“You okay?”
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
Vera was in his arms. Her cheeks shined bright and wet, and the collar of her jacket spilled clumps of snow. He had two handfuls of her sweater. Her muscles were tensed. His knuckles brushed her naked ribs. She shivered. He had grabbed her hard. Grabbed her and dragged her inside this narrow little room filled with brooms, mops, and bottles of household cleaners. To one side were an industrial washer and dryer. Bleach, ammonia, and powdered soaps stocked the shelves opposite. Cotton rags lay folded in neat rectangular piles. Boxes of garbage-can liners were split open and sprouting slicks of black and white plastic. The cloudy domes of lightbulbs protruded from their cardboard sleeves. Feather dusters hung swaying from hooks in the ceiling. It smelled like a hospital, a bus station, a public washroom. A motel.
“I live here,” Adam said.
“I don’t understand—”
“Sure you do. Think a minute. You’re only missing one piece. My parents own this motel. I grew up here. I was on my way home for Christmas break when I ran out of gas. You picked me up and brought me right to the door.”
“This is your home?”
“Nice, isn’t it?”
“Are you going to let go of me?”
“First tell me why you were kicking in our back door.”
“I thought something bad might’ve happened.”
“Like what?”
“Like somebody got hurt or killed.” '
“What makes you say that?” he asked, the exasperation leaking into his voice, a sharpness he hadn’t intended.
“I saw a guy downstairs, leaving the office.”
“You mean two guys. Those guys who came in here with a knife?”
“A knife?” She squinted at him. Shook her head. “Not a knife.”
“Trust me. I saw it up close. They had a knife.”
“But the guy I saw had an ax. And he was alone.”
Adam released her. She didn’t look like she was lying. She looked worried. About what was going to happen to her? Or was she concerned about him, too? As if her brain had kicked into overdrive but still she couldn’t figure things out. Part of her was ready to punch him in the mouth. Fie accepted that. Maybe she had a reason to be angry, though he’d just saved her from a bone- shattering fall. Windblown and pink-cheeked, something about her intrigued him. Intimidated him as well, but that was the key to it. Up close, inches apart, she was hard to take your eyes off—it wasn’t cookie-cutter cuteness like the sorority sisters he’d seen on campus. This strange woman crawling up his back steps was a unique female variant of the species, tie hadn’t met her kind before. He wondered which of them was more afraid.
“Your nose is bleeding.”
“I fell on the steps. I’ll be fine. Did you see the ax guy?”
“No. I saw the knife guys. I wrestled with them actually. Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you some ice for your nose.” He opened a passage through the shelving. There was light. The white hulk of a refrigerator came into view. And a sink. A round table with four pearly vinyl seats trimmed in chrome.
“Ice is the last thing I need.”
“What did your ax man look like?” Adam filled a mug with
milk and shut it inside a countertop microwave. He pushed a button. The oven window cast a pale glow. He took down a can of Hershey’s cocoa mix from a cabinet.
“He was tall, over six feet at least. An older man with salt-and- pepper hair and a sad-looking face. He was wearing a black trench coat. He acted weird.”
“Are we talking weird other than carrying an ax around?”
“It was like he was a robot. You know? Remote controlled.”
The microwave dinged. Adam scooped two heaping spoonfuls of chocolate powder into the mug, stirred.
“I definitely did not see him,” he said, handing her the cup. “We caught two creeps digging around the office. Looking at our computer to find somebody they thought was staying here . . .”
“So what? You think it’s me?”
“Is it?”
“How the fuck would I know?”
“Sit here and warm up. Pm going downstairs to check things out. After what’s been happening, I’m ready to believe anything.”
“Wait a minute. Were they looking for a woman?”
“That’s what they told my dad. Might be total bullshit, they could’ve been searching for cash in the office when he surprised them.” He started to go.
“Hey! I’m not staying here alone,” she said.
“You aren’t alone.”
Adam watched a shadow spread across the floor. His mother shuffled into the kitchen. She looked exhausted, feverish. Damp strands of hair stuck to her face. His father supported her, his arm snug around her slumping shoulders. Her lips were cracked. Eyes bloodshot, hooded. Skin white as paper. She lifted her head in Adam’s direction. Then she rushed forward and squeezed him in her wiry arms. Tears fell. Adam felt them as she kissed his cheek. Her skin was hot. No human touch radiated so much heat.
“You’re alive!” she cried.
“I told you that, honey,” Wyatt said. “Adam is fine, and he’s
home. Home with us for Christmas. You had a bad nightmare. That’s all.”
His mother’s pleading gaze leaped between them. “I saw Adam dead. It was no dream. I can’t say whether I was seeing the past or the future. But I was there, the same way I’m standing here now. The things I saw were not a dream.”
Adam said nothing.
His father nodded, slowly, once.
“We believe you.”
That seemed to calm her.
Vera, who had sat silently drinking her cocoa during the brief family reunion, became her focus. The two women exchanged curious smiles.
“Who is this?” his mother asked.
Vera lowered the mug and held out her hand.
“I’m a guest here. My name is—”
Opal seized her.
Vera winced.
Chair tipping behind her, as she tried to stand . . .
“Let go! Shit! You’re breaking my hand!” Vera cried.
The delicate bones of Opal’s knuckles whitened, clamping down.
“You’re the one they’re looking for,” she said.
The half-full mug fell to the floor.
Shattered.