Check in at the Pine Away Motel (ARC)

by Katarina Bivald

  Everyone helps out with breakfast, too. Alejandro follows Dolores’s orders in the kitchen, Michael refills coffee cups and juice glasses, Camila runs back and forth with overloaded plates that are quickly scraped clean, and I amuse myself by shouting out orders wherever they arise. “More coffee here!” “More eggs.” “Cream and sugar!”

  Thanks to Mrs. Davies’s presence, checkout is surprisingly swift and painless. People pack up, load their bags into their cars, and are ready to drive off in no time at all.

  Mrs. Davies climbs into the back seat of one of the cars, and then she winds down the window and turns to MacKenzie. “I do have to admit, it’s never boring at your motel.”

  “We do our best.”

  Clarence, Buddy, and Paul are still struggling with the banner, but this time they have the wrong side facing us. Mrs. Davies smiles and shakes her head, but her face quickly turns serious.

  “You’re never going to win,” she says. “There are more of them than you, and they have less to lose.”

  With that, she drives away. MacKenzie watches her leave from the parking lot. I can’t read the look in her eye.

  Not long after, we all gather in reception. Camila is high on their success. “We did it!” she shouts. “Not one of them asked for their money back!”

  Michael smiles. “But they didn’t leave the firstborn son. We kept her distracted all day. She was actually pretty easily entertained; she seemed to enjoy chatting to people. Mr. Broek didn’t get upset and Stacey didn’t swear, so she can’t have been that bad.”

  “This is just the beginning,” Camila continues. “We know how to beat them now. I want to throw a party and invite the whole town. They’ll see that we’re just an ordinary motel.”

  “A party’s not a bad idea,” Michael says. “Just tell me what you want me to do. We should at least be able to show those idiots that they don’t have the whole town on their side.”

  “I’ve already made a few leaflets for some of the shops,” Camila tells him. “I should just make some posters for the party and ask the shopkeepers to put them up, too.”

  MacKenzie doesn’t say anything, and after a while, Michael and Camila also stop talking.

  In the sudden silence, we can hear the chanting again. For several days, we almost managed to forget about it.

  “You’re going to burn in hell!”

  “Repent your sins before it’s too late!”

  “Let Pine Away pine away!”

  “So we’ve still got some work to do,” Camila admits. She glances at MacKenzie. “What did Mrs. Davies say just before she left?”

  “She just wanted to thank us for a nice stay,” MacKenzie lies without even pausing to think.

  We stand together, looking out at her banner. On this side, it reads Are You Jesus? 10 Percent Discount on Our Fantastic Cabins!

  Beneath it, in smaller text: Offer applies Thursday through Sunday all fall. Cannot be combined with any other offer.

  Chapter 42

  “Maybe It’s Me Who’ll Save You”

  Two weeks before the vote on Measure Nine, Michael and I offered to hand out leaflets together. I remember it being one of those bright, sunny days that almost make you forget it’s November. But both winter and the vote were coming.

  We started on Broadway, making our way along the rows of expensive houses with Yes to Measure 9 signs outside, leaving leaflets in every mailbox. Michael put two in his parents’. We passed Pat and Carol and waved cheerily.

  By the time we made it to Main Street, Michael suggested taking a break. “How about an ice cream?” he said, and I glanced around as though MacKenzie was about to jump out and accuse us of slacking. “We can leave some leaflets there, too,” he suggested.

  I laughed. We settled on coffee, but we dutifully placed a few leaflets on the bench all the same. When Joe, the man who owned the place, brought out our drinks, I gave him a leaflet, too. I had known Joe forever. He used to give MacKenzie and me free candy on Saturdays. MacKenzie would show up with her pathetic dollar and fifty cents, or however much she had managed to save up, and somehow it was always enough for a lollipop and a chocolate cookie and a juice—and if it was warm, he would also throw in an ice cream for being loyal customers.

  MacKenzie offered to work for the ice creams, of course, but for some reason Joe didn’t think he would benefit from having her in his shop.

  “Joe,” I said. “You’re going to vote for us, aren’t you?”

  “Anything for you, sweetie,” he said. He had thin white hair and a pink apron, and looked exactly as happy as someone surrounded by candy and ice cream should look. He glanced down at the leaflet. “Uh, what am I voting for?” he added.

  “No to Measure Nine, of course!”

  “Aha, that,” he said, handing back the leaflet. “I don’t really care about politics, but I think I’ll probably vote yes. Can’t hurt, if you ask me.”

  “You can’t vote yes!” I blurted out. “You used to give us candy! You…you, you were so kind!”

  “Take it easy, it’s just politics. No one’s going to care about a little vote, are they? It won’t make any difference; you’ll see.”

  Right then, I started to cry. Just like that. Joe looked about as horrified as I felt, but I couldn’t help it. I cried hot, angry tears, and Joe’s face grew paler and paler.

  “How can you say that? Things have already changed for us!” I said. “It means something to us! And we can’t even vote. I’m never going to come here again. I’m never going to eat candy again. I’m…”

  And then I sobbed and cried even harder, until Michael led me away. Joe called after us, trying to comfort me by offering ice cream, or how about a juice if I was giving up candy.

