by Adi Alsaid
Bree stared at the tiny pebbles on the asphalt, at a shimmering glass shard left behind from some long-since cleaned-up accident. She tried not to think about how many nights in the last nine months Alexis had spent alone in an empty house, tissues bunched up and torn all around her like fallen debris. Bree tried to tell herself that it was not because of her. She tried to convince herself that Alexis’s insisting on being strong rather than compassionate was the root of the problem, but no matter how hard she tried, the argument didn’t stick, pushed away again and again by Alexis’s voice: selfish and thoughtless.
Then she noticed that the glass shard was shimmering from headlights cutting through the dark. Bree stood up and stuck her thumb out in that classic hitchhiking pose, that cliché without a substitute. Her first thought was to grab some more pebbles and throw them at the car, to hear the rocks bounce off the exterior. But she suppressed the urge.
The car was the kind that Mission Hills residents seemed to prefer, large and luxurious, a black SUV with chrome trimmings. It almost drove by, but then the driver slammed on the brakes, swerving to a stop. The window rolled down, and Bree peered inside but kept one foot on the curb.
The driver had bags under his eyes that Bree at first thought were just shadows. His bald head nearly reached the ceiling, and the seat could barely hold him. The top two buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing an army of curly hairs slick with sweat. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared in a way that made Bree unzip her duffel bag and feel around inside for the steak knife.
“I need to get to the bus station,” Bree said, trying to make out the object in the SUV’s cup holder.
“How’s it going?” he said, putting his arm up and resting a hand on the passenger seat’s headrest. She got the impression that he could open the door on the other side of the car without having to move much.
Bree caught the sickly sweet smell of whiskey. “The nearest bus station,” Bree repeated, still groping through her clothes and leftover junk food for the blade. “Can you take me?”
“Oh, sure, I can do that for you.” Not bothering to hide the fact that he was trying to get a look down her tank top, he leaned toward her, knocking over the fifth of whiskey that had been resting in the cup holder. He didn’t seem to notice.
Bree looked down the road, hoping maybe another car might come by. The road was empty, though, just the asphalt lit up by streetlights, the silhouettes of trees on the side of the road, not even a house or closed business in sight. She pulled her hand out of her bag and checked the side pockets. “How far away is it?”
“Close,” he said. “Very close. We should go get a drink first, though.” As he said this, he seemed to remember the whiskey bottle. “Ah, shit,” he said, and he leaned over to search the floor for it.
Any other night, any other place, Bree would have walked away. She would have walked all night until she stumbled onto a bus station, if she had to. But she knew that Alexis’s voice would be right alongside her. She just wanted movement again.
She sighed and grabbed the door handle but didn’t open it yet. “Just the bus station would be fine.”
He pulled himself back up, muttering, the bottle in his hand. He unscrewed the cap and took a couple of swigs. “One drink,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Come on, get in.”
Bree felt that with the knife in her hand, getting into the car might not end up being the stupidest thing she’d ever done. It wouldn’t be smart, she admitted, but maybe this would just be one of those stories she told later in life about the recklessness of youth. She unzipped the bag all the way and looked as she moved aside the chips, the miniature sewing kit, and a pack of gum. But the knife wasn’t there. The cops must have taken it.
And yet she found herself starting to pull the door handle. She caught a glimpse of herself in the SUV’s door. She looked tired, worn, the orange glow from the streetlight up ahead surrounding her reflection like some ill-deserved halo.
The driver raised his eyebrows and smiled as Bree swung the door open. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said.
Just as she was about to climb in, Bree heard a familiar chirping and turned to see a car pulling up behind the SUV. The headlights shining in her face made it hard for Bree to make anything out.
Over the sound of the two engines idling, Bree could hear music coming from the car’s speakers. The singer’s voice was whinier than Bree usually liked, but she was already feeling the urge to turn up the volume. The music got a little louder as Leila opened her door and left her car, coming to Bree’s side. She peered into the SUV, and the driver smiled. “Two of you? That’s fine. Plenty of me to go around.”
Leila put a hand on Bree’s shoulder. “I’ve been driving around in circles for an hour trying to find you,” Leila said quietly. “I figured you just needed some time to cool off.”
For a moment, Alexis’s voice in her head quieted. Bree had never been happier to see someone before. “Good timing,” she said, slamming shut the SUV’s door, prompting unintelligible yelling from the driver. “You saved me from the worst decision of my life.”
When Bree got into Leila’s car, she saw the cardboard cutout in the backseat and wanted to laugh but couldn’t find it within her and just exhaled through her nose, as if her body had lost the ability to laugh outright. She buckled her seat belt and turned up the volume, then closed her eyes and let the music drown out her thoughts. Leila pressed on the gas, and they turned onto the highway.
Selfish and thoughtless, her brain whispered one more time. Bree thought about what might have happened if she’d gotten into the SUV, pictured how the crash might have occurred. She pictured Alexis getting another unexpected phone call, imagined that her sister might feel—somewhere beneath her sorrow—relief.
