In the end we get a suite, which the receptionist tells us has a main bedroom, with a little seating area and TV and stuff, and then another bedroom adjoining it.
You two head up, says Mom, when we go back to the car with the key from the bored reception girl. I’ll be right behind you. Shelby, I’ll bring our bags.
Sure, says Luke.
He snags his own bag and we go up the stairs—our room is 213, on the second floor. He wants to help me up the steps, but I shake my head and hold on to the rail instead, half lifting myself up with my CAM Walker. It takes ages—by the time we get to the top Mom is pretty much right behind us anyway.
I turn, as we walk along the walkway to the room. You can see mountains in the distance, forest, across the blurred brightness of the highway. The parking lot is only half full and as I look, a cop car turns in, headlights on but blues off. For a moment I have that feeling, you know the one? Where you’re convinced they’re here for you, though there’s no rational reason to think so.
Or here for Mom? I mean …
But then they pull a little closer and are under a light and I see that the two cops inside are just eating something—burgers, maybe—from cardboard boxes, chatting as they have their meal. Something they bought from a drive-through, I guess. One of them lights a cigarette and rolls down his window, blows smoke out it.
Not here for us, then.
I turn away and follow Mom and Luke who are gesticulating at me impatiently from the doorway with 213 on it in peeling white paint.
We go in and it’s fine—I mean, it’s not charming, because what motel is? But it’s clean and serviceable. There’s a smell of some kind of pine-based air freshener, tingly and fresh and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Dreaming, but too chemical in its undertones to be more than a hint.
Mom takes my bag into this annex bedroom and her own stuff to the main bedroom she’s going to … share … with … Luke.
Ugh. Even saying that disgusts me.
What do you want to do? says Luke afterward.
How about we order room service and watch a movie? says Mom. They have HBO.
Sounds good, says Luke. Shelby?
I just shrug at him and go to turn on the TV. But Mom gets up from where she’s been sitting on the bed and stops me. Why don’t you take a bath, Shelby? she says, with her hands. We could all use a freshen-up.
I look at her. Uh, okay, I say.
I left some stuff in the car, says Luke. I’ll go grab it, get some takeout menus from reception. You two girls do your thing.
He leaves and I bring my makeup bag into the bathroom and Mom runs me a bath. Don’t look at me, I say.
It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, she says.
It’s not the same, I say.
Oh come on, I changed your diaper ten times a day when you were a baby.
I just glare at her until she sighs and closes her eyes as I undress. Then I take off the CAM Walker, and she kind of awkwardly helps me to cover my stitched-up foot in plastic bags while averting her eyes; I notice that one of them is the Flagstaff Wines and Spirits bag. She wraps elastic bands around them to make them watertight and then eases me into the water, her hands under my armpits.
I feel pissed off with her for making my entire life so weird and for bossing me around so much but I kind of forget that as I sink into the warm water because it’s kind of amazing.
I soak in the tub for the longest time, before my foot starts to twinge again and I shout for Mom to come and help me out.
Don’t look, I say.
She crosses her heart and then mimes shooting herself, before closing her eyes and supporting my arm as I get out. I put on a nearly white robe hanging on the back of the door and hobble over to the sink, where my makeup bag is. I look inside and reach for—
Huh.
I could have sworn both bottles of codeine were still in there when I took some pills in the car. I try to picture the scene—the sun setting, the lights of the highway, the panel in front of me saying AIRBAG as I reached into the bag, leaning into the seat belt and—
And I can’t fix the image in my mind. Maybe there was only one bottle then, and the other fell out somewhere. Fell out in the forest maybe? I hope I have enough left in this one bottle.
I count the pills in the bottle. Thirty-six—six days’ worth if I follow the pharmacist’s instructions. Okay, fine. I toss back two of the pills and bend over to wash them down with cold water from the tap.
Then I go into the room, cinching my robe tight around me—I don’t want it slipping off in front of Luke. He isn’t there though; just Mom sitting on the bed reading some kind of tourist pamphlet.
I think the water’s still pretty hot.
Thanks, she says.
I pick up the remote from the bedside table and point it at the TV; press the on button.
It’s not working, says Mom, redundantly, as the TV fails to come on. There isn’t even a red light on it, you know the standby light thing? The set is completely dead and again I could swear I saw that little red light before, blinking.
I shake my head. I’m losing it.
I glance at the table in the seating area—there’s an open bottle of red wine and two coffee cups taken from the sidebar where the kettle is. The bottle is half empty—the rest of the wine is in the cups. So that’s what Mom got in Flagstaff—wine for her and Luke.
I point the remote at the TV again and try to turn it on, even though I’m not expecting it to work.
Just then Mom turns to the door and I figure there’s been a knock because then Luke comes in. He sees me holding the remote.
TV not working? he says.
I shake my head.
I’ll call down, get someone to fix it, he says.
Oh no, says Mom. We can just talk, don’t you think? Get to know each other a little better.
Ugh.
’Course, says Luke. Shelby might want to watch—
But Mom does this eyebrow thing at me and I sigh inside and shake my head, putting down the remote. Mom doesn’t want the TV on, that’s for sure. I am like 99 percent sure she has unplugged it or cut the cable or something, and for the 156th time I reflect on how screwed up my life has become, so quickly.
As soon as we get some proper time alone me and Mom are having a SERIOUS talk. If I can think of how to ask the questions, anyway.
You get menus? says Mom.
Yep, says Luke. He holds up two folded sheets of glossy paper. Mexican or Chinese.
Mexican sounds good. Shelby?
I shrug. This is basically my signature move at the moment.
Mexican it is, says Luke.
Mom swings herself up from the bed and walks over to the little table. I got us a little surprise, she says. Grand cru Bordeaux from chateau [ ]. I thought once Shelby had gone to bed we could share it. It needs to breathe anyway, to ox[ ] the [ ].
Luke looks pained; embarrassed. I’m … I’m sorry, he says. I don’t drink.
Something flashes across Mom’s face. Embarrassment too? No. It looks more like … anger? Or frustration? It’s weird, anyway. But it’s gone quickly and she smoothes her sweater and smiles. Oh well, she says. More for me.
Luke passes around the menu and we each choose what we want, then he calls up and orders the food.
When it comes, we eat our burritos and chips in silence, and then Mom does this really theatrical yawn. I’m so tired, she says. Shelby, you must be exhausted too.
I look at her, and Luke is not in my sightline so I raise my eyebrows sardonically.
She narrows her eyes back at me.
Fine, I think. Fine, I’ll leave the two of you to whatever sick game you’re playing.
Sighing, I get up and CAM Walk over to the door to my little annex room. I wave good night to Luke and go in and shut the door behind me, drop another couple of codeine tabs, then lie down on my bed, knowing that I will NEVER be able to sleep with the knowledge of what is going down in the room next to me.
There is only one source of solace.
This is an AMAZING time to be deaf.
I lie there and I can’t hear a thing, can’t hear Mom and Luke making out which I’m 1,000,000 percent certain they’re doing, and I’m so grateful for it I have no words. I’m also surprised to find that I AM tired, even though I have so many questions, have so much to ask my mom, so much to try to understand.
Like: Why would my dad even want us dead?
What kind of psycho is he?
And what the hell is the Dreaming? Am I just going crazy?
I am thinking about that, my eyes closed, random fragments of the day spooling behind my eyelids—the streetlights, the cowboy hats, the rows of boots, the pizza from lunch, the way Mom smiles at Luke, when all these images fall away and there are only—