Chapter Two

 

         I left my bags in Lorelei and walked up to the solitary light. As I got closer, I made out a sign I’d missed that read “OFFICE” so at least I was heading in the right direction. I opened the door, a small tinkling sound announcing my arrival. 

I was surprised by the interior. Instead of the usual desk and industrial-strength cleaner smell, it was like I’d stepped into someone’s living room. A petite woman stood from an overstuffed gray couch, smiling, as I approached. At the other end of the sofa, a mound of blankets moved slightly, as though they were breathing. I looked again, thinking that maybe my fatigue was tricking my eyeballs, but then I saw a few strands of nearly white blonde hair poking out and realized that the lump was a sleeping child. 

Before I could speak, the other woman spoke softly. “Long night? What can I do for you?”

“Very long,” I replied, and asked if there was a room available for the night.

“For what’s left of it,” she smiled. With her delicate build and pleasant voice, she reminded me of a bird. Sleep deprivation causes me to think oddly random thoughts. 

I followed her to an old-fashioned roll-top desk in the corner, partly hidden by a folding wooden screen painted as an open door looking out over a lake, complete with puffy clouds reflected in it and a smudge of trees on the far shore. 

“Your privacy screen’s beautiful,” I commented as she opened a drawer and extracted a key and a small ledger.

“Thank you. I’ll just need ID so I can fill this out really quick and then you can get some sleep.”

“You do take credit cards?” I thought to ask as I handed her my driver’s license. 

She nodded as she pushed up the top of the desk. I saw a laptop computer and the ubiquitous credit card reader while she found a pen and began copying down my name and address. 

“Is all this correct?” she wanted to know.

“Up until yesterday morning,” I replied. I used to be very open, even with complete strangers, until the media circus surrounding my lawsuit. Since then, I’ve learned to be very careful about what I say, but I slipped back into my old habit. Once again, I’m sure it was because I was tired. Or maybe it was just that I hadn’t talked to anyone in a long time. I was still guarded, but I explained that I felt that Tampa no longer had much to offer me and that I was thinking about looking for a quieter place, hopefully in the local area. “Basically,” I finished, “I guess my current address is parked outside right now.” 

“That’s fine,” she said, handing me back my license. “I don’t think you’re going to run off and skip out on your bill. I’m not even sure if you’re going to make it to your room.” She clicked a few keys on the computer and asked how many nights I wanted.

I thought about it for a second and said “Two for now, though I might decide to stay a little longer. Will the room be available?” 

She laughed then quickly stifled it, glancing toward the couch. Her small stature belied the strength behind her laugh. It was full, loud, and infectious. I found myself trying desperately not to follow suit. 

“It’s still a little cold for tourists, so your room’ll be available for as long as you need it. It’s slow right now, so I upgraded you to the deluxe bungalow. Your total for the two nights comes to $85.20; forty dollars a night, plus tax. You said you wanted to use your credit card?”

I handed over the card and she swiped it through the machine. I heard a short beep and waited for the receipt to print out so I could sign it and go to bed, but I didn’t hear the rattle of the printer. She pushed a few buttons and tried again. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “do you have another card? This one was declined.”

I checked my wallet; I’d given her the right card. “That’s impossible,” I said. “Let me go back to the bank I passed on the way here and I’ll just get cash from the ATM. I know that there’s plenty of money in that account.”          

There better be; I’d transferred $20,000 into it from the account my settlement was in the day before I left. I knew I didn’t spend even a tenth of that on my trip, even if Lorelei didn’t set the world’s record for gas mileage. “I’ll be right back,” I promised. 

At the bank, beneath the flickering sign, I slid my card into the ATM, entered my PIN and checked my balance. Sure enough, when my receipt spit out, it read $19,378.63. I pushed the button that told the machine I wanted another transaction and entered a hundred dollars as the amount I wanted to withdraw from checking. The machine whirred and I thought I was going to get my cash, but all that appeared was another receipt. I declined another transaction and got my card back. I took the card and slip of paper to the car, where I sat with the driver’s door open so I could read beneath the dim interior light. 

         Unable to process transaction. Please contact your financial institution.

         What the hell? Obviously, there was money there. I reached for my purse, for my cell phone, before I remembered that I’d cancelled that contract because my old provider only had spotty coverage in this area. Ready to cry, I drove back to the motel.

         The manager, or whoever she was, was standing outside smoking a cigarette when I parked and walked over. 

         “Get it all straightened out?” she asked. She sounded concerned, and I didn’t think it was about losing a rental.

         “Not exactly,” I said, handing her the second receipt. I’d put the other in my wallet. I dug my cigarettes and lighter out of my purse and lit one myself. “Do you have a phone I can use to call and find out what’s going on?”

