We leave the restaurant, which was much better than I anticipated. Four-and-a-half stars, although that rate could have been inflated. I would only give it four. Very good, but could be a teeny bit cleaner. The food was great, though. Sam could have eaten a whole lot more, but then what teenage boy wouldn't. Well, I wouldn't have.
The hotel isn't that far down the same road. Just a mile or so. I had looked it, and the restaurant, up at every stop. Even confirmed the reservation. Five stars. Triple checked. Can't be too careful where you spend the night.
"Get your bag, and the groceries. I'll take my computer and the rest," I tell Sam when we stop. The parking spot is right in front of the hotel, large well-lighted lot. Just far enough of the highway that the noise won't come to the room.
"Look's a little small," Sam cracks. When will his voice stop changing already. He won't talk unless he has to, and then it's usually a whisper. I really can't stand it.
"It has four stories. It will be fine."
We trek the short walk through the revolving door, straight to the desk.
"May I help you?" the woman behind the desk asks. She is standing perfectly straight, her short frown hair perfectly straight. Definitely not tired, cheerful in fact.
"Yes. We have a reservation for eight, two beds. Burton, Chris."
"Okay then," she responds. She is typing into her keypad, looking at a monitor just below the desk. "You just made it." It wasn't even seven thirty yet. "It looks like everything is in order. You placed the reservation online this afternoon.. ."
"Yes. Can we hurry this along, please? This bag is getting heavy, and I don't think Sam can hold any more." He was milling around the empty lobby. No seats, his bag trying to slip off of his shoulder.
"I can see. It won't be much longer," she chuckled. "I bet you and your son are really in need to get set up tonight."
"What? He's my brother, half-brother. Just taking him back home. His home." I stumble out.
"Look's a lot like you. Here's your key card. Room 207. Do you need any help up the elevator?" she kindly replied, skipping over our missteps.
"No thank you. I think we can just manage. Good night."
"Good night to you too, sir." she manages to get out as I lead Sam to the elevator to our room.
"I'm hungry. No, tired. Wait, both," Sam whined/yawned on the way up.
"We just ate, not even an hour ago. If you're hungry, you can eat some of the stuff in that bad, after you clean up."
Is this how it is to be a parent, for it doesn't feel right. It is too simple. It is too hard. That response was so not right.
The doors slide open to an empty hallway. Judging by the cars in the lot, I'd say the place was half full. Good. It would be quieter, and no one would ask about my 'son.' We don't look that much alike.
"You clean up first. If you're still hungry, you can eat as I clean up. Just don't brush your teeth, yet. You can hurt your enamel that way. Wait until afterwards." I admonish him as I open the door.
"Yes, sir. Chris. Whatever." Sam mumbled out in a typical teenage drawl.
I set up the computer as he goes into the bathroom to clean up. I take the bed further away from it. Just as I finish setting up, I realize I forgot to ask about the wi-fi password. I will have to use my phone as a hotspot. The battery is dying, but it should work, even as it's charging.
No email from Rick. Confirmations from the social worker, the hotel, and Yelp for my rating. Nothing great. On a hunch, I check Rick's social media accounts. Right there, on Facebook, a post about his wife going into labor two months early. The doctors think they can slow the process, but he'll be at the hospital all day. I really hoped he would have been able to help, but this is more important. Being a father always is.
I turn everything off to save power, and to keep Sam from reading anything. I go in as soon as he gets out. We go to sleep in under an hour, just before ten.
━─────────────━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I wake up about two hours later. I need to get up, now. Sam is sleeping, so I slip out as silently as I can, without turning on the lights to wake him. I hobble slowly to the bathroom door. I kept it open so that there would be less noise. I really need this, now! The light switch is just to the left of the door. I flip in one, just as I enter the bathroom.
There's Sam. In front of the toilet. Turning his head back, looking at me. Fear is in his eyes.
"Sorry!"
I quickly slam the door, and hobble back to my bed. Knowing at least one thing about teenage boys, he is going to need at least another minute, maybe five or so because of the shock. I can't really wait that long. I take one of the empty water bottles. We were going to recycle them once we left, but I guess reusing one is good too. It takes me only a short time to fill the bottle with its unintended fluid. I hide the bottle close to the bed, so Sam won't see it when he leaves. I get back in bed, pretending to be asleep.
After about four minutes, maybe six, I hear the flush. A few seconds later, Sam walks out, slowly and silently. He doesn't speak, or even look in the direction of my bed. I wait maybe, two minutes, before I get up.
"Some of the best advice I ever got was from Jim Greenwood, guy I could call a brother. He told me that even if you alone in a house, miles away from anywhere, you always, always make sure the door is locked before you do that. You never know who could walk in. Remember that, Jack."
I hide the bottle against my leg as I walk to bathroom, turn on the light, and close the door. And lock it, loudly.
No comments:
Post a Comment