"As soon as the doctor signs off,” Shirley says, “Willow is free to leave."
“What?” he says, taking his aviator sunglasses off his head. “Is that safe?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips. The worry is all over his face. A face I’m going to miss seeing every single day. I use the fact that he is looking at Shirley to wipe away the tear from the corner of my eye. I also take the time to get my wall back up.
"He said she can go but must stay close to the hospital," Shirley repeats what the doctor just said.
My finger taps beside my leg. “Is there a phone book anywhere?” I ask Shirley. “That you have around here.” I ignore Quinn’s eyes on me.
"Yes." She nods her head and walks out of the room.
"What else did the doctor say?" Quinn asks, and I look at him, my whole body filling with nerves.
“Nothing. That I can leave but have to stay close to the hospital.” I still don’t make eye contact with him because I don’t trust myself not to shed any tears.
I can feel his eyes on me and all of the things he wants to say, but I can’t pay attention right now. My mouth is dry, my finger can’t stop tapping, and I think my body is going to start to shake any moment, and I can’t show him this. I can’t let anyone know how scared and petrified I am to leave here. I can’t let him see how much I want to stay. I can’t let him see that leaving him will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
Shirley comes back in with a phone book in her hand. “It’s been a couple of years, but I think it’s still good."
I smile at her, trying to hide my nervousness. “Thank you so much."
I sit up in bed and open the book. “What are you looking for?" Shirley says. “Maybe I can help."
“Yes,” I say, opening the book to the letter M. My eyes roam the yellow page as I move from one name to another. “How well do you know Mirth Motel?”
“What?” Quinn says in an almost whisper .
I look back into the book to make sure I saw the right name, my hands gripping the book so hard to make sure that no one can see my shaking hands “Mirth Motel.” I try to make sure that my voice doesn’t crack either.
“Oh, dear,” Shirley says under her breath, and I look at her, confused.
"You aren’t going to a motel." His voice comes out tight, and when I look at him, I see that he has his hands at his sides, balled into fists.
I swallow because there is no way I can afford a hotel. At this point, I don’t even think I can spend more than two days in a motel. I’ll let them think I’m staying there and then take off after one day.
I might be slower this time around with only one arm, but by tomorrow, this town will be a distant memory. I swallow down the lump that is the size of a baseball in my throat. "As long as there is a bed and a shower, anything will do," I mumble. I’m looking at the listing in the phone book, but the tears in my eyes make my sight blurry.
"You aren’t going to a motel,” he says again, and I can’t look up. He turns and walks out of the room.
I hear Shirley snicker from beside me, and I look at her. “Honey," she says. “I give you credit for trying to be independent." She shakes her head. “But that man is never going to let you stay in a motel."
"My whole life,” I say. “I’ve had someone tell me where I need to be. I can go where I want to go."
"I get that,” she says, blinking away her own tears. “But your whole life, you’ve never had someone put your needs before theirs." A lone tear escapes. “It’s too late to release you anyway," she says, looking at me. “I know it’s hard. But try to see the good in it."
She turns to walk out of the room, and I look at the yellow pages, wondering if any of them take reservations. My hands start to sweat, and my eyes move on their own to look out into the hallway. Shirley stands beside Quinn, who runs his hands through his hair as she talks to him. I swallow the lump in my throat as I watch him for a second longer than I should. “He feels sorry for you.” I hear my mother’s voice and close my eyes, pushing it away.
“Shirley just said that you’ll be able to leave tomorrow.” Opening my eyes, I look at him. He stands there with his hands in his back pockets, and I take a mental picture of him. Even though I’m certain that if my eyes were blindfolded and they placed him in front of me, I could tell who he is just by touching him.