A chain with a pair of glasses hung around the woman’s neck. The old woman put them on before reading the form.
Maddy leaned forward, trying to see if she’d added something she shouldn’t.
“Okay, Molly. I’ll put you in 108. It’s at the end of the building, and it’s our last room.”
Finally, she thought as she offered up what she hoped was a thankful smile. “I appreciate this, Mrs.—” Under her current circumstances, she’d completely forgotten her manners and hadn’t asked for her name.
“Mrs. Wilkins. My family has owned the place for close to fifty years.”
“Mrs. Wilkins, uh, thanks.” She turned around, anxious to get out of the office, when Mrs. Wilkins called out to her.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, young lady?” She’d put extra emphasis on her last two words.
Maddy, Molly, turned around. “I don’t think so,” she said because she truly didn’t.
“The fee for the room,” Mrs. Wilkins stated.
Crap! How could she be so stupid? “Oh.” She gave a false laugh, like something Scarlett O’Hara would have done in Gone with the Wind. “I’m sorry. How much?” She’d almost walked out and left her cash on the desk. She grabbed her money, stupefied that she’d forgotten it.
“Thirty dollars per night, which comes to ninety dollars, plus tax, but since you’re spending the three nights, it’s a flat seventy-five dollars.”
Seventy-five dollars! Maddy almost choked. Quickly, before Mrs. Wilkins noticed her shock, she took three twenties, a ten, and five one-dollar bills from her wad. “Here,” she said, holding the money out in a fanlike position so the old woman could see she wasn’t trying to cheat her.
Mrs. Wilkins took the money, then handed her an old blue key ring, the numbers so faded that they were barely discernible.
“108,” she called out as Maddy/Molly turned to leave.
She nodded, waving as she hurried back to her car. Had she known the cost of a motel, she would’ve slept in her car, but she needed a shower, and a night to rest in a real bed. Maybe she should’ve opted for just one night. Too late now. If she asked Mrs. Wilkins for her money back, explaining she’d changed her mind and only wanted to stay one night, it would draw even more attention to herself. She started her car, driving slowly until she found the parking space for Room 108. She glanced around before getting out of the car, fearful that Ricky, Marcus, or whoever else had been in the group she had plowed into were just waiting to grab her. And God forbid that the police, alerted to what she had done, were watching her, intending to arrest her and return her to Florida.
She wondered if she’d hit Marcus last night. Wondered it he had been one of the guys standing in the middle of the road. Telling herself she was being overly paranoid, she got out of the car, locked the door, then took the key, preparing to insert it into the lock. The key was worn and thin, and the brass doorknob looked like something out of the fifties, but the key slid smoothly into the lock, and the knob turned effortlessly.
Closing and locking the door behind her, Maddy walked across the room and turned on the TV in search of any news about the accident. Finding none, she perused the room that had cost her a large chunk of her savings. A full-size bed, bigger than any she’d ever slept in, was in the center of the room. The bed was neatly made with a brown chenille bedspread and two pillows tucked in neatly. Maddy walked the few feet to the inviting bed, where she traced the spread and touched the pillows. They were soft. Curious, she pulled the spread down, exposing clean white sheets that appeared to have been ironed. She lifted the sheet to her nose, inhaling sunshine and fresh air. A night table was placed on each side of the bed, near the head. One held a lamp; the other, on the right side, toward the door, had an alarm clock, a small pad of paper, and a pen with the motel’s name spelled out in large dark-green letters:
WILKINS MOTEL. FAMILY OWNED AND OPERATED FOR OVER FIFTY YEARS.
Original, for sure. She hadn’t even realized the motel had an actual name. She thought it was just MOTEL because that’s what the neon sign read.
She sat down on the bed, then lay against the soft pillows. Her eyes were gritty from crying and lack of sleep. Wanting to close her eyes and forget about her life, instead she pushed herself off the bed and peeked inside the bathroom.
