The 45th Parallel

by Lisa Girolami

  “Yeah,” she said to Donna, who took a seat in the chair next to her bed.

  “Gas leaks scare the hell out of me. Can you imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t woken up?”

  Val looked sideways at Donna.

  “Shit.” Donna shook her head. “That was dumb to say.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Are they going to release you tonight?”

  “Yeah, in a little while.”

  “Well, it’ll be a tight squeeze at my apartment. It’s a one-bedroom, and I’ve got four friends staying there from out of town, but we’ll figure something out.”

  “That’s okay. I can stay at a motel.”

  “I won’t have it! Maybe I can get some of them to stay somewhere else.”

  “No, there’s no reason. I’ll get a room.”

  Donna looked at her, lips tight in disapproval.

  “Really! I’d rather. I could use the peace and quiet of a motel room. Could you just take me back to my car?”

  “What if you get sick again?”

  “I’ll call you.”

  “You’ve always had a mind of your own, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. And thanks for coming to get me.”

  *

  When Donna pulled up to the Montague house, Val could see a piece of paper taped to the front door. They got out, walked up, and read the note.

  DANGER! GAS LEAK—FUMES PRESENT. DO NOT ENTER UNTIL CLEARED BY OREGON GAS DEPARTMENT.

  Something was handwritten below it.

  Val read it out loud.

  Gas Dept. contacted. They will come by tomorrow between 10 and 2. HPD

  Val tapped on the note and turned to Donna, who stepped up and leaned around her to look at the note.

  “This is a special invitation to any burglars who want to come rob me.”

  “No one’s gonna go inside with those fumes,” Donna said. “And if they do, you’ll probably find them passed out on the floor like you were.”

  “Say, do you suppose they really mean not to enter or just don’t enter and stay?”

  “What?”

  “I need to go inside and get my shoes.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “I’m still in my damn socks, Donna.”

  “I’ll go get you a pair of my shoes.”

  “It’ll just take a minute.”

  “Val! There are gas fumes in there! They sent you to the hospital!”

  She ignored Donna’s protests and opened the door. She put her upper arm to her face, using her T-shirt sleeve as a mask, and ran inside.

  She held her breath while she darted into her room and grabbed some shoes and a bra. Luckily, the police had taken her car keys, phone, and wallet to the hospital and dropped them off. She snatched the manila envelope from the table and then paused. She looked around for anything else she might need, but quickly realized that air was more important than anything else so she dashed back outside.

  “See?” Val took a deep breath, “No sweat.”

  Donna didn’t look pleased at all. “Did you get dropped on your head when you were a baby?”

  “Funny,” Val said, and took a step toward the garage to get her rental car. She began to wobble and bent over.

  Donna was right there, steadying her by the arm.

  “No driving for you. You’re coming to my place.”

  Val raised her hand and straightened up. “I’m okay. Really. I just need to lay down.”

  “But you’re not going to drive. If you start that rental car and gas is still floating around, you won’t have to worry about selling the house because it’ll be a big pile of blown-up rubble.”

  She had a point. “Okay, so will you please drive me to a motel?”

  Finally, Donna relented and, though she really didn’t need to, held her arm until Val got back to the car and sat down.

  *

  It had begun to rain when Donna dropped her off at the Golden Shell Motel. It was a drive-in kind of establishment, where you passed under the carport next to the lobby and drove right up to your motel room. It had the usual sea decor, with fishing floats and netting nailed to the outside walls and draped over posts. It wasn’t new, but it looked okay for one night. Three cars were pulled into spots, which left about nine or ten rooms vacant.

  Donna pulled under the carport.

  “Friends have stayed here before. It’s not fancy, but it’s cheap and clean,” Donna said.

  “Thanks again. For everything.”

  “You sure you don’t want to come back to my place?”

  “I’ll be fine here.”

  “Call me if anything weird happens, okay?”

