He Started It

‘It better be,’ she says.

‘I think we should get three rooms tonight,’ I say.

Eddie doesn’t look surprised. ‘I agree.’

Portia shrugs, says nothing, and Eddie offers to pay for both dinner and the rooms. Maybe he feels a little guilty – hopefully a lot guilty – about what happened last night. Or maybe now that the trip is almost over, Eddie is starting to feel like a wealthy man.

I wish I could say the Pine Cone is like every other roadside motel, but it’s worse. This isn’t a place where people stop to grab a few hours of sleep before getting back on the road. This is a place where they have hourly, nightly, weekly, and monthly rates. Some of the rooms have plastic furniture outside their doors, like their long-term residents have set up outdoor patios. In the parking lot, a man is working on a car set up on blocks. Judging by the dirt on it, the car has been here a while.

For a minute, I even wonder if they have three available rooms.

Silly me. Of course they do.

Once I’m alone, I start thinking about how this is going to end. About the secrets we buried, literally, and if they’ll ever come out. If they can be blamed on anyone. More importantly, if they can be used to blackmail one another into giving up our share of the money. Why send someone to jail when you can get them to hand over their share of the inheritance? Like Eddie’s night in jail. Someone could use that against him, maybe even me. If I have to.

While pondering this, I get a text from Portia.

I can hear Eddie next door. He’s screaming at someone.

Krista?

Maybe? Sounds like it’s about money.

No surprise there.

She says:

He’s an asshole,

Always.

I can also hear the people next door having sex.

Eddie is actually preferable.

Nice.

I wonder exactly how much trouble Eddie is in, how many more debts he might have. Or how far he would go to pay them off.

Up until now, I’ve refused to consider he did anything to Krista. Just because she hasn’t texted doesn’t mean she’s dead.

Although for Felix, it does mean that.

Felix. I’m not sad to think about him. Not exactly. Maybe a little melancholy, the way you think about a friend years after you’ve drifted apart. That’s what it feels like, even though he’s only been gone thirty-six hours. Give or take.

This is the first time I’ve been alone at night since the trip began. I can hear everything: the TV next door, some people standing outside talking in the parking lot, even my own breathing. It’s distracting.

I take out Nikki’s journal and flip to a page about Dr Lang.

He was my doctor, actually. I didn’t even see him until after Nikki was gone. She never knew him.

I remove the family saga book cover from the journal, running my hand across the front.

Thoughtful Questions for Thoughtful Girls

It’s a ridiculous title. Absurd, even.

I thought that when I bought it. It was in a dollar store, sitting on a shelf with a bunch of others. I was there to buy a notebook. Instead, I happened across this journal. The second I looked at the cover, I knew Nikki would hate it. She would hate the questions, she would hate the format, she would make fun of all of it. I also knew exactly how she would answer the questions and it made me laugh.

It was about a month after I saw my mother in prison, a month after she told me to find Nikki. I think that’s what made me buy the journal nine years ago, on the anniversary of the day Nikki ran away. It’s why I’ve answered all the questions exactly how Nikki would have answered.

Though I did take a little creative license, like with Dr Lang. And also about Calvin Bingham following us in his maroon Honda. Maybe Nikki noticed him and maybe she didn’t; it’s impossible to know, but I like to think she did. I like to think she noticed and she protected me by not saying anything.

Maybe I should have told you about this earlier. I probably should have, but I was afraid you would take it the wrong way. Think of me the wrong way. Like I was one of those loony women pretending to be sane, which I’m not.

You know that because you know me. You get me.

When I read through this journal, I can hear Nikki saying these words. It keeps her here, with me, right where she should be. Always.

After tomorrow, I won’t need it anymore.

The Pine Cone Motel used to have a bank of pay phones in the parking lot. I go out to check if they’re still here and – surprise surprise – they are, though in varying degrees of usability. Of the four, two have been removed, one has no receiver, and the fourth looks to be the only one in working condition. I wipe the whole thing down with an antibacterial wet wipe before testing it. The habit is left over from Felix, though I might keep it for myself.

We used one of these same phones last time, when we called Mom and Dad. No one knew it was our last call to them. To us, it was just our nightly duty. The thing that kept them from calling the police or the FBI or the National Guard.

Now that Grandpa was back in control, he dialed the number. ‘Don’t mention Calvin Bingham. Don’t mention Nikki,’ he said to me. Only to me. ‘Or else I’ll tie you up the way I tied up your sister.’

Calvin, for the record, was staying at our motel. He followed us all the way from that gas station. If I could have found a way to get to him, I would’ve told him everything. Maybe even about Nikki being pregnant.

I just couldn’t get away.

‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ Grandpa said into the phone. He said that every night. ‘The kids are really enjoying this. They’re seeing things they didn’t know existed … Yes … Yes, yes, they’re eating well.’ He looked at Eddie and winked. By the time Grandpa handed him the phone, Eddie was smiling and had his boyish chest all puffed out.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Yes, everything’s fine. We’re fine. We’ll be back soon … real soon … Of course we’re having fun, why wouldn’t we be? … Yes, we’re eating pretty good … I promise … Okay, here she is.’

Eddie glared at me as he handed over the phone. A threat, I knew. He had been threatening me with looks and words ever since Calvin started following us.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Baby,’ Mom said. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m fine, I keep telling you that.’

‘You know I have to ask that, I’m your mother,’ she said, her voice hard. ‘I just miss you so much.’

‘I miss you. Dad, you there?’

‘I’m here.’

That’s how our calls went every night, both of them on the phone, each on different extensions. Sometimes both talked at once.

‘Are you getting enough sleep?’ Dad said.

‘Plenty. We sleep in the car all the time.’

‘And your sister? How’s Nikki doing, all cooped up like that?’

‘Nikki?’ I said, looking at Grandpa. He glared at me. ‘Oh, you know how she is. Half the time she can’t stop moving and the other half she’s asleep. A bomb wouldn’t wake her up.’

‘Is she awake now?’ Mom said.

‘No, she’s been asleep since we ate dinner.’