  I hurried toward Michael’s car. “Why don’t they care about us? And don’t tell me it doesn’t matter!”

  “Never even crossed my mind.”

  “Or for me to calm down.”

  “You keep shouting.”

  I took an unsteady breath. “I wish I hadn’t started crying. I should’ve just looked him straight in the eye and told him to go to hell.”

  “I don’t know, Henny. That doesn’t really sound like you.”

  “I’m tired of being me. I’m tired of being so nice, such a pushover.”

  “You care. You see the good in people. You even like this dump of a town. Those are great qualities. Come on, get in.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I shrugged and climbed into the car. “I’m not sad, if that’s what you were thinking,” I said. “I’m angry.”

  “I know.”

  I focused on the sound of the engine and the asphalt beneath the tires, and with every mile we put between ourselves and Pine Creek, the pressure on my chest became lighter. Yet…it felt wrong. It shouldn’t have felt liberating to leave town. It was my home. Those people knew us. I had always thought they liked us.

  Michael’s eyes were fixed on the road up ahead, but he was clutching the wheel so tightly that I wondered whether he was imagining it was Joe’s neck.

  “I thought I knew everything about this town. I grew up here. People smiled at me and said hello, and…”

  “Gave you candy.”

  I shook my head, but I smiled as I did it, and then I leaned against the cool window. “I don’t have the energy for this world anymore,” I said. “It always just ends up with me getting hurt. I should stop caring.”

  Michael parked, walked around the car, and opened the door for me.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We walked for an hour, uphill all the way, until the physical effort burned beneath my wounded feelings, until my lungs ached and I was no longer thinking about Joe. As the world opened up in front of us, I gasped.

  “It’s beautiful,
” I said.

  Michael took hold of my shoulders and guided me forward so I was looking down at the stream below. His grip was firm, as if he wanted to force me to see what he could see.

  “That used to be a coral reef,” he said. “Once upon a time, hundreds of millions of years ago, the ground here formed in a tropical climate. You can still see traces of the volcanic islands that once made up Oregon. It took millions of years for them to move this far north.”

  I blinked. All I could see were ordinary rocks and pine trees and the sluggish river down below.

  “The continents will keep on moving, and mountains will be broken down and rise again. One day, there won’t be any archaeologists who can make out the traces left by the people who lived here, but there’ll still be mountains and water. All this—our lives, the campaign, the whole of Pine Creek and the fucking idiots living in it—is just a speck of dust in the history of the earth. None of it means a thing.”

  Michael let go of my shoulders and ran a hand through his hair.

  “That wasn’t quite what I planned to say,” he said. “I’m not very good at this. But my point is: I’ve always known what this town is. I know that the people here are idiots. I can’t come up with any way to make you think that they’re great and that they love you and everything is okay, however much I want to. If I could, Henny, I would.”

  The look he gave me was so intense that I wondered whether he was finally about to kiss me. But he let go and backed away. The sudden distance between us felt strange.

  “They’re not all idiots,” I said. “And MacKenzie will change their minds eventually. Just wait.”

  Michael shoved his hands into his pockets. He seemed stiff and unyielding, a whole foot away from me. “It’s going to get worse,” he said. “You know that, don’t you? They’re not going to change their minds. More people will end up on their side before this is all over.”

  “No. No. That’s not what’s going to happen at all. People will wake up one day and realize how stupid they’ve been, and then they’ll apologize. They won’t ever vote for such an awful measure. Besides, there are people who are committed to opposing it, too. Don’t forget that. We would never have met Pat and Carol otherwise. And it got us, the four of us, to become friends. MacKenzie thinks we’ll be friends forever.”

  Michael gave me a strange look. “Is that what you want?”

  I looked away. “Yes,” I said. Then I gave him an uneasy smile. “You don’t need…” I began, but he stepped toward me and placed his hands on my cheeks, as if he could no longer hold back. He looked me straight in the eye and lied for my sake:

  “It’s all going to be fine. They’ll realize that they’re idiots, and they’ll stop what they’re doing. The measure will never be voted through. Nothing will ever hurt you again.”

  I swallowed.

  He pulled me close and held my body against his as though he could protect me from all of life’s sorrows, every last meaningless disappointment, and then he kissed me as if he wanted to save the entire world just for me.

  “Michael,” I said. “You know you don’t need to save me, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” He sounded unconvinced.

  But he had kissed me. He might have tried to convince himself that he didn’t care about anything here, but we were standing so close that I could feel his heart drumming against my rib cage. Wild and intense.

  My hands explored the warm skin beneath his sweater, and then I kissed him. All that existed were us and the mountains, and they didn’t care at all. In that moment, I was invincible. Nothing could ever defeat me.

  “Who knows?” I said. “Maybe it’s me who’ll save you.”

  He took a deep breath. “Henny, I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do.”

  Chapter 43

  Summer Rain

  The town council holds meetings on a regular basis to discuss any issues affecting the local business community, but they are open to anyone. Tonight, it feels like most of town is here, and the only issue on the agenda is the campaign for a more moral approach to business.

