When I say it’s been a day, it’s been a motherfucking day.
The weather chose to give the truck a car wash for the remainder of the drive.
Then, there was the nightmare of picking up the heat exchanger. The seller ignored our calls, so we sat in front of his shop, where a Closed sign was taped to the door.
“He literally said I had to pick up the exchanger today or he was selling it to the next person in line,” Amelia said, chewing on her nails as we contemplated on whether to leave.
We’d come this far, so turning around without giving the guy a minute sounded like a bad idea. An hour later, the shop owner’s brother called Amelia, telling her that the owner’s wife had gone into early labor so he rushed her to the hospital. The brother agreed to meet us within the hour, so Amelia and I rolled through the drive-through for a quick bite while waiting for him.
Just like on the ride here, we had limited conversation. I’d never had such an uncomfortable ride before. Eventually, we started talking about the brewery, and Amelia blurted out question after question. I answered them nicely, not putting any sarcasm or animosity in my replies.
When the brother arrived, we inspected the heat exchanger, I told Amelia good job on her find, and we paid him. The brother opened the shop doors, allowing us to load it into the back of the truck, where there was thankfully a cover, and we were on our way.
It’s overcast, the rain not letting up, and Mother Nature adds rushing winds that rock the truck. I lower my speed at the sight of standing water and hardly blink as lightning crackles around us.
Amelia’s eyes are glued to the road, too, as our hazard lights flash. The same as the car in front of us because, otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to make them out. I’m following them, not sure if I’m even driving in a straight line. It doesn’t help that the truck is old and its headlights are junk.
I’m gripping the steering wheel when the yawns come and my eyes grow heavy.
“Amelia,” I say without looking at her, “I think we need to stop.”
“What do you mean, stop?”
“We either have to stop somewhere and sleep or sleep in the truck.”
“We don’t have to stop. I’ll drive.”
“You’re not getting behind this wheel. With this weather and how long we’ve been on the road, neither of us should be driving. The last thing we need is one of us falling asleep.”
I know my body and when it’s on the brink of exhaustion, and all I’ve heard for the past thirty minutes is downpour and Amelia yawning.
“I know it’s hard to see and all, but we’re in the middle of nowhere,” she points out.
“I’m aware of that. Why don’t you check your phone and see if anything is around us?”
I don’t see her, but I hear her grabbing her phone, and I assume she’s looking.
“There’s one place. Pink Elephant Motel.” She blows out a stressed breath. “Just the name scares me.”
I’m gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles are turning white. “How far away?”
“It says the next exit.”
“We’re stopping.”
I’ve witnessed Amelia be dramatic on numerous occasions—when I dunked her into the pool and got her hair wet, when her dad took her car keys away after she snuck out of the house with Ava and they drove around all night, and when she was bitten by a crab on the beach trip.
None of those were as dramatic as when we pull up to the Pink Elephant Motel. For someone who sleeps on her floor, you’d think she’d be fine with sleeping here for a night.
“Oh, hell no,” she blurts. “I’d rather sleep in the truck.”
I don’t exactly blame her as we stare at the run-down pink motel. The place looks like it’s been around since my great-great-great grandparents were alive. If it wasn’t for the few beater cars in the lot and two guys rolling a shopping cart out of their room, I’d think they were closed.
“In the truck, huh?” I scratch my head, exhaustion hitting me, and motion toward the parking lot. “Out here?”
That shuts her mouth for a moment, and she does a scan of the dimly lit parking lot as the windshield wipers squeak with each movement.
“This was probably your plan all along. Take me to some haunted motel, so I’d die, and you wouldn’t have to deal with me at the brewery any longer.”
I unbuckle my seat belt. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” I turn to look at her, hoping she can read the truth in my tired eyes. “I’m sure they have vacancies, but let me check.”
She unsnaps her seat belt and snatches her purse. “I’ll be going with you, sir. No way are you leaving me out here alone.”
Amelia hops out of the car, and we sprint through the pouring rain into the motel’s office. The only plus side of this musty-ass motel is that it’s far enough that no one knows who Amelia and I are to each other. The only judgmental looks we’ll receive are from those wondering why we’re crazy enough to stay here.