Layover

by David Bell

  “Dad, I really don’t need—”

  “But you need to be smart here,” he went on. “You need to know how to do this without getting attached and letting it interfere with your life.”

  “It’s not like that, Dad. It’s not. It’s not some . . . one-night stand or whatever.”

  “Then what is it?” he asked.

  I started to speak but couldn’t find the words. Wasn’t I doing exactly what my dad had just accused me of? What did I have with Morgan beyond a—potential—one-night stand? All started by that kiss in the airport bar.

  Was I thinking with anything more than the lower regions of my body?

  The man at the counter seemed unhappy with whatever he and the clerk were discussing. He shook his head disgustedly. Either he didn’t care for the out-of-date décor, or else Sean had threatened him with the flashlight treatment. The man finally stepped back from the counter and looked around the lobby. His eyes passed over me and then came back. He stared for a moment and then walked down the hall toward the opposite wing of the building from where Morgan was staying. He continued to shake his head.

  “If I’m making a mistake, Dad, then I’m making a mistake. I’m not sure what else to say at this point. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you an update.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  I heard the impatience in his voice, his desire to be finished with a conversation that wasn’t moving in the direction he wanted. I’d heard that tone more than once in my life.

  “What’s this woman’s name?” he asked. “And where are you? Are you actually in Nashville? At least tell me that. If something goes wrong, I want to know where you are and who you’re with.”

  “Dad, I’m not—”

  “Come on. Just tell me. Somebody needs to know.”

  I hesitated. I wasn’t a little kid. I didn’t need to check in with my father . . . especially if I wanted to spend time with a woman.

  But I knew so little about her. . . .

  “I’m in Kentucky,” I said.

  “Kentucky? Sheesh. I thought you were flying to Nashville.”

  “You fly to Nashville to get to southern Kentucky. The town I’m in is called Wyckoff. Ninety minutes northwest of Nashville. And her name is Morgan Reynolds.”

  Dad muttered to himself as he wrote the information down.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said. “I have more work to do tonight. But if you wake up in the bathtub missing a kidney, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  26

  I knocked on Morgan’s door. A “Do Not Disturb” sign hung from the knob, and I tried to remember if it had been there before. I didn’t think it had. I waited and knocked again, increasing the force, but still received no response. I’d gone to the car and retrieved my bags, and their weight on my shoulder tilted me to one side.

  I leaned in close, pressing my ear against the varnished wood as I tried to pick up any noises. I thought I heard the sound of running water and maybe more coughing. But the humming of the ice machine, the whirring of the air-conditioning system, made it hard to hear. My mind might have been playing auditory tricks on me, telling me Morgan was still inside the room when she wasn’t.

  I looked up the hall, one way and then the other. If she refused to answer the door, what could I do? I wasn’t a registered guest, and I had no real claim to speak to her. If she wanted to ignore me and hope I would grow tired and leave, she could.

  I leaned in close one more time and thought I heard sniffling. And then a thumping noise, as though something had fallen over. Or broken.

  The sniffling and coughing stopped.

  I knocked again, harder and faster.

  “Morgan?” I waited. “Morgan? Just let me know you’re okay.”

  I knocked again and again, increasing the pace, feeling the vibration in my hand.

  “Morgan?”

  The door I’d knocked on earlier with no response came open. A middle-aged woman in workout clothes stuck her head out into the hallway, her brow furrowed. She looked at me, wondering who the boorish idiot disturbing the peace was.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, although her voice told me she didn’t think it was. “Is there a problem?”

  “My friend,” I said. “Did you hear anything from in there?”

  “Maybe I’ll call the front desk.”

  “Oh, well, maybe not that. I just—”

  And then Morgan’s door swung open. Her eyes were red, but otherwise she looked no worse for wear. She stayed back in the doorway, out of sight of her curious next-door neighbor.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Morgan said, loud enough for the woman to hear. “I was in the shower.”

  I looked at the woman and shrugged. She gave me a suspicious glance from the corner of her eye and then slipped away. I followed Morgan back into her room.

  Inside, she closed the door and bolted it again. Then she spoke to me in a low, harsh voice. “Are you trying to make a scene? That’s the last thing I need. Somebody might call security. Or the police.”

  “I was worried. You didn’t answer. And it sounded like you were crying or something.”

  “I’m fine, Sir Knight. You know, it’s one thing for you to show up here. Uninvited. It’s another for you to stir the pot like this.”

  Morgan walked over to the fridge and took out another beer, studying the label as though not sure what the bottle contained, and then she turned to me and asked for my opener.

  I brought it to her and she popped the top with a soft hiss. Then she went past me and returned to her seat on the bed. I remained standing, uncertain of what I should do.

  “I’m sorry you went through all that,” I said.

  “Thanks. It’s life in the big, grown-up world, I guess.”

  “It sounds like a lousy work environment. But now you have enough experience to move on to something else.”

  Morgan remained silent, staring at a stain in the shape of Alaska on the carpet.