Tiny brown-and-beige diamond-shaped tiles covered the floor, their coolness soothing against her raw and bloodied feet. Above the sink, which matched the beige-colored tiles, was a mirror. She pulled on the latch at one corner, and a door opened to reveal a medicine chest. She quickly opened the mirrored door, then closed it, keeping her eyes down. She really did not want to see what she looked like just then. Not noticing the glasses on the little shelf above the sink, she turned on the spigot, filled her hands with cold water, and drank until her thirst was quenched. She quickly turned away, frightened of what she’d see if she dared a glance in the mirror.
The shower-bath combination was much larger than the one in the trailer. On a small shelf above the toilet, white towels and washcloths were stacked in a neat pile. They, too, smelled of fresh summer air and sunshine. Beside the sink were two tiny bars of soap. Maddy couldn’t wait to soak in the tub, but right now, she needed to purchase some clothes. Before the bed tempted her further, she took her purse and the room key, and hurried out to her car.
Unfamiliar with Brunswick, she returned to Main Street, only this time she drove in the opposite direction, away from the motel. It was almost seven-thirty, and she wasn’t sure if she would find a store open this early. Since it was Sunday, she assumed most decent folks were preparing for church. Briefly, she thought of Pastor Royer. Would he miss her this morning or just attribute her absence to a late night at the prom? Either way, it didn’t matter because she would never return to Blossom City, no matter how desperate she might be.
She wasn’t so foolish as to think that life would be easy. She was a few weeks shy of eighteen, and all she had were the clothes on her back, a beat-up, very old car, and the cash in her purse. That wouldn’t last long. She would have to find a job, then a place to live. After that, well, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. For now, she simply needed a few items to get her through the next three days. That was as far ahead as she would think.
She continued driving down Main Street for a couple miles. When she spied a giant Walmart sign, she almost cried with relief. There wasn’t a Walmart in Blossom City, but Fort Myers had one, and she was familiar with their brands and prices. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice. She certainly wasn’t going to shop at Macy’s. No way did their prices fit with her meager budget.
She pulled into the parking lot, where dozens of vehicles were already parked. She saw people entering the store and gave up a silent thank-you.
Inside, she removed a blue basket from a stack by the door, turning around just in time to see an older couple staring at her, shaking their heads. She wanted to laugh but couldn’t. She might stare, too, had she been in their position. She instantly spied the sign to the juniors department, where she picked out a pair of Lee jeans in a size 5 and three T-shirts that were on sale. From there, she went to the lingerie section. With jittery hands, she selected a packet of white-cotton panties. Without warning, memories of the night before attacked her. She threw the pack of underwear on the floor, then kicked it with her tender foot, not caring if anyone observed her fit of rage. Wobbling, she reached for the shelf to steady herself.
“Stop!” she whispered as she scoured the shelves, wishing she could erase the vile image from her mind. Spying a packet of pastel-colored panties with the days of the week on them, she crammed them in her basket. Anxious to get this task over with, she chose two pairs of white socks, then hurried to the shoe department, where she grabbed a pair of plain white tennis shoes in size 7. Before she forgot, she returned to the lingerie section, grabbed a long pink nightgown made of soft cotton and a cream-colored bra that looked like something an old woman would wear.
She had pushed her
hair away from her face and was preparing to check out when it dawned on her that she would need toiletries. In the health and beauty department, she located a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a hairbrush, and a bottle of shampoo. As an afterthought, she removed a small bottle of gardenia-scented lotion from the shelf, putting it in her basket. She raced to the front of the store, mentally adding up her purchases, and decided that she would be broke if she didn’t get out of there soon. Shopping for herself was still a new experience. Most of her earnings had gone toward food and the rent on the trailer. Clothing was purchased at Goodwill and the Salvation Army. She suddenly realized she would be wearing her first pair of brand-new jeans, as all the outerwear that she’d owned had been secondhand.