The sobs came all at once. They were in her throat before she could stop them, had her gasping for breath before the tears had even reached her cheeks. They dripped down onto the red upholstery of Leila’s car, shimmering under passing streetlights for just a second before soaking into the fabric in dark, blood-colored circles.
Leila didn’t say anything for a while, but she turned down the music and handed Bree some napkins from the bag of doughnuts that was still in the car. “I know you love your life on the road, Bree,” she said, reaching over and grabbing Bree’s hand. “But maybe you love the idea of loving it more than you love the life itself.”
Bree wiped at her eyes, smearing some of the wetness across her eyelashes. A car passed them on the other side of the divider. Its headlights turned into radiant suns by the drops clinging to Bree’s lashes. She blew her nose into one of the napkins Leila had given her. For a long time, she said nothing, just felt the tears refuse to stop coming, the knot in her stomach unwilling to come undone until Bree admitted what she knew was true. More cars passed by, lighting up Leila’s car with their headlights for just a moment before disappearing down the road, oblivious and indifferent to what Bree was feeling. “She was right,” she said finally, gripping a used napkin so tightly that it kept the shape of her closed fist even after she dropped it into the plastic bag hanging from the gearshift. “I am selfish and thoughtless. I thought I was living the way you’re supposed to, not taking things for granted. But I was mostly being an asshole, wasn’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Leila chuckled.
“No, I was an asshole. I kissed her fiancé and then disappeared. I let my sister think I was dead. And I never apologized to her. She was just trying to take care of me.” Bree’s voice trailed off, the realization of what she’d done suffocating her words.
“People hurt each other,” Leila said without much inflection in her voice. “It happens to everyone. Intentionally, unintentionally, regretfully or not. It’s a part of what we do as people. The beauty is that we have the ability to heal and forgive.”
Bree let Leila’s words hang in the air. Thr
oughout her trip, she’d looked at the night she’d kissed Matt as if it had been a clear example of a day seized. Kissing someone you wanted to kiss, heeding that spontaneous little voice inside of yourself and not looking back felt as if it should always be a victory.
But now it felt like nothing more than a selfish impulse. The tears started to come again. She felt them roll out on their own accord, unaccompanied by any sobbing this time, just like the way Alexis had cried at the jail.
Bree sat up, tugging at the seat belt that was pressing too tightly against her. “I’m such a screwup,” she said, grabbing another napkin and wiping her nose. “I don’t know what I can say to make it okay, but I need to tell her I’m sorry. We need to find her.”
“Okay, we will.”
“How?” Bree said. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t remember her cell phone number. Do you have it?”
Leila shook her head. “They looked up your home phone number for me at the police station.”
“So, she’s gone.” The surge of tears blurred Bree’s vision, and she let them drip.
“I think I know where to go,” Leila said.
As the car picked up speed, Bree held on to Leila’s comforting hand and allowed herself to cry.
7
IT WAS 4:00 A.M., and Bree had lost count of how many hotels they’d gone to looking for Alexis. They’d been circling the airport, stopping in at every place they spotted. It might have been easier to keep track if hotels didn’t all use the same color palette: the same light yellow walls, dark green carpet, and vermilion furniture.
Leila had been certain that Alexis would be staying at one of the hotels near the airport, waiting for a flight in the morning. But they hadn’t found her, just a succession of desk clerks shaking their heads at their computer monitors and saying, “I’m sorry.” The lobbies were always empty, the parking lots outside still, as if the Rapture had come and left only hotel employees behind.
“Haven’t we been in this one already?” Bree asked as Leila pulled into a parking spot near the entrance of yet another airport hotel. “I don’t see the point anymore, Leila. We’re not going to find her.”
“Come on,” Leila said, unbuckling her seat belt. “I have a good feeling about this one.” She gave Bree a couple of encouraging taps on the thigh and then got out of the car. Bree sighed and followed her, feeling for once like going to sleep.
The lobby walls were the color of honey mustard, the carpets patterned with jade and maroon. There were two women standing behind the front desk. The older woman was scowling at some papers in front of her. Her wispy blond hair was up in a loose bun, and she had wrinkles that seemed too deep for her age. Her name tag was pinned straight on her shirt, shiny but chipped in one corner, so that the e at the end of Marjorie was half-gone.
The younger woman looked tired but cheerful. Her red hair was styled just like Marjorie’s, but every strand was tightly in place. Her name tag simply read Trainee. When they noticed Bree and Leila walking toward them, Marjorie whispered something into the younger woman’s ear and took a step back. Trainee softened her face into a courteous expression, although it couldn’t quite be called a smile.
“Good morning, ladies,” the trainee said. “How can I help you?”
“Hi,” Leila said, starting the same explanation she’d been giving all the hotel clerks. “We have to get in touch with one of your guests.” She gave Alexis’s name.
“What’s the room number?” the woman asked, turning to her computer and placing her French-manicured fingertips on the keyboard.
“We don’t have the room number, actually. Just the name.”
Trainee typed something into her computer but offered no reaction about what came up on the screen. The woman hesitated, then looked over her shoulder at Marjorie, who shook her head tersely. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give out any guest information.” The trainee folded her hands on the desk. “I’m sorry.”
