I think we should get three rooms tonight,” I say.

Eddie doesn’t look surprised. “I agree.”

Portia shrugs, says nothing, and Eddie offers to pay for both dinner and the rooms. Maybe he feels a little guilty—hopefully a lot guilty—about what happened last night. Or maybe now that the trip is almost over, Eddie is starting to feel like a wealthy man.



* * *



–––––

I wish I could say the Pine Cone is like every other roadside motel, but it’s worse. This isn’t a place where people stop to grab a few hours of sleep before getting back on the road. This is a place where they have hourly, nightly, weekly, and monthly rates. Some of the rooms have plastic furniture outside their doors, like their long-term residents have set up outdoor patios. In the parking lot, a man is working on a car set up on blocks. Judging by the dirt on it, the car has been here awhile.

For a minute, I even wonder if they have three available rooms.

Silly me. Of course they do.

Once I’m alone, I start thinking about how this is going to end. About the secrets we buried, literally, and if they’ll ever come out. If they can be blamed on anyone. More importantly, if they can be used to blackmail one another into giving up our share of the money. Why send someone to jail when you can get them to hand over their share of the inheritance? Like Eddie’s night in jail. Someone could use that against him, maybe even me. If I have to.

While pondering this, I get a text from Portia.


I can hear Eddie next door. He’s screaming at someone.


Krista?


Maybe? Sounds like it’s about money.


No surprise there.



She says:


He’s an asshole,


Always.


I can also hear the people next door having sex. Eddie is actually preferable.


Nice.



I wonder exactly how much trouble Eddie is in, how many more debts he might have. Or how far he would go to pay them off.

Up until now, I’ve refused to consider he did anything to Krista. Just because she hasn’t texted doesn’t mean she’s dead.

Although for Felix, it does mean that.

Felix. I’m not sad to think about him. Not exactly. Maybe a little melancholy, the way you think about a friend years after you’ve drifted apart. That’s what it feels like, even though he’s only been gone thirty-six hours. Give or take.

This is the first time I’ve been alone at night since the trip began. I can hear everything: the TV next door, some people standing outside talking in the parking lot, even my own breathing. It’s distracting.

I take out Nikki’s journal and flip to a page about Dr. Lang.

He was my doctor, actually. I didn’t even see him until after Nikki was gone. She never knew him.

I remove the family saga book cover from the journal, running my hand across the front.

    Thoughtful Questions for Thoughtful Girls



It’s a ridiculous title. Absurd, even.

I thought that when I bought it. It was in a dollar store, sitting on a shelf with a bunch of others. I was there to buy a notebook. Instead, I happened across this journal. The second I looked at the cover, I knew Nikki would hate it. She would hate the questions, she would hate the format, she would make fun of all of it. I also knew exactly how she would answer the questions and it made me laugh.

It was about a month after I saw my mother in prison, a month after she told me to find Nikki. I think that’s what made me buy the journal nine years ago, on the anniversary of the day Nikki ran away. It’s why I’ve answered all the questions exactly how Nikki would have answered.

Though I did take a little creative license, like with Dr. Lang. And also about Calvin Bingham following us in his maroon Honda. Maybe Nikki noticed him and maybe she didn’t; it’s impossible to know, but I like to think she did. I like to think she noticed and she protected me by not saying anything.

Maybe I should have told you about this earlier. I probably should have, but I was afraid you would take it the wrong way. Think of me the wrong way. Like I was one of those loony women pretending to be sane, which I’m not.