At the register, she felt the stares of other customers, heard their angry whispers, but didn’t care. She didn’t know these people and didn’t plan on sticking around Brunswick long enough to make friends. The cashier, a short, chubby girl around her own age, said, “That’ll be thirty-seven dollars and ninety-three cents.”
Maddy took two twenties from her pocket and gave them to the cashier. She held out her hand, waiting for her change. The second her purchases were bagged and her change placed in her hand, she almost ran out of the store. She needed to get back to the motel, needed to remove all traces of what had happened the night before, even if it was just physically. The psychological damage would remain, forever etched deeply inside that part of her brain where memories were stored.
Chapter Three
Gloria’s Organic Market had everything a lover of gourmet foods could dream of. It was Molly’s favorite place to shop when she had a special dinner party planned. Located in downtown Goldenhills, in the historic district between the public library and Dr. Laird’s family practice, Gloria’s was always packed with shoppers, no matter the time of day. Crates of fresh fruits, vegetables, and herbs lined the sidewalk in front of the store. Huge tubs of rosemary flanked the entrance. Molly inhaled the piney, minty scent as she entered the market.
One could find fresh, grass-fed beef, free-range eggs and chickens, and a variety of homemade preserves supplied by local farmers. Spice rubs, salsas, and chutneys, along with an array of homemade breads, muffins, and crackers, crowded the shelves. Gloria’s always had the best bay scallops and cherrystone and littleneck clams in the Boston area. Molly took in the smell of freshly made pesto, which brought a smile to her face; Gloria’s was indeed a smorgasbord for the senses. She reached for a bright-yellow basket from a stack piled neatly at the entrance. Gloria must’ve stripped her basil plants out back in order to make the pesto. The last time Molly was here, the aromatic plants had little spikes of white flowers, indicating they were ready to pick. She spied Gloria at the back of the store behind the large wooden counter. “The pesto smells divine. I’ll have half a pint,” said Molly.
“You want pasta, too? Chelsea made some fresh this morning.”
“You know I do,” she said. “I’ll pick it up on my way out.”
Chelsea, Gloria’s daughter, had inherited her mother’s natural love of cooking and her ability to prepare just about anything connected with the human consumption of food and drink.
Mindlessly, Molly walked up and down the narrow aisles, searching for a new, unique gourmet item, anything to impress Tanner and his guests at tonight’s dinner. She wound her way through the aisles, stopping in the refrigerated section. Glass jars filled with a shrimp-colored liquid caught her attention. Spicy tomato gazpacho with freshly ground horseradish, Gloria’s handwritten label stated, along with a lengthy list of organic ingredients. This would be a perfect start to tonight’s dinner. She placed four jars in her basket, thinking how refreshing it would be, given that it was smack-dab in the middle of summer. They’d had unusually high temperatures this year. A cold soup to start was ideal.
She took three pints of blackberries for the blackberry-rum shrub she planned to make. According to digital drinks.com, this was the hottest drink of the summer. She’d made it last week. It was to-die-for scrumptious, if you could call a drink scrumptious. A bottle of rum and a good balsamic vinegar completed her cocktail ingredients. Molly hoped tonight’s guests were up for her fabulous blackberry concoction.
She bought a dozen and a half fillets of black sea bass for the main course, and fiddlehead ferns as a side dish. She planned a simple Caesar salad, with her special homemade dressing. She usually made this tableside in the formal dining room when she was casually entertaining friends, but tonight she’d prepare it in the kitchen. She didn’t want to embarrass Tanner if she forgot an ingredient or, God forbid, dropped something.
She’d forgo the bread since she planned on serving baguettes with a cheese platter. She’d be serving five cheeses: smoked Gouda, Danish Havarti, pepper jack, a sweet ricotta, and a soft goat cheese. She always liked to add both sweet and dill pickles, three or four varieties of mustards, cappicola ham, and a good salami. She picked up two jars of preserves—apricot and strawberry. To her, this was a meal, but when dealing with such a large group, as she knew from experience, one could never have too much food.