         She still held the key to what was supposed to be my room. I followed her as she walked to one of the farthest bungalows and along behind when she unlocked the door and went inside, turning on the lights as she went. 

         She set the key on a small occasional table near the door that held a telephone and an array of what appeared to be tourism brochures. “Go ahead and call from here. I’ve got to get back to the office. Come see me when you’re all finished.”

         I’d forgotten all about the kid sleeping. I felt terrible that I was creating such a problem. I was tired, overwrought and not in the mood to deal with this, but unless I wanted to spend the night in my car, I had to. I picked up the phone and dialed the 1-800 number on the back of my check card. 

         And got an automated recording that allowed me to check my balance, hear my last five transactions and—finally—speak to a customer service representative. I stabbed the three… and got another recording that informed me that customer service was only available between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. Central time. 

         I wanted to scream, but I gently hung up the phone, picked up the key, turned off the lights and locked the door behind me. I wondered what the fine for sleeping in my car would be when I got caught. That would look lovely on a Google search; rich-a*s, money-grubbing b***h arrested and fined for living in car in Bumfuck, OH. I could already hear my favorite shock-jock and his a*****e sidekicks. Maybe I should have thought this out a little better.

         I knew Ohio and Florida were in the same time zone, so that meant that I wouldn’t be able to call until eight in the morning and actually speak to a real human being. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath before re-entering the office. 

         “I’m not going to be able to talk to anyone to straighten this out until,” I looked around for a clock, and failing to see one, “at least eight.” I handed back the key. “Can you hold that room for me until then?”

         She looked at me, not with pity, but with empathy. “Honey, go back and get some sleep. I’m sure you’ll get it all straightened out in the morning. I’ll mark it as a cash payment and you can pay it after you figure out what’s going on. I can’t let you get back in your car and drive anywhere; you’re falling asleep standing up. I’m here ‘til four anyway; sleep as late as you want and then take care of it.”

         “It has to be almost four now,” I protested, unsure how to gracefully accept the generous offer, “and I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

         “It’s not like I’d fire myself,” she said wryly, “and I’ve still got over twelve hours to go before I’m off for the day.” 

         Four in the afternoon? My brain couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. I must have looked completely stupid, because she explained.

         “My regular night shift person’s got the flu, so I’m pulling double shifts until she comes back to work. I nap on the couch off and on as I need to; besides, you need the sleep more than I do.”

         “Thank you,” I said dumbly. I walked back to the room without even bothering with my bags. I unlocked the door, dropped my purse on the table in the dark and without benefit of lights, fell into bed fully clothed and think I was asleep before I even landed.

         I awoke six hours later, blissfully rested and thankfully nightmare free. I stretched and slowly opened my eyes and realized that I wasn’t as free of bad dreams as I’d thought. My experiences the previous night came flooding back as I sat up, pulled my hair free of its ponytail and ran my fingers through, massaging my scalp. I twisted the tangled, greasy strands into a loose bun and secured it with the band I’d used for the ponytail. It would do until I could take a shower.   

         I needed to call my bank and find out what was going on with my money, so I found where I’d dropped my purse on the table by the door and dug through it until I found my wallet and, inside, my check card. I again dialed the toll-free number printed on the back of the card and waited impatiently for the mechanical voice to tell me to push “3” for customer service. Eventually, I got the prompt and dutifully pushed. Then I got to enjoy the lovely Muzak versions of songs that were only vaguely familiar as I was put on hold. The music was occasionally interrupted by a recorded voice assuring me that my call was very important to them and that it would be answered by the next available representative.

         Finally, a real live human being answered the phone. I explained the problem and was quickly reassured that there were no problems with either my card or account. She explained that since it was a new account, activated only a few days earlier, my travel route caused it to be flagged. My formerly local bank attempted to contact me at both my home and cell phone numbers, but found them both to be out of service. They put a hold on my account until I could be reached and verification of my usage confirmed. 

         I answered all the questions and explained that I was traveling and asked that no further holds be put on my account. I also asked about branches in my current area, only to find that the closest was almost 75 miles away. The hold was lifted and my money was mine again. 

         That made me feel better. All I had to do was go pull out money and pay my bill, then I could come back and take a shower and change my clothes, two things I definitely needed to do. I also needed to thank that amazing woman in the front office. I felt bad that I hadn’t even gotten her name. 

         I stopped by the office on my way back to the bank, but there was a sign on the door that promised a return in fifteen minutes with instructions to stop by the Sit n’ Sip Coffee Shop next door if there was a problem requiring immediate attention.