  Cheryl has put up posters all over town, but I think it’s the Gazette’s critical, rallying coverage of the campaign that is really behind the high turnout. We had all read the article, but by the time I left the motel, MacKenzie, Camila, and Michael still hadn’t decided whether to attend. One of us needs to hear what they’ve got to say, I thought as I headed over here.

  I didn’t think many people would care, but the biggest hall in town is virtually full—and there are still another thirty minutes until the meeting begins.

  I stare in disbelief as people continue to flood in. They leave their raincoats and umbrellas by the door, and before long, the whole room smells of coffee and damp gloves. I move among them, eavesdropping on conversations. The majority seem pretty skeptical. They’re as God-fearing and moral as the next person, and if the folks from Sacred Faith Evangelical Church think they can come along and butt into their lives, they’re going to be disappointed.

  The woman from the secondhand shop is there, talking agitatedly with the person sitting next to her: “Immoral business? Well! Who are they to accuse us of immorality? I’ve been going to church since I was born! Since before I was born, even, because my mother was there every Sunday while she was pregnant! If this is about us being open on Sundays, I’ve got a good mind to reveal just how many of them pop in after their service.”

  She cranes her neck and glares at Derek, who is pacing back and forth to one side of the stage. He looks stiff and uncomfortable in his shirt and jacket. All his usual charm is gone. His lips are moving, but no sound is coming out.

  The fact that his parents are sitting in the front row doesn’t seem to reassure him. Mr. Callahan looks tense ahead of his son’s political debut, but Joyce keeps smiling warmly at everyone and no one. “How lovely,” I hear her say, but I think her absent gaze seems a little more strained than usual. Maybe her life has already become uncomfortable.

  “Just try not to say too much about this motel business,” Bob reminds Derek. “It’s not really something you want to be associated with, and it’s definitely not the only thing you want to be associated with. Remember your long-term projects.”

  “All you need to remember is that you have Jesus on your side,” Cheryl says into his other ear. “You’re doing something big and good, and that’s the important thing. If they laugh at you, let them laugh.”

  Derek looks like he is going to be sick.

  When Dad and Stacey turn up together, I don’t know whether Derek or Cheryl is more surprised.

  “Robert!” Cheryl cries.

  “Stacey!” says Derek. He glances around and pulls her over to one side. “You’re here! And you look…fantastic.”

  She is wearing a beige suit, a white blouse, opaque tights, and a pair of low-heeled pumps. “You dare laugh,” she says. Then, in a lower voice: “Robert helped me pick them out. He might’ve been a little enthusiastic. But he said I looked ‘proper.’”

  “I’m not laughing,” Derek tells her. “I’m just really damn glad to see you here. I should never have let them talk me into this. Look at them! They’re going to lynch me!”

  The murmur from the crowd dies down as Bob steps out onto the stage and introduces the evening’s first speaker, Derek Callahan. He begins by saying that Derek doesn’t need any introduction, but then he launches into a ten-minute tribute to all of Derek’s achievements and his exceptional football career. He does what he can to remind the crowd that they used to love Derek, but judging by their dogged faces, he doesn’t quite manage to convince them.

  Derek is frozen to the spot at one side of the stage, looking out at the sea of terrifying faces.

  “Remember, you can sell anything,” Stacey whispers, practically pushing him out onto the stage before taking a seat next to Joyce.

  “Ahem, yes,
” Derek says. “Who would’ve thought that a quarterback could become a politician, huh? Believe me, I know it sounds crazy.”

  No one smiles. No one laughs. Derek glances desperately at Stacey, his anchor point. She nods encouragingly.

  “So, I guess you’ve all heard about our idea for a more moral approach to business?” he continues. “I guess you read the article in the Gazette? I want you to know that no matter what you’ve read, we don’t have a problem with you.”

  “I should hope not!” the woman from the secondhand store shouts out.

  Derek forgets all about his preprepared speech, but I actually think that’s a good move. He laughs and seems to remember that he knows everyone here. They transform from a frightening, anonymous mass into people he’s known all his life.

  “I definitely don’t have a problem with you, Margaret,” he says with a smile. “I’d never dare. I’ve got no problem admitting that.”

  The woman smiles appreciatively, and several others laugh.

  “You business owners are the ones who built this town and who continue to take care of it,” Derek continues. “I don’t need to tell you how to run a business in a town like Pine Creek. It’s not just about money—not that any of us has anything against earning a few bucks.” A new disarming smile. Fewer stern faces in the crowd. “No, it’s about contributing to the town. You have a responsibility. As business owners, you’re role models. Our kids look up to us, and they expect us to take care of them. To show them the way and to do our best to make sure that Pine Creek is the kind of town where they can enjoy safe, Christian childhoods. Surely no one here—aside from the liberal folks at the Gazette, of course—could claim that our approach to business isn’t Christian and moral, and I can’t imagine any of you think it should be otherwise.”

  His words are being met by appreciative nods now.

  “But the same isn’t true of the motel. It’s never really been part of this town. Every other business has helped out when necessary. Just look at Ned’s paint store. He’s sponsoring the paint for the school. But what does the motel do? They vandalize it. They’re the ones who don’t want to be part of Pine Creek.”