Going to Bend (33 page)

“Says right here, one double, one night. Is that correct?”

“One
single
, one night.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a single. We’re full up.”

“How much more is the double?”

“Ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars? How much is the room?”

“Forty-five, plus tax. The total comes to fifty-three dollars. Do you want to keep it on this credit card?”

“What credit card?”

The clerk sighed. “Ma’am, you gave us a credit card number when you called in your reservation.”

“Ah,” said Petie. Damned Schiff.

“Shall we keep it on this card?”

“Oh, let’s,” Petie said sweetly. “Since I don’t know what the card is to begin with, what the fuck, huh?”

The clerk tightened his lips almost imperceptibly and that was all. Christ, they must put them through a hell of a training program, to have them stand up that straight and polite when some asshole like her came in. “Look, I’m sorry,” Petie said. “It’s been a long day.”

“It’s okay, ma’am.”

“I work in a motel, too. Back on the coast, in Hubbard.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s called the Sea View. Sea View Motel. You might have heard of it.”

“Uh, no,” the kid said. He handed her a piece of plastic in a paper sleeve.

“What’s this?” Petie turned the plastic card over and back.

“It’s a key.”

“Doesn’t look like a key.”

The clerk sighed. “You put it in the slot in your door. When the light turns green, just open the door and remove the key.”

“No shit,” Petie said.

The clerk smiled at her weakly. “That’s right, ma’am.”

“And to think that back in Hubbard we just use the metal kind.”

“Well,” said the clerk.

“Yeah,” said Petie. “Well.”

There didn’t seem to be anything left to say.

The room was just a few doors down from the office, and the key worked, improbable as it looked. Two queen beds, little soap for your face, bigger soap for the bath. Thin white face towel, tiny washcloth, tiny bath towel, no-slip rubber bath mat with suckers like an octopus. Tired foam pillow, television bolted to the bureau. Fifty-three dollars. Shit.

Petie sat on the bed for a few minutes, turned on the TV, turned off the TV. You dream of being away from everyone and then once it happens you can’t think of a thing to do. She picked up the phone and called home, collect.

“Where the hell are you?” Eddie said.

“I’m in Portland. I won’t be home for a few days.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, Eddie, but something happened. Christie’s gone and Rose is real upset and it’s my fault. I’m trying to find him and get him to come back. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

“No. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Well, you better tell this to the boys, ’cause I’m sure as hell not.”

“Look, Eddie, help me with this, okay? I can’t explain it all right now, but it’s important.”

On the other end of the line there was silence.

“Hello?”

“So what am I supposed to do with the boys, huh? I’ve got a job.”

“I heard that.”

“So what am I supposed to do?”

“Put them in Latchkey after school. They’ll take them.”

“So when do you plan on coming back?” Eddie said.

“I don’t know. I’ll be back when I find Christie. I’ll call you when I know. Let me talk to Ryan.”

The phone receiver was dropped and Petie could hear Eddie receding into the background shouting for Ryan. A couple of minutes later the receiver was knocked around and then picked up again.

“Mommy?”

The boy sounded like a four-year-old. His voice was high and quivery. Petie was going to have to shore him up. “Hi, sweetie. How was school today?”

“We’re doing a play about Lewis and Clark.”

“No kidding? So who will you be? An Indian scout, maybe?”

“A horse—I’m one of their horses. The people get lots of fleas in their clothes and stuff. Can horses get fleas?”

“I don’t know. You could probably go and ask one.”

“A horse?”

“Well, or a flea.”

Ryan giggled.

“Guess where I’m calling from,” Petie said. “I’m in Portland.”

“When are you coming home? Daddy yells at us,” Ryan said. His voice had dropped so low that Petie had trouble hearing him.

“I’m not sure, sweetie. I’ve got to find someone.”

“Who?”

“Jim Christie. He left and it’s making Rose sad.”

“I like him,” Ryan said simply.

“I know, hon. So does Rose. So I need to find him for her.”

“He’s real quiet.”

“Well, he’s shy, kind of like you are.”

“Uh-huh. He gives me money for candy sometimes.”

“He does?” Petie said, surprised.

“One time we split a PayDay.”