“So, she is a guest here?” Bree said, feeling her pulse start to quicken.
“Um, well—” the trainee started to say, before she was interrupted by Marjorie.
“Ma’am, we’re not allowed to give out any information.” She stepped forward, moving the younger woman aside. Bree couldn’t help noticing the adhesive bandages covering two of the fingernails on Marjorie’s left hand.
“It’s a family emergency,” Leila said. “You don’t have to give us any information. If you could just call her room, that’d be very helpful.”
“I can’t have the guests be disturbed at this hour,” Marjorie said.
Bree fought the urge to be combative. “Please help us out. I really need to talk to my sister. Can you at least tell us if she’s at this hotel?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s against company policy.” Marjorie stood up straight, moving her hands behind her back like those of a soldier at-ease. The trainee gave Bree a compassionate look and mouthed an apology.
“What’s against company policy?” Bree said, raising her voice. “Getting two family members in touch with each other in an emergency?”
Leila put a hand on Bree’s shoulder and eased her out of the way so that Leila was standing directly in front of Marjorie. Bree took a couple of steps toward the faux fireplace to calm herself down before returning.
“Marjorie,” Leila said with a smile. “We don’t want you to do anything against company policy. We just need to get in touch with my friend’s sister right away. What can you do to help us?”
The woman raised her chin defiantly. Bree saw that her default expression was a frown, the corners of her mouth drooping down as if she was constantly expecting disappointment. “I can’t give out guest information, and I can’t disturb the guests.”
“Do you have a manager we could talk to?” Bree said as calmly as she could.
Marjorie tapped the business cards on the desk. Front Desk Supervisor.
“Great,” Bree said. “A miserable person on a power trip. That’s exactly what we need.” She grabbed one of the business cards and started ripping it to shreds, shaking her head.
Leila gave Bree a look that she immediately understood. Let me handle this. Bree ducked her head in agreement but kept ripping the business card into smaller pieces until Marjorie’s name and title were no longer readable.
“Sorry about my friend. She’s had a rough night,” Leila said. She leaned forward and looked into Marjorie’s light blue eyes. “One of my favorite song lyrics from a band called Modest Mouse is this: ‘The whole world stinks, so no one’s taking showers anymore.’
“Maybe you’ve had a worse night than my friend here. Your boss yelled at you, or a customer was rude. But the way I see it, there’s only two ways to go about things after a bad night. You either stink it up with everyone else, or you take a shower.
“I can guarantee you that I’ve got a story that will make you thankful your problems are as small as they are. Hell, I’m sure you have a story that will make me feel like my problems are small. But what good is that? Everyone pointing out how awful everything is instead of trying to clean it up a bit?
“All you have to do is tell us the room number. Just this one tiny thing that’ll make the world a little better.” Leila clasped her hands together, not so much a pleading gesture as a hopeful one.
Bree looked up from the little pile of business card scraps she’d gathered while Leila was talking. The lobby was quiet in the wake of Leila’s speech, which felt like a good sign, even though all the other hotel lobbies had been just as quiet. Something in Marjorie’s expression had changed, though. Maybe it was kindness; maybe it was just mercy.
Marjorie cleared her throat. “I can’t help you.” She turned to the trainee. “Always follow company policy.” Then she slid a business card across the desk to Leila. “If you find out the guest’s room number, please feel free to call b
ack.”
Bree shook her head in disbelief. She thought about throwing the business card scraps in Marjorie’s face, or running down the halls and waking up everyone in the hotel, but she didn’t have the energy. She grabbed Leila’s arm and led them away from the desk. “Let’s just go,” she said.
When they pushed open the doors to the parking lot, Bree was shocked at how much the air had cooled.
“What a bitch,” Leila said. She was looking down at the business card Marjorie had given her. “I can’t believe how heartless she was.”
“Yeah,” Bree said. She wasn’t in the mood for frustration. She just wanted to shut down for a while.
A quiet moment passed. The airport was right in front of them, and Bree could see taxis headed toward the terminal, dropping off the earliest wave of business travelers. Bree wondered how much consolation she would get from simply returning to her life on the road, trying to love the thought of it even when she didn’t love the thing itself.
“Two-one-eight!” Leila shouted, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“Two-one-eight,” Leila said again, handing Bree the business card and turning back to the hotel. “Marjorie took a shower.” Bree looked down at the card and turned it over, seeing the numbers written in neat, curling digits on the back.
Bree’s heart sped up. Alexis was here. Bree had no clue what to say to her, but everything could turn out okay. They jogged to the entrance and went straight to the elevator. Bree’s thoughts raced madly on the slow ride up.
The doors opened on the second floor, and they stepped out into the little elevator nook. There were two chairs and an accent table holding a plastic bouquet of brightly colored flowers. A sign on the wall directed guests one way or the other depending on the room number. Bree glanced down the hallway, then turned to Leila. Leila looked as if she’d carried the day’s events seamlessly, as if the life could never be drained from her eyes, no matter what was thrown her way.