She took a red velvet cake from the enclosed glass case. There wasn’t enough time to make something from scratch.
She finished her shopping and stopped to chat with Gloria before heading to the checkout. “I’ll use the pasta and pesto for tomorrow night’s dinner. I’ve already got enough food here to feed a small army,” she explained, gesturing at the small cart she’d exchanged for the basket she had picked up when she first arrived.
Gloria laughed. “You love every single minute of the prep, right down to the last detail, and don’t try to tell me otherwise. As I’ve said in the past, anytime you want to come and work for me, a job is yours.”
Molly laughed out loud, the sound foreign to her ears. She didn’t have much to laugh about these days. “I don’t think Tanner would approve, but thanks for the offer. I have that fancy kitchen, you know. We just remodeled last fall. I’m still searching for some of my pots and misplaced gadgets.” She and Gloria always made small talk, but other than the fact that they shared a love of cooking and each had a daughter, Molly knew virtually nothing about the woman she’d been acquainted with for at least fifteen years. Looking at her watch, she realized she had lingered much too long. She would need at least three hours to prep and prepare dinner. Maybe she would enlist Kristen’s help tonight, though she felt sure her daughter had other plans. At seventeen, and it being the summer after her senior year, she rarely spent an evening at home. Tomorrow, Kristen would be leaving for Europe, where she and her best friend, Charlotte, would spend the next two months on a bike-and-barge tour. Tanner didn’t approve, but Kristen had begged and pleaded until she got her way. And tomorrow was the big day.
Molly loaded her car with the recyclable bags, careful to arrange them so they didn’t topple over. Once she was satisfied, she closed the door. She didn’t dare store the fish in the trunk.
Driving back to their house on Riverbend Road, she thought back to the day that she’d first laid eyes on Tanner.
Chapter Four
After three days of rest, Maddy/Molly was ready to get back on the road. She had no clue where she would go, but she hoped to go as far north as her money and the old Mustang would take her. Boston, she thought. She’d often dreamed of attending Harvard.
When the money was gone, then she really would have to settle down and find work, and the Wilkins Motel would be nothing more than a distant memory. She’d packed the clothes she’d purchased at Walmart in the shopping bag they’d provided when she’d purchased them. She put her few toiletry items in a clean wastebasket liner. Promising herself she would burn her prom dress, she removed it from the bottom of the closet and stuffed it in another clean wastebasket liner. She made a promise: as soon as she was settled, she would set fire to that dress. That way, maybe she could burn that night from her memory.
She glanced around the room that had been her home for the past three days, making su
re that she had left nothing behind. She scanned the room, then searched the bathroom. The only sign of her was the small sliver of bath soap placed neatly in the soap dish. She’d soaked in the tub twice daily and used her shampoo as bubble bath. She’d loved staying at the motel in spite of the circumstances that had brought her here. Mrs. Wilkins’s cleaning crew changed the sheets daily. Fresh towels were given out to all the guests whether they needed them or not. And just as she’d told her when she’d registered three mornings ago, there was fresh coffee from six in the morning until ten. What she hadn’t said was that there were also pastries, bagels, muffins, jams, and jellies. The first morning Maddy/Molly had been reluctant even to enter the office, but she needed something in her stomach besides tap water, having spent the entire day and night sleeping. She remembered the coffee and found several guests milling about, with cups of coffee and small paper plates filled with all sorts of goodies. Her stomach growled, and she took two blueberry muffins and a cup of black coffee back to her room. She’d spent the next half hour savoring the muffins, which, she later learned, were prepared by a local bakery and delivered promptly at five in the morning, seven days a week. They were to die for. She didn’t remember seeing any type of pastry when she’d checked in, but later she learned that if you didn’t make it to the office by six-thirty, there would be nothing left but crumbs. So, for these past three days, she’d stuffed herself with pastries and coffee in the morning, then lounged in her room, enjoying being alone without the fear that Marcus or, as she thought very occasionally, her mother would barge in on her.
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