“Ah. Well, I’ve got to find him and then I can come home.”

“Why did he leave?”

Leave it to children to ask the tough questions. “I said something he didn’t like.”

“What?”

Petie sighed heavily. “I can’t explain it right now, sweetie, I just did.

So now I’m looking for him to apologize.”

“Oh.”

“Okay. Listen, if you see Rose will you be extra nice to her? She’s upset right now.”

“Do you think I should make her something?”

“Like what?”

“I could make her a picture,” Ryan said.

“Oh, you know how much she likes your pictures. I’m sure that would make her feel better.”

“I could draw Lewis and Clark.”

“With fleas?” The boy giggled. “Sweetie, I’ve got to go. You be good and do what Daddy says. I love you.”

“I wish you were home.”

“I know, sweetie. I do too. I’ll be there just as soon as I can. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The boy hungup the phone before Petie even said goodbye. She considered calling right back to talk with Loose and then decided Ryan would pass on whatever he thought was important. She’d talk with Loose tomorrow. She realized she hadn’t eaten since morning and she was starving. She picked up the phone again and dialed the front desk. The same kid answered. “Can you tell me where to find a restaurant?”

“There’s an Elmer’s a block away.”

“I was thinking of something cheaper. I only have twelve dollars.”

“There’s a McDonald’s two blocks from here. Make a right when you leave the parking lot.”

Petie ate French fries all the way back to the motel. Out of habit she scanned the lot for Christie’s truck. She didn’t find it, of course, but she did find something else, a big truck with plenty of chrome and special accessories. Mud from the reservoir road was still lodged in its wheel wells.

Nearly deafened by her pounding heart, she opened the door to her room. There, sitting on one of the beds, was Ron Schiffen, arms behind his head, his old house-slipper boots crossed neatly at the ankle.

“Hiya, princess,” he said.

G
OOD GOD
, the look on Petie Coolbaugh’s face—something between horror and joy, or possibly both. It had been worth the three-hour drive up from Hubbard just to see it.

Should he have chosen someplace fancier than the Motel 6? But he didn’t know anyplace fancier, and besides, in his imagination he hadn’t been thinking about the damned decor. His daydreams had been filled with other delicacies, small canapés of kisses, entrees of passion, desserts of the sweetest culmination. The fact was, life had begun to be worth living again, and it was mostly thanks to this small edgy woman.

“I can hardly wait to hear what you told them back home,” Petie said. Her face was flushed a deep red and Schiff watched with satisfaction as she hoisted herself onto the cheesy bureau top clear on the other side of the room and dug a pack of cigarettes from her rat’s-nest purse.

“Think you can sit any farther away?” Schiff said.

“If I could, I’d already be there. What did you tell them?”

“I’m meeting with my regional manager first thing in the morning,” Schiff said, crossing his arms behind his head with satisfaction. But after all, it had been an easy scam. “His office is in Portland.”

“Ah. And the double room?”

“I thought you’d be more comfortable.”

“More comfortable than what?”

Schiff lifted an eyebrow.

“No way—there is
no way
you’re staying with me,” Petie snapped.

“I’d love to, princess, but I already have a room of my own.”

Petie stared at him. “You son of a bitch.”

Schiff smiled modestly.

“Why are you here, then?”

“To help,” Schiff said.

“What makes you think I need help?”

“You didn’t do too well on your own yesterday, now did you?”

Petie flushed. Her hands, Schiff was pleased to note, were balled into fists. “What’s really going on here?” she said.

“What do you want to be going on?”

“Nothing. I want nothing at all to be going on, because I’m having trouble dealing with what I’ve already
got
going on and I don’t need you to be dishing out any more.”

“Look, muffin, you’ve got some things on your mind that I’m guessing are making you a dangerous driver, huh? So I’ll be the driver. I’ll be the one who remembers to stop at stoplights and gets in the turn lane and shit. Okay? I’m here to keep you safe. Think of me as your goddamned angel. That’s all.”

Petie put her head in her hands, pressing them hard against her eyes.

“So fill me in on your game plan, princess,” he said more softly. “You didn’t give me a hell of a lot to go on this morning. Do you really expect to find him?”

