by Jove Belle
Revisiting the same argument with Beth was emotionally exhausting. Sam’s throat tightened and she wished, again, that she could have made different decisions earlier, that life could have offered different choices. And now here she was, trying to do the right thing and build better circumstances for them both, but deep down, she wondered if it was already too late. Her GPS instructed her to turn in two hundred yards, and she was happy for the distraction of the motel sign coming into view in the distance.
She pulled into the parking lot of the Bitterroot Queen and took a deep breath before allowing herself to look at her new home.
“Wow. What a dump,” Beth observed, and for once Sam didn’t snap at her for her argumentative statements.
Instead, she stared at the motel. The structure was clearly the same as the pictures—two stories, exterior entry to the rooms, an attached office with a manager’s apartment to the rear—but nothing else matched. The landscape was overgrown, which she’d expected. A few weeks without regular maintenance had that effect. The rest, however, was a shock. The front wall was covered with graffiti, several windows were shattered, and the doors to most of the rooms hung open. One appeared to be missing completely. The online pictures had shown that the place was in need of some repairs, but nothing to this extent.
Instead of the thirty units ready to rent with minor TLC, Sam had a giant, gaping pit threatening to suck up every single dollar she’d saved to get her and Beth through the first year. Most small businesses failed in the first year or two due to lack of funds. Sam had planned for that, had saved enough to take them through the first off-season and into the next summer.
“What the hell...” Tears pricked at her eyes. She wiped them away angrily as she fumbled with the door handle. The message from her brain to her hands got scrambled along the way and she couldn’t quite figure out how to make her fingers work. She took another deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the view hadn’t changed.
Finally, she got the door open and stepped out of her car. “What the hell?” She repeated the words because no other thoughts would coalesce in her mind.
This is what a mid-life crisis looked like.
It wasn’t the first time the thought had crept into her mind, but every time before, she’d been able to push it down, to silence it until it was nothing but a dull murmur behind the chaotic noise of her workaday life. Now, staring at the consequences of her decision to purchase based on the online photos without actually visiting the motel first—that voice was no longer quiet. For the first time, she had real, tangible proof right in front of her that jumping at the first available piece of property in Bitterroot might have been a mistake.
“Why’d you buy this shithole?” Beth asked, and Sam didn’t have it in her to scold her daughter for swearing. It was the least of her worries at the moment.
“It didn’t look like this in the pictures.” Fingers of panic curled into Sam’s chest. It sounded so much worse when she heard the words aloud. Yes, she’d had the building inspected and yes, she’d asked Karen to check it out for her, but she’d bought it without actually seeing the property herself. What kind of person did that?
Beth made a noncommittal grunting noise that sounded almost sympathetic and then started toward the lobby door.
“What do you think happened?” Sam searched through her purse for the keys as she followed Beth. She didn’t expect Beth to know the answer, but she needed to say something to keep from screaming.
Beth shrugged and said, “Looks like a party.”
“What?” The thought of her daughter causing this much damage to someone else’s property while at a party made the feeling of panic ease slightly. It was a good reminder of why she needed to get Beth out of Vegas.
“That’s what it looks like.” Beth was far too nonchalant about her assessment. Sam wanted to be surprised that her daughter wasn’t just as shocked as she was at the amount of senseless damage, but she wasn’t.
“Here?” Things like this weren’t supposed to happen in the middle of nowhere. That’s why they had moved. Bitterroot was a small town, a place where neighbors looked out for each other. At least that’s what she’d thought.
“Sure. Kids party everywhere, Mom, not just Vegas.” Beth tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. Sam considered that a good sign. Maybe the lobby—and the manager apartment behind the lobby—wasn’t destroyed like the rest of the rooms. She handed Beth the key.
Sam did a quick inventory of visible damage from the outside, adding up doors, windows, paint, carpet, and a litany of other things. She gave up because she really didn’t know anything about the price of building supplies anyway. Then, with a reminder to herself to breathe, she followed Beth inside.
∞
Sam dropped her suitcase on the floor at her feet and set her purse on the counter. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was take a nap. Sadly, that wasn’t an option. She slumped against the wall and tried to collect her wildly spinning thoughts as Beth explored their new home. The relatively untouched state of the lobby and office had given Sam hope, but that had fallen away when they entered the apartment. The party or whatever it was had clearly made its way into this part of the building. How had they gotten in without going through the main entrance?
Beth walked carefully across the living room, stepping around a spot of broken brown glass that used to be a bottle. She caught a beer can with her foot, and it skittered across the carpet. There were stains everywhere. “Are we sleeping here?”
“I don’t know.”
Beth nodded but didn’t argue. It was a welcome break from their usual interactions. Beth had pushed her hard for the past two years, but apparently wasn’t interested in kicking her while she was down. Beth opened the curtains along the back wall to reveal a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. They were smudged, but intact. She paused and reached out as if to catch the dust motes floating in the light, and she looked out at the tree-lined mountains and the corners of her mouth curved up in a small smile. “It’s actually pretty.”
