No matter how much Lucky drank the night before or how late he caroused, he always woke up at daybreak. His father had had chores for Chase and him to do before school. The habit of waking up early had been ingrained in him.
When he first became conscious, his head felt like a bowling ball stuffed with cotton, which might roll off his shoulders at any moment. It was an effort just to open his one functioning eye. Nevertheless, when he saw through the slit that he was alone in the bed, it came fully open. Stretching out his hand, he touched the imprint her body had left. Grunting and groaning from the whipping he'd taken from Little Alvin, he sat up, switched on the nightstand lamp, and groggily surveyed the room. No suit jacket. No keys. No purse. No sign that she'd ever been there.
Maybe she'd just gone out for coffee. He swung his feet to the floor, swearing liberally as pain rocketed up through the soles of his feet straight to the crown of his head. Dizzily he stood up and hobbled toward the window. With as dramatic a flourish as his battered body would allow, he flung back the drapes, startling a middle-aged couple walking down the breezeway.
The woman uttered an astonished gasp and hastily averted her eyes from Lucky's semi-nudity. Her husband gave him a reproving look before taking his offended wife's elbow and ushering her toward their camper parked at the curb.
Lucky automatically began rebuttoning his jeans while staring hard at the empty space where Dovey's red car had been parked the evening before.
"Damn!"
She had made a clean getaway. Sneaked out like a thief. That thought sent his hand plunging into his jeans pockets for his money clip. He found it intact.
She had been here, hadn't she? She wasn't just a figment of his imagination? No, of course not. He couldn't have imagined eyes that unusual shade of green. If he had dreamed her, it had been one hell of a dream. One he wished he could have every night and never wake up from.
He limped into the bathroom and switched on the unkind, unflattering fluorescent light. The image the mirror over the basin threw back at him belonged in a monster movie. Not only was his hair a mess and his lower jaw dark with stubble, but, as predicted, his eye was black-and-blue and swollen almost shut. There was a bruise as big as a baseball on his shoulder, probably where he had gouged Little Alvin's middle. The cut across his belly had closed, but was still a bright red line.
Then something incongruent caught his eye, something reflecting the blue-white glare of the fluorescent tube. He pulled a long, dark red strand of hair off his chest. It had become ensnared in his chest hair. Spurred on by that discovery, he returned to the bedroom and checked the wastepaper basket. He found what he was looking for.
Sinking down onto the bed, he held his aching head between both hands. She'd been real, all right. He hadn't imagined her. Nor had their lovemaking been a dream, except in the metaphorical sense.
Unsure whether that made him feel better or worse, he returned to the bathroom and showered. As soon as he was dressed, he left the room and got into his Mustang. He'd been negligent to leave it uncovered and unlocked all night, but thankfully it hadn't been vandalized. He drove it around the building to the office and went in to speak to the motel clerkânot the same one who had been there the evening before.
"Mornin'." His smile was almost as big as his ears. "Have some coffee."
"Good morning. Thanks." Lucky poured himself a cup from the pot brewing on a hot plate. "My name's Lucky Tyler. I spent last night in room one ten. The room was registered to a young woman."
"Yeah?" The clerk propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward eagerly.
"Yeah. Would you please check your register for her name?"
"You don't know it?"
"Dovey something."
"Must've been some night. She do that to you?" He nodded toward Lucky's black eye and torn shirt.
"What's her name?" Lucky's tone of voice prohibited further speculation or comment. The clerk wisely checked his files. "Smith, Mary."
"Mary?"
"Mary."
"Mary Smith?"
"That's right."
"Address?"
"Two hundred three Main Street."
"City?"
"Dallas."
"Dallas?"
"Dallas."