  I wondered if she wanted me to leave. If I left the hotel, she could lick her wounds or clear her head. Or she could walk around campus while the changing leaves rustled overhead and feel like a college kid again. Whatever she’d planned for her trip, it didn’t involve me.

  Not in any way.

  But I wasn’t finished asking questions. And if she wanted me to go, she’d have to ask.

  “If all of that happened the way you say it did, and I have no reason to think it didn’t, why are you traveling this way? Under another name and keeping such a low profile?”

  Her eyes remained fixed on the carpet stain, her face stony and unresponsive. She looked a little childish, like a kid who thought she could outlast any inquiry with a sufficient amount of stubbornness.

  I scanned my mind, searching for something to say. The right thing, the one that would shake her loose.

  But Morgan broke the spell herself.

  “I’m not perfect, Joshua,” she said, still looking at the floor. Her jaw was set, the muscles clenched. “Yes, I was treated poorly by my company, but I didn’t handle myself well either.”

  I waited.

  “I told you my mom is sick. She needed help, and I was so fed up with everything at work that I just quit. I walked away and decided to spend time with her in Nashville, trying to figure out what to do next.” She paused. “But it didn’t really help. I just thought about what happened more and more. I stewed. I didn’t have much to distract me. I’d started to make some friends in Nashville, the people who are so worried about me on Facebook, but they weren’t enough of a distraction without a job.”

  She reached up and scratched her cheek with a trembling hand.

  “My mom needed money for a nurse or in-home care. And I kept getting notices in the mail about my student loan. I still owe about twenty thousand bucks. And the interest keeps growing and growing. I mad
e a dent in it while I worked at TechGreen, but without a steady income, I couldn’t keep it up.” She looked at me. “Did you take out a loan for school?”

  “No. My dad . . . He had enough money.”

  Her free hand, the one not holding the beer, rested on the ugly bedspread. Her long fingers drummed against the fabric.

  She said one word. “Lucky.”

  “So, what did you do?” I asked. “About getting your mom help?”

  “I tried to make an appointment to see my boss, the one who controlled the money, but he kept putting me off. So one night I just went to his house. I’d been there for a cocktail party once.” She shifted her weight on the bed, uncrossing and then recrossing her legs. “It was just one of those moments when I felt really ballsy, really pushy. Like I didn’t have anything to lose. I just went up and rang the doorbell and waited for him to answer.”

  “Did it work?” I asked.

  “He opened the door and let me in.” Then she spoke in a rush. “There’s not much else to say, except nothing changed. He told me the company was in a cash crunch because they were opening an office in another state. He said he valued my work and even offered me my job back. He said a lot of other things too . . . but none of it amounted to anything. The whole trip was just a dead end. And then . . .”

  “What?”

  She shook her head, her cheeks flushed. “I hate to say it. I cried. Like a stupid idiot little girl, I lost my shit and broke down. I couldn’t even keep it together long enough not to cry in front of him. I cried in his living room. I hate that. But everything had built up inside. My mom, the job, the money. I couldn’t control it.”

  When she finished rushing her words out, she drank from her bottle.

  But I knew that couldn’t be the whole story.

  And I think she knew it.

  “There’s got to be more,” I said. “You still haven’t told me why you used a fake name.”

  For a second, she acted again like I wasn’t there. But then she quickly set the bottle down on the bedside table so hard it made a loud thunk. She went over to the luggage stand and undid the zipper on her carry-on bag. The one she’d held so close at the airport, the one she’d refused to leave behind when she went to the bathroom.

  She rummaged around in the bag and then drew her hand out. Something small was clutched inside.

  “This is the problem,” she said. “This . . . complicates everything.”

  27

  I squinted, trying to see the small object she held in her hand.

  She stayed near the bag, seemingly reluctant to turn and hand the item over to me.

  It took me a moment, but then I saw she was cupping a small bundle of red tissue paper, the kind you’d use to wrap a Christmas gift.

  “Can I see it?” I asked.

  She finally turned and extended her hand—which still shook—to me. I lifted the bundle of tissue paper, cradling it gently in my palm like a baby bird. Which it might have been for all I knew, since she’d been so protective and deliberate with it.

  “Go ahead and unwrap it,” she said.

  So I did. I peeled back a couple of layers of the red paper, wondering if there was anything inside there at all. Then I wondered if I’d be shocked or disturbed by what I uncovered. Had she cut off her former boss’s finger and spirited it away? Had my dad been correct? Was I about to unwrap a stolen human kidney?

  My own fingers started to shake a little. But instead of an extracted organ or a severed human finger, I found an antique ring, one with a fairly large diamond in the middle and two smaller diamonds on either side. I knew next to nothing about such things and owed all my knowledge of the subject to Renee. We’d once gone to an antique fair where there were a few rings like the one in my hand. Renee said she’d love to have one like it someday, since her grandmother had worn something similar, and I knew a hint was being telegraphed in my direction. But the size of the diamonds we saw that day at the antique fair didn’t compare to that of the ones I held in my hand.

  I wasn’t sure what to do next.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “It’s someone’s ring, obviously. Are you saying . . . Did this come from your boss?”