         I pocketed the room key and left for the bank, where I withdrew two hundred dollars before making my way back to the motel. The sign was still in place and, since I was starving, I decided to check out the Sit n’ Sip. 

          Nice to know that the dark mass on the other side of the parking lot wasn’t a refuge for escaped axe murderers, I thought to myself as I passed my car. 

         The coffee shop was of the same vintage as the motel, late sixties construction, probably built when the family summer vacations were annual excursions to bucolic locales like this each year. It was clean looking, even if it was older, the paint a shining off-white and the trim a deep forest green. I opened the door and was assaulted by the scents of frying bacon and strong coffee. 

          I noticed an open table for two in the crowded room and as I made my way toward it, I could feel many pairs of eyes following my every movement. I sat down and before I could even glance at the laminated menu in front of me, an older woman was waiting, pencil hovering over her pad, to take my order. Her nametag read “Jo” and in spite of her heavy makeup and over-sprayed hair, her smile was genuine and curiosity danced in eyes that were surprisingly youthful despite being buried in a nest of laugh lines.

          As she rattled off the breakfast special of homemade biscuits and sausage gravy with toast and fried potatoes, I listened and noticed that after the initial interest, people were now ignoring me and had gone back to their conversations. 

The special sounded delicious, and I decided on that, with coffee and orange juice. Then, before she could dart off, I asked about the sign next door. 

          “Oh,” she smiled, “Kathy had to take Abi home. She said she’d be right back, but her and her brother are probably arguing. He was supposed to pick the baby up last night, but never made it and she was pretty upset.”

          That was more information than I needed, but I thanked the waitress and sat back, waiting for my breakfast. I looked around. Most of the people in the room were older, like the restaurant and waitress. A bald, older man worked the grill, visible through a huge pass-through window. 

          My juice and caffeine arrived within minutes, even though the waitress seemed to stop at every table along the way to refill a cup, share a laugh or sweep away a plate. I was just taking my first sip of the fragrant brew when I noticed a familiar face coming my way.

          “Good morning,” the motel manager said, stopping at my table, but making no move to encroach in my private space. “Did you sleep well?”

          “Join me?” I invited, motioning to the empty chair. “Unless you have to get back, of course.”

“It’s the off season,” she explained, sitting across from me, “Unless someone gets lost and needs directions, you’ll be my only customer all month.”

          My special arrived just then, and as the waitress put the plates on the table in front of me, I was amazed at the amount of food. There was no way I could eat all of it!

          “’Morning, Kathy,” the waitress greeted my dining companion, “what can I get for you?”

          “Just coffee, Aunt Jo. Anyone asking for me?”

          “Only this pretty lady here,” the waitress responded.

          “I asked about the sign, not you,” I defended myself once the waitress was out of earshot.

          “It’s okay. Jo and Chuck are my parents best friends; they look out for me and my brother even though we’re big kids now.” She smiled. “You look a lot better than last night.  Get your problems figured out?”

          “That’s why I was asking about the sign. I wanted to make my account current and ask a little about the local area. Like I said last night, I’m thinking about moving somewhere around here, but I’d like to know more about it first.”

          Her coffee came and she told me about the park, the lake, the town and a little about herself. I found out that her name was Kathlynne, but everyone called her Kath, except for her adopted aunt and uncle, who persisted in calling her by her childhood nickname, Kathy. She’d taken over the motel two years earlier when her parents had retired to Arizona and she lived in the bungalow that housed the office. She was friendly, open, animated and best of all, didn’t pry into my background or history. 

           Somehow, I managed to finish every bite of my breakfast, hardly noticing how much I ate as I learned about Damville State Park, Beaver Lake, and Damville itself. Once the table was cleared and we’d finished second cups of coffee, I paid both bills (over her protests) and we walked back to the motel office. 

I paid my bill in cash and thanked her, for the third time that day, for letting me stay the night before, even though I was a stranger who came in the middle of the night and couldn’t pay her bill. She brushed my thanks aside. 

“My dad always said that if his kids needed help, he’d hope that someone gave it to them. He always tried to help those who he could tell needed it. I guess I’m like him. And if anyone needed a helping hand last night, it was you. I’m glad that things are better today.”

“And everything will be even better once I shower and change my clothes,” I joked as I left, headed for Lorelei and my bags.

   

Author's Note

This is a first draft; I only edit spelling and obvious grammar errors as I write.

Reviews

[Lauren Marie]

Excellent! This chapter was a lot more "to-the-point."

There are no specific things that you could improve on in this chapter, but always descriptions are nice. Tell us how the restraunt is old. The bright yellow paint is faded and peeling, the red leather upholstery has scratches and tears ... little things like that.

Can't wait for the next chapter!