Sam agreed. As long as she stayed focused on the outside, it was beautiful, but the second she let herself look at the damage surrounding them, the peaceful feeling shriveled. She felt like a hollowed out corn husk, still holding her shape but with nothing within. She straightened her spine and headed toward the bedrooms with her suitcase. Beth followed. The rooms were the same size, with the bathroom in between. One room had the same view as the living room.
“Which room is mine?” Beth asked rather than tossing her bag into the room she wanted. Another kindness as far as Sam was concerned.
“I’m taking this one.” Sam gestured toward the room with the view of the river and Beth nodded and turned into the other room. Sam touched her shoulder and added, “We’ll set up a studio area in the living room. The light is better there.”
Sam wasn’t the best judge, but it seemed Beth had a talent for sketching. She also liked to paint with watercolors and oil pastels. Sam had encouraged her with the hope that it would distract her from the dangers of being a teenager in a city like Vegas. So far, the strategy hadn’t worked. Sure, Beth had improved her skills, but it hadn’t distracted her in the ways she had hoped.
Beth paused. “Thanks, Mom.”
Sam gave her shoulder a little squeeze of encouragement. “I love you.”
She didn’t expect Beth to say it back, since more often than not, her daughter just grunted and walked away in response. Instead, Beth actually smiled. “I know.” Her eyes clouded momentarily. “I love you, too.”
Sam stared at her, and just as she was considering a hug, Beth walked into her room and closed the door.
Moment over.
She sighed and went into her own room. It was in roughly the same shape as the living area, stained carpet and graffiti on the walls, plus a broken window—the point of entry for the partiers? Structurally, though, everything seemed solid. No holes in the walls, the door swung silently on its hinges, and the carpet was in relatively good shap
e. Based on the condition of the rental rooms, it could have been much worse. She sent her thanks out to the universe and tried to decide what to do next.
The moving pod containing their furniture was scheduled to be delivered in two days, so they’d need to set up the air mattress they’d brought with them. Beth wouldn’t like sharing it with Sam, but she could always take the floor if it bothered her too much. Before they could set it up, however, they needed to do a few things to the apartment.
It would be easier and quicker to do the work on their living space if the detritus of their daily lives wasn’t in the way. Perhaps they should look into finding another place to sleep. Karen’s house would be perfect, but Sam already had a couple of messages out to her. If she left another, she’d be pushing the boundary between eager friend and stalker. Unless Karen called back soon, staying with her for the night was out.
“Beth?” She called her daughter. “Do you have a connection on your phone?”
“Yes.” Beth answered without opening the door.
“Can you google hotels in this area?”
“Really?” Beth poked her head out of the room. She looked hopeful. “Why?”
“Really. It’s late. We’re exhausted, and I’d like to sleep in a place that doesn’t reek of beer.” Sam relaxed a little for the first time since the Queen came into view. The condition of the building had thrown her, but she’d give herself the night to rest. Tomorrow, when she had a clear head, she’d tackle the problem and figure out a list of things that needed to be done before she could open for business. “We’ll come back in the morning with supplies and make a game plan from there.”
“Thank God. This isn’t the worst place I’ve slept, but it’s pretty close.” Beth retreated into her room to collect her suitcase. Sam gaped at her back. Beth had always assured her that she slept at home when Sam had to work the overnight shift. Hearing Beth’s slipped admission made her cringe. What had her daughter really been doing all those nights?
Chapter Three
The A-frame sign on the side of the highway guided Olly to the farmers’ market at the center of town. Her gas tank was almost empty, but the gnawing hunger in her stomach was a more pressing issue. She’d waited too long to stop for lunch, and if she didn’t eat soon, her body would make her regret that decision. Last time she’d let her blood sugar drop too low, she’d ended up binging on fast food, followed by a two-hour nap in the parking lot. She’d awoken to the night manager tapping on her window. The time before that involved public nudity and a brief stay in a New Orleans jail.
The farmers’ market was small, but crowded. Rampart followed behind, just off her right heel. She picked up a package of locally made jerky and a few no-spray apples. The apple vendor also let her fill up her water bottle.
“You’re new in town.” He didn’t ask it as a question and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Olly stared right back, impressed when he didn’t look away. Direct eye contact made most people flinch.
Instead of answering, she sliced a chunk off her apple with her pocketknife. Rampart sniffed the apple and then sat down. She split the bite, gave half to Rampart, and popped the other into her mouth. The crisp burst of flavor made her smile. The vendor returned her smile, and she relaxed slightly. She gestured toward him with the apple. “It’s good.”
He nodded gruffly, apparently not interested in conversation any more than she was. That was okay with her. So few people knew how to enjoy a simple moment of quiet.
She ate her apple, lingering near the stall and the strangely comforting presence of the gruff apple farmer.
“You staying long?”
She shrugged. She doubted he defined long the same way she did, and she never knew when she was going to pause in a place until it happened. “Hard to say.”
She sliced off another section of apple and tossed it to Rampart. He caught it mid-air with a satisfied smack. Then she opened the jerky and fed him a piece of that, too. For good measure, she tilted the package toward the man, offering him a piece. He declined with a shake of his head.
“Got any plans?” The one downside of small towns was the locals tended to be a little nosy, even brusque old farmers.