  “It belongs to him, yes,” Morgan said. “Or I guess I should say it belongs to his family.”

  I still didn’t follow. My brain felt thick and sludgy, like I was permanently one step behind. “Did he propose? I thought you said there was nothing like that going on.”

  Morgan sighed to let me know I truly didn’t understand anything.

  “I stole it,” she said, her voice sharp. “From his house. When he shut me down again, I took the damn ring. Impulsively. I just grabbed it. He went to the bathroom and left me alone and there was the ring. It belonged to his mother.”

  “Oh,” I said, wrapping the ring back in the tissue paper and handing it over to Morgan. I didn’t want to be the guy who lost it, dropping it onto the floor and kicking it under the bed, never to be found again.

  She took the ring, cradling it in her hands and staring at it like it might explode.

  “I assume his mother is deceased,” I said.

  “Within the last year.” Morgan slid the ring back into her bag. Then she shuddered. “It was kind of weird, to be honest. He had an urn with his mother’s ashes in the entryway. It was like a shrine, with a picture of her and a few odds and ends. A deck of cards because she liked bridge. The leash for her dog. It was all there, right on display on a shelf with a light shining on it.” She scrunched her face. “A bright light. It was freaky weird. And the ring was there too. That was the only jewelry I saw.”

  “So, why did he have it just sitting out?”

  She shook her head, as though trying to wipe the memory away. “He was close to her. I’d heard him make a couple of speeches around town. You know, to the Rotary Club or whatever. And he always talked about what a big influence his mom was on his career. I guess he wanted to honor her and remember her. I wish I’d kept my hands to myself, but I wanted to do something that would hurt him, something that would feel like a reward for my work.”

  “Were you planning to pawn it?” I asked. “That might be hard to do.”

  “I don’t know. Once you have something like that, once it’s done, you realize . . . well, you realize how stupid it is. What am I going to do with the damn ring? And then . . .”

  I waited, but nothing else came. A horn honked once and then twice outside the window. I wondered if Sean had come after me, surrounding the building with a team of security guards in oversize suits, all chewing gum.

  “And then?” I said, prompting her.

  “And then there’s my boss. There’s . . .”

  “What about him?”

  “They’re going to know I took it. They’re going to know everything. And . . . look . . . I just know none of this is ever going to stop.”

  28

  I paced back and forth in the room a few times while Morgan tracked me with her eyes. I felt confined, restless, like an animal in a cage. Yes, I’d come this far because I’d felt a connection with Morgan in the airport. And also because her behavior made her seem like a person who needed help.

  But I couldn’t deny what my dad had so eloquently explained to me on the phone.

  I understand the temptations. The hotels and the bars and the late nights.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping, wishing, that she and I would follow through on that kiss once I reached her hotel room. Having watched Morgan sit on the bed, drinking her beer, her long legs folded under her body . . . Having felt our fingers brush when I handed her a beer . . .

  Yes, I hoped for more than just pleasant conversation. I felt it in every cell in my body.

  But I also wanted to help her, even if I didn’t know how.

  I tried, though.

  “Okay,” I said as I st
opped my pacing and tried to sound practical. Strangely, I reminded myself of my dad in that kind of situation. He had always been able to remain calm in a crisis. “You made a mistake. You screwed up. You acted impulsively and took a valuable ring.”

  “Very valuable,” she said.

  “How valuable?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Twenty thousand? Maybe more.”

  “Okay. Really? That much?”

  “Have you ever priced rings like this?” Morgan asked.

  “Someone I know wanted one.”

  “Really?” Her voice perked up. Curiosity? Jealousy?

  “I didn’t buy it, though, and I have no idea how much they cost.”

  “They’re worth a lot. Hell, this is larceny I’ve committed.”

  “Grand larceny, probably.”

  She gasped. “Really?”

  “Could be,” I said, remembering my business law class. I went over to the bed where she sat and eased myself down next to her, the mattress sinking with my weight. Our thighs touched. Morgan didn’t flinch or lean away from me. “Look, why don’t you just go home? Take the thing back to your boss. Put it on his doorstep and ring the bell. Apologize and—”

  “I won’t apologize,” she said, suddenly scooting back, moving her body away from mine. “I won’t.”

  “Okay, don’t apologize. But then . . . do you think he’s going to press charges against you?”

  “He clearly loved his mother,” she said. “Hence the creepy shrine and the tributes to her in the speeches.”

  No surprise there. Most people loved their mothers. I loved mine, even though I hadn’t seen her in years. I understood that when it came to parents, feelings were intense. So intense people might be capable of doing anything. I felt an intense bond with my dad thanks to the many years it had been just the two of us.

  “Okay,” I said. “I believe you.”

  Morgan turned to look at me straight on. “I mean, he really loved her. Really. When she died, he was a wreck. A total wreck. For weeks.” She made a frustrated noise deep in her throat. “The guy falls apart when his elderly mother dies, and then treats the women who work for him like shit. Go figure.” She blinked rapidly, but no tears popped out of her eyes. “He’s going to take this very personally. Very. Like, Norman Bates personal.”