by Amy Sparling
I smile even though it makes me sad and then I listen to Ethan’s voicemail, which only makes me sadder. I try to call him, but surprise, surprise, it doesn’t connect.
I shoot back an I love you too text to my parents and then message Ethan.
Me: This is a disaster. The road was blocked. I couldn’t go the route we planned. No clue where I’m at right now.
The text doesn’t send, even though I have plenty of signal.
“Dammit,” I curse, resisting the urge to fling my phone through the windshield in anger.
I take a look at myself in the tiny mirror on my visor, and the results are underwhelming. I haven’t washed my hair in two days and I’m still wearing the same clothes I wore when I left my house. I look exactly like I feel. But I’m guessing there’s a lot of people like that who are evacuating right now.
I get out of my car and stretch my legs, tipping my face up to the sun. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, taking in the wonderful aroma of coffee and sunshine. I exhale and inhale again slowly, and I tell myself that it will be okay. I am far enough away that the hurricane won’t kill me or anything, although this area will receive plenty of thunderstorms as the hurricane passes through. I tell myself that poor Ethan is in the same situation, if not a worse one. He’s waiting for me all alone at a Walmart and I won’t be showing up to it anytime soon. He can’t get my messages, so he’s still stuck worrying. I tell myself I’ll be okay. I just need to get through this.
Inside the coffee shop, no one takes a second look at my appearance, and that makes me feel better. I use what little cash I took from my parents and buy a coffee and a chocolate chip muffin, then I settle into a corner booth and put my legs up on the seat across from me. The coffee is flavored with cinnamon, as advertised on the sign that says they have the best house coffee in the state. I can’t say I disagree. It’s pretty damn good. Of course, cardboard would probably taste good right about now. I’m just glad to be out of my car and in civilization.
I connect my phone to the café’s free Wi-Fi and go to my email. I type up a quick one to my parents telling them not to worry and that I’m fine but that I was forced to take a different route.
Then I write an email to Ethan.
Hey babe,
This is a trip straight from hell. OMG I miss you so much. Hopefully you get this soon because I hate the idea of you worrying. My calls to you won’t go through and my texts don’t look like they’re sending. So here’s what happened. One of the roads I was supposed to take on the map we made was blocked. A truck blew up or something and no one was allowed to pass. So I ended up driving east instead of west and I’ve been driving all freaking morning. I’m in a town called Blackwell and I’m writing to you from a café with free Wi-Fi. Hopefully you get this! I don’t want you to worry about me. My plan is to look up a million different routes to De Sota while I have the free Wi-Fi and then set out for the hotel that your parents are at. I’ve been deleting everything I don’t need on my phone so that I can download the maps offline. So if you get this, and hopefully you do, just go to your parent’s hotel and I’ll meet you there.
I love you,
Ella
I’m still eating my muffin when Ethan replies back to my email.
Holy shit I’ve been so worried! I’m glad you’re okay. Are you sure you mean you’re in Blackwell? I looked that up and it’s VERY far away. Like, how did you get so far away?? De Sota is a six hour drive from there in normal conditions, but the news says that all the roads are blocked and that most gas stations are empty. I don’t know if you should even try making the drive. Can you find a hotel where you are and just wait?
My heart rises up into my throat. What the hell is he saying? Ethan wants me to spend ANOTHER night away from him? Am I really that far away?
I go to the Google Maps on my phone and check my location. Wow, I am pretty far away. I choose De Sota as my destination and tell my phone to route to it. It estimates that it’ll take twelve hours and thirteen minutes to get there. It has me taking the major roads which are all red with traffic.
I could take the backroads again but that didn’t work out so well for me the first time. I could just get on the main road and spend twelve hours driving and just deal with the traffic. It’d mean I get to Ethan’s parent’s hotel by midnight tonight.
But would my car make it? Would I have enough gas for twelve hours?
What if something happens again?
I get another email, this time from Mom.
Good to hear from you, sweetie. I just spoke with the Poes, who said Ethan told them you’re too far away. I think you should get a hotel. I’m sending money to your bank account right now, so just find a nice hotel and stay there tonight. You can’t be on the road all day, it’s not safe. The news is saying there’s epic gas shortages, so I don’t even want you to risk it. Okay? Let me know you got this.
I take the last bite of my muffin. This is so surreal and shitty and just the worst. It’s only noon. I can’t fathom sitting still for the rest of the day and night when I should be trying to get to my original destination.
I look up at the TV hanging on the wall of the café. It’s been on a news channel this whole time but I’ve been ignoring it. There’s helicopter footage of the clogged roadways, filled with thousands of cars that are all trying to evacuate. People are stranded with overheated cars and empty gas tanks. They’re telling people to find a strong shelter if they won’t be out of the hurricane’s path by tomorrow morning when it’s supposed to hit land.
This is misery.
I write back to my mom and tell her I’ll find a hotel. Then I open a new email to Ethan.
So apparently you told your parents where I am and they told my parents who are now making me get a hotel. This sucks! I mean, I don’t want to be stuck in traffic either but I hate this. I don’t want a hotel. I want to be with you.