“Not really.” As she chewed her apple, she evaluated the apple seller, a slight, elderly man with crooked shoulders and gnarled fingers. He wasn’t pretty, but he sold nice apples. And he had the countenance of a man who should never be counted out. She liked that.
The vendor spotted another customer trying to gain his attention. “Good luck to you,” he said with a nod then left her to enjoy her meal.
She sipped her water. This town felt comfortable. She didn’t know how long that would last, but she’d learned to take advantage of it when it happened. Too often, she’d pull off the highway only to be hit with an urgent wall of energy telling her to leave. If she wanted to stay, she’d need to find work.
“Come on, Ramp.” She patted her leg, and he followed.
The market was lively, filling one street and spilling around the far corner. She walked the length, weaving between the other shoppers as she fed bites of apple and jerky to Rampart. They took turns, she and him, one bite for her, the next for him. They had a good partnership.
As she walked, she kept an eye out for signs advertising available work. Sometimes, she’d get lucky and happen past a “help wanted” sign. More often than not, however, she’d notice someone struggling with a heavy load and she’d jump in to help. She couldn’t count how many times that had turned into a temporary job. And temporary was as permanent as she’d ever wanted.
Luck was on her side in Bitterroot. At the entrance to the market, there was a public bulletin board with handwritten, four-by-six cards advertising different openings around town. Most were looking for long-term temporary employees to match the school year. Those were clearly aimed at college students and not a good match for her.
Two of the postings, however, looked like they might be good. The first listed various repairs needed due to storm damage at a place called Randolf Farms. Frankly, it looked more like work for a general contractor than a handyman. She didn’t have a license, but she was good with her hands and she worked hard. The other card simply said “My storeroom is out of control! Help!” It was signed “Ava—Bitter Ink.”
The Bitter Ink card looked new, as if it had been put up that day. The other was faded and the corners were curling over. It’s possible that the job had been done months ago and the card forgotten on the board. She took them both down and tucked them into her pocket. She’d start with the newer one first. All she had to do was find Bitter Ink, and in a town this size, that shouldn’t be too hard.
She finished the apple and tossed the core in the trash. Rampart stared at the bin and issued a forlorn harumph. He was overly dramatic at times, but she understood. She used to feed them to him until one time a woman on the street went nuts over it. She screamed at her about what a terrible dog owner she was and how she was going to give poor Rampart cyanide poisoning. Rampart avoided the seeds, because he was smart like that, but it wasn’t worth the argument.
Olly returned to the apple vendor—not that he was particularly friendly, but he was the only person in town she’d had any kind of contact with. There were several people waiting to buy apples, so she stood off to the side, in the shade, but out of the way of the customers. The vendor wasn’t any friendlier to the others buying his produce, but they all seemed to agree that he had the best apples around.
When the last person paid, he turned to Olly and said, “You’re back.”
“Yep,” Olly moved closer. “Can you tell me where Bitter Ink is?”
“You are new in town.” The vendor scratched his head. “Ava’s place is just around the corner.” He pointed toward the main road that Olly had driven in on. She’d stopped before reaching the market, so at least she hadn’t driven past Bitter Ink and simply not noticed.
“Thanks a lot.” She started out with Rampart at her side.
“What do
you want with Ava?”
“Work. She posted a card on the board.” Olly inclined her head toward the bulletin board, not that she needed to. This guy obviously knew the town well.
“Ah, well, when you’re done with her, I’ve got some work that needs done, too. If she says you do a good job, that is.”
“First I have to see if she’ll even hire me. Thanks for your help.”
“Good luck,” the apple vendor called as she rounded the corner on Main Street.
She paused long enough to wave, then continued in the direction he’d indicated. As promised, she found the place only a few doors down on her left. Bitter Ink turned out to be a tattoo shop. A beautiful blonde who looked like she belonged in a magazine unlocked the door and flipped the neon sign to open just as Olly approached. When she saw Olly, she smiled and pushed the door open.
“Hey there.” The woman wore a white, button-down men’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a tie knotted loosely around her neck. An unbuttoned satin vest hung open over the shirt. She had scripted lettering tattooed on both her arms, just visible beneath the edge of the sleeves. Her skin was creamy white, a sharp contrast to Olly’s deeply tanned olive complexion. She smiled slowly as if she knew the punch line to something that no one else understood. “Can I help you?”
Olly fumbled with the card and almost dropped it. Eventually, she got hold of it and offered it to the woman. “Are you Ava?”
The woman glanced at the card and nodded. “I am. Who are you?”
“Olly.” She extended her hand, recovered enough to remember her manners.
“Olly.” Ava said her name slowly, wrapping her tongue around each letter as if she were experiencing a new food for the first time. She stepped back to make room enough for Olly to slip through the door and said, “Come on, then. Let me show you what you’ll be doing.”
Olly paused and glanced at Rampart. “Wait here.”
He curled up on the sidewalk and rested his head on his front paws. He’d be just fine there so long as nobody bothered him. She hated to leave him in a strange town where she didn’t know the people, but he had a collar and her cell phone number was on the tags.