“Yes.”

“Does Rose know you’re doing this?”

“No, not unless Eddie told her.”

“And what do you plan to do with Christie when you find him? Drug him? Hypnotize him? Beat him with a tire iron and toss him in the trunk?”

Petie scowled. “I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Exactly how far
have
you gotten, princess?”

“I’ve gotten to the part where I’m sitting in a room at the Motel 6 in Portland.”

Schiff swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Well, how about the part where we get something to eat?”

“I ate already. There’s a McDonald’s near here.”

“I saw an Elmer’s sign.”

Petie set her jaw. “I only have twelve dollars. Well, ten dollars now.”

“Who said you’d have to pay? Did I say anything about paying?
Jesus
you’re touchy. I’m thinking biscuits and gravy. C’mon, princess.”

On his way out he handed over the extra key to her room.

P
ETIE PICKED
at a short stack Schiff insisted she order and watched with something like awe as he neatly put away two biscuits, gravy, two fried eggs, hash browns, link sausages and three large cups of coffee. Except for her lunch with him at The Recess in Sawyer, Petie had never been anywhere alone with a man who wasn’t Old Man or Eddie. Under the table she could feel Schiff’s booted leg against her calf. His leg had migrated there as soon as they sat down and she had allowed herself to let it stay.

Petie had never wanted anyone before Schiff. She had married Eddie because she couldn’t marry Eula. They stayed together because they were already together. Every couple of weeks Eddie would roll towards her across their lumpy mattress and whisper,
Hey, Pete—you wanna fool around?
and they usually did. That was the way it was between them and always had been, consensual sex not being by half the many-splendored thing you saw in movies and diamond commercials. In Petie’s experience the best that could be said was that sex was a lot of work that usually went on too often and for too long and, in the end, made a big deal out of a little piece of meat that wasn’t much more than a turkey neck even when erect.

“What route were you going to take tomorrow?” Schiff asked her, wiping the last remnants of gravy from his beard and folding his napkin neatly under his plate. Eddie Coolbaugh never used a napkin, though he was neat enough.

“I don’t know. I was going to study the map.”

“We should probably stick to I-5, at least until we get to Olympia. Have you been on that road lately? There was construction going on, but that was a year ago, no, a year and a half, probably.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”

“So how do you go when you go to Spokane?”

“I don’t.”

“Yakima?”

“Not there, either. I’ve never been out of Oregon.”

“No shit?”

“No shit,” Petie said grimly. He’d embarrassed her. “Christ, Schiff, I grew up in a twelve-foot camp trailer. What did you think, that my lifestyle included frequent weekends at a fucking resort?”

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Petie subsided.

Schiff paid up and drove them back to the motel. Petie wouldn’t let him walk her to her room. It was a bad idea. They would stand close together in the doorway, and then it might just happen that they’d be kissing, and if they kissed they’d have to involve their hands, and if that happened they might just as well go out and buy a megaphone and yell out the window,
We’re screwing
. On the other hand, Schiff’s reputation was already about as bad as it could get, and Carla believed it all, even about Connie at the Anchor, which was ridiculous because how could Connie lure someone to bed when she had bursitis in her shoulders so bad she couldn’t even button the back of her uniform by herself?

Petie was beginning to think that the whole trip was probably a bad idea. Lying in her motel bed, she finally let herself think about what she’d been avoiding thinking about all day: What if she never found Jim Christie? What if she got all the way to stinking Kodiak without seeing any trace of him? The man was feral, knew how to cover his tracks, knew how to slip in and out of towns so no one would even notice he’d been there. He looked like everyone; he sounded like everyone; he drove a beater truck that looked like every other beater truck. If the man walked across a beach barefoot, he’d probably leave no tracks.

And then what in hell was she supposed to say to Rose?

·   ·   ·

I
N HIS
own room, Schiff faced grim reality squarely: through his own doing, he was lying alone in a cheap motel room with nothing to hold but a pillow with the loft of a bowling ball. The soap didn’t foam, the toilet paper was single ply, the towels could also be used as handkerchiefs and it was the only motel chain left on earth that didn’t give you complimentary shampoo.