He replies a few minutes later.
I know, baby. I’m sorry. It’s safer this way, though. I’m only about an hour away from my parent’s hotel, but I’m thinking about finding a way to get to you so we can be together.
I reply:
No. No way. Don’t waste your gas and time coming all this way to get me. You probably won’t have gas to get back. Just go to the hotel and wait for me. This town isn’t too small so hopefully my hotel has Wi-Fi and we can video chat all night. :)
His reply is just one line:
Okay… please be safe.
With a heavy heart, I check my bank account balance. My parents transferred three hundred dollars to me. I know they can’t afford that, and I hate myself even more for getting this lost during a simple evacuation.
I search for local hotels and try to book one online, but they’re all showing as having no vacancies. Maybe the websites are screwed up, so I start calling them, but everyone tells me the same thing. No empty rooms. One hotel person actually answers the phone with, “Hello, we have no available rooms.”
I guess they got tired of people calling with the same question I have. Shit.
As panic starts to set in, I have to try really hard to keep optimistic. I don’t want to sleep in my car for another night. I’d love a shower. Even if it costs the full three hundred dollars, I just need a damn shower and a soft bed to sleep in and some space to move around in.
I go up to the barista and flash her a smile. “Do you happen to know if any hotels around here have rooms available?”
She gives me a pitying frown. “Sorry, everyone says they’re all booked up. But you can probably still get a camp site.”
“A camp site?” I lift an eyebrow. “I don’t have any camping equipment.
She shrugs. “The state park is ten minutes away from here. They have cabins you can rent, and it’s pretty cheap. This lady was in here this morning saying no one ever thinks of the state parks.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say as visions of cozying up to an indoor fireplace with a pack of marshmallows fill my mind. “Thank you.”
The state park’s website is down for maintenance—of course—so I just get in my car and drive there. I’m still feeling annoyed and angry about how everything has gone wrong, but if I can’t have Ethan, maybe a relaxing night in a cabin is exactly what I need.
Chapter 12
This Walmart is running out of just about everything they sell, but they still have cold air conditioning. I’ve been sitting on the floor in the magazine section for the last hour, just soaking up the cool air and avoiding the hot summer heat. And Kennedy.
After I got Ella’s email, I didn’t need to wait around outside looking for her car. I knew she wasn’t coming.
And I hate this—I hate it—about myself, but part of me was a little relieved. (Just a little.) Now I have one more day to get rid of Kennedy before I meet up with Ella again. I don’t like lying to my girlfriend, but she’s so stressed out right now that I think telling her that I got stranded with my bitch of an ex-girlfriend would kill her. I don’t want her sitting alone in some hotel thinking about how I’m stuck with Kennedy.
If she were stuck with some guy she dated, I’d hate it. And maybe that makes me a shit person, I don’t know. I could just tell Kennedy to screw off, but I can’t find that type of meanness inside of me. She’s kind of stupid when it comes to stressful situations. She has no parents, and no car. I can’t just leave her here alone, even though I am totally and completely over her and Ella has nothing to worry about.
After I emailed Ella and my parents, I looked all over the internet for a hotel or a gas station that still has gas. The word in the parking lot is that all gas stations within a hundred miles are empty, and my truck only has maybe half a tank left. The news keeps showing footage of the roads that are cramped with vehicles, all going maybe three miles an hour. Some roads aren’t moving at all, and the cars are just parked there.
As much as this sucks, I’d rather be stuck in a Walmart all day than stuck in my truck with no fuel and Kennedy in the passenger seat.
I’m staying here, even if I have to sleep on the floor between the magazine and book aisle. The alternative would be to camp in the parking lot like a lot of people are doing, but all the camping gear is now sold out of this store. So I really don’t know what to do. Hit the road and attempt to get to the hotel before I run out of gas and risk getting stuck with Kennedy?
Or stay here, stuck with Kennedy, and no place to sleep besides the bed of my truck?
Both options leave me stuck with Kennedy.
What I wouldn’t give to be sharing a hotel with Ella right now. Just for kicks, I try calling her again, but it doesn’t go through. The news described the problem that we’re all having as a satellite traffic jam. Apparently too many people in Texas are trying to use their phones all at the same time, and even if you have cell signal, the calls can’t get through because they can’t all communicate with the satellites at the same time. So unless you get lucky and your call manages to get through, you’re not making a phone call. The cool thing about the sat phone that guy had is that they’re made to kick off other people from the satellite and prioritize your call so it’ll go through. I would kill to have a sat phone right now.
“There you are!” Kennedy’s shrill voice ruins the peaceful vibe I’ve cultivated here in the magazine aisle.
I look over at her and she’s got her hands on her hips, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. I know from experience that she used to spend hours trying to make her “messy bun” look naturally messy and cute. Right now it looks like the real thing.
“What’s up?” I say, refusing to apologize for ditching her even though she’s giving me that look that demands an apology.
“Ugh, Ethan. I’ve been looking for you forever. What the hell are you even doing?”
I also don’t have to answer that, since I’m not her boyfriend anymore. I shrug. “Reading a magazine.”
She rolls her eyes. “So we can’t get out of here because of the gas shortage, but you’ve got enough left to go somewhere close, right?”
“Yeah, but I figure this massive parking lot with all the free food is the best we’re gonna find.”
She snorts. “Hardly. We’ve got reservations at the Hilton that’s six miles away from here. Come on. Let’s go.”
I stand up and put the hot rod magazine back where it goes. “What are you talking about? There aren’t any available hotels. They’re all booked.”
Her lips twist up in a cocky grin. “There are available rooms if you know the right people.” She holds up her phone as if that should tell me what I need to know. “Daddy offered them the right price and they gave us a room.”
“Just one room?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like you’re too good to be in a hotel room with me. Ugh, Ethan. Do you want to sleep in your truck tonight, or do you want a hotel room with a shower and room service?”
When I don’t answer immediately, she actually looks offended. “There’s two beds, you asshole. I’m not trying to hook up with you or anything. Just take the free hotel room and consider it my thanks for you helping me.”
I heave a sigh. A shower and some cable TV would be nice right about now. “Okay,” I say, taking out my phone and looking up the nearest Hilton. The GPS says we can get there on small roads that aren’t too busy. It should only take twenty minutes. I walk with Kennedy out of the store, and the whole time I feel like each step I’m taking is bringing me closer to the fiery pits of hell.
Staying in a hotel room with your ex while your current girlfriend (who you love very much, by the way) is alone is probably the worst thing you can do to a girl. Well, besides cheating on her, which I would never do.
This is not sitting well with me, but what other choice do I have?
###
The massive knot of guilt in my stomach loosens a little as I follow Kennedy into our hotel room. The air is cool and smells slightly like lavender. The carpeting is clean and the two beds look plush and fluffy and like the total opposite of what it felt like to sleep in my truck last night.
There’s a TV and a mini fridge and a real bathroom that’s not shared with the public. This place is so much nicer than spending a day in a parking lot. Even if Kennedy is included in the mix, this is still better.
Kennedy hauls her suitcase inside and drops it on the floor next to the nearest bed. I only have a backpack with me, but I put it on the other bed and sit on the foot of it, not wanting to let my dirty body touch too much of the clean sheets.
Kennedy turns to me. “Are you happy you came?”
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “If I have to be stranded between home and my family, this is better than the parking lot.”
“It was so gross being around all those people,” Kennedy says with a shudder. “I felt like a homeless person.”
Funny how she got that vibe, when I had thought it was cool how all these strangers were being kind and helpful to each other while we were all stranded together.
“I’m taking a shower,” Kennedy says, walking toward the bathroom. “I have to get the stink off me.”
I pull out the chair near the small desk and turn on the TV while Kennedy showers. All the local channels are talking about the pending hurricane and how it’s going to make landfall in the morning. Only now, when I have some time to relax, do I start to wonder about my house back at home. I hope it’ll be okay. I hope everyone I know will be okay. Unfortunately, it’s pretty certain that everything along the coast will get ravaged pretty bad. Hopefully all those people evacuated.
I need to charge my phone since it’s my unreliable lifeline to Ella, and the only outlet I can find is in the corner of the room too far away from the desk. I plug it in and sit on the floor next to it, staring at my empty home screen and wishing I could hear from my girlfriend. She’s probably at her own hotel right now. It’s probably not as nice as this one, since she doesn’t have the kind of money that Kennedy’s dad has, but hopefully it’s safe. Hopefully she can show
er and get some rest and be okay.
I lean my head against the wall. The heavy feeling of exhaustion falls over me like a warm blanket. I haven’t had more than an hour or two of sleep since I left my house. And now I can’t seem to fight it off anymore. I close my eyes, and I hold my phone, and I think about Ella as I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 13
The entrance to the Blackwell State Park is barely noticeable from the road. It’s a wooden sign with white lettering that has long since faded, and it’s mostly covered by overgrown bushes and weeds. To the left of the main road is a thick wooded area with just a small, narrow pathway cut out from the brush.
I turn down the gravel road next to the sign and drive slowly through the shaded roadway. It’s long and winding, and just as I’m starting to worry that this isn’t a park at all but some kind of private land, the brush opens up to reveal an office building that looks like a log cabin. There’s a sign that points to the gift shop, which is another small log cabin to the left, and then a sign that says registration for camping is straight ahead. I drive up to the building and get out and tug on the door handle, but it’s locked. Then I read the sign next to the door, that tells me if I’m here to camp, the registration forms are just up ahead.
I walk to a weathered metal box that looks like a section of mailboxes from the post office. There’s about twenty boxes in all, and some of them have keys in it and some don’t. I read the instructions printed on the side of the box, while swatting a bug away from my face.
To rent a camp site for tents, you just put ten dollars a day into the slot on top of the cash box and then pick a spot. To rent a cabin, you insert twenty dollars a night into the box and then choose a key.