  Val waved as Donna backed out and onto the highway and then made her way into the lobby. No one was behind the desk so she rang the bell on the counter. Its ding cut through the silence as if it was squawking at being woken up. After a minute or so, a tall thin man, dressed neatly in trousers and a button-down shirt, walked out from around a corner. He wore a pencil-thin mustache and his hair was a little mussed.

  “Good evening.”

  He scrutinized her. “More like morning.”

  She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him. It was four a.m.

  “I’d like a room, please.”

  “How many nights?”

  “Just one.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Don’t have one. I got dropped off.”

  He was in the middle of scrutinizing her choice of clothing when the phone rang.

  “Golden Shell Motel,” he said, then wrote something down on a piece of paper next to a logbook.

  “Yes,” he said, and picked up a clean white rag. He nearly attacked a smudge on the counter, attempting to polish it into oblivion. He looked at Val and then went back to his work. “Yes.” He dug at the counter with the compulsion of a lunatic ridding his psychotic world of imaginary bugs.

  This was one peculiar situation. She’d seen enough movies to know it wasn’t smart to be a single woman checking into a motel in the middle of the night. In the rain, no less. The bizarre clerk made it all that more cinematically spooky.

  He suddenly hung up and directed his rag to the phone.

  “The room will be eighty-five dollars”. He practically wiped the plastic off the receiver.

  Val put her key ring down, reached into her wallet, and handed him a credit card. He seemed unwilling to conclude his phone cleansing, but with a seemingly forceful jerk of his hand, he cradled the receiver and began processing the charge on his computer.

  Val looked around the lobby to avoid staring at him.

  “This is a very clean motel,” she said, hoping the small talk would help ease the tension she, at the very least, was feeling.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I can tell you take pride in that.”

  “It’s very difficult in the inn business.”

  “Pardon?”

  “To keep a motel clean. You’d be amazed at how dirty people are. The rooms are always a mess.”

  The clerk looked up from the computer and leaned toward Val. “People throw their trash everywhere but the trash can.”

  Val decided the safest response was to simply nod.

  “Do you know what I find in the sheets?”

  Val politely bent back from the waist, away from him. “I can imagine.”

  The clerk ignored her body language and tilted even farther toward her. The lines of his mouth tightened like an overly stretched rubber band.

  “Sperm.” He paused a beat as if the word were almost too difficult to pronounce. “And more.”

  Val suddenly found the whole situation rather funny and attempted to hide a guffaw. The only way to recover was to feign disgust.

  “Hahaaaahhh…that’s horrible.”

  “This is a motel, not a dirty brothel.”

  Val stared, wondering if any words could get him to finish her check-in any faster.

  It was raining even harder now, and a rumble of thunder growled
like a monster lurking outside in the dark.

  If the gas leak didn’t kill her, this motel might.

  *

  Val opened the door to room number four, carrying with her the large manila envelope. She put it and her keys down on the dresser and surveyed the room. It was clean all right. It smelled strongly of pine though, which prodded her headache a bit.

  She was glad the clerk had handed her the keys before he began attacking the computer with the rag. Otherwise, she might have been standing in the lobby the rest of the night.

  Sitting down on the bed, she reflected over the past evening. It could have been worse, she thought, especially if she hadn’t woken up. But where the hell was the gas leak? She had to wait until the next morning to see what the gas department said.

  For now, though, she was tired and her head hurt. She needed to lie down for a while.

  She turned her hands palms up and sighed.

  “I have no toothbrush, no toothpaste, and no clean clothes.”

  Chapter Seven

  Val slept until eight and then showered. She didn’t like putting the same clothes back on, but she’d soon be at the house again and hopefully everything would return to normal.

  She sat at the small desk in the corner of the room and opened the envelope. She pulled the paperwork out. Her mother’s living trust was stapled into four different sections so she started with the first one.

  “Agreement made April 11, 2008,” Val read aloud. “This revocable living trust shall be known as the Kristine M. Montague Revocable Living Trust. Kristine M. Montague, called the grantor, declares that she has transferred and delivered to the trustee all her interest in the property described in Schedule A attached to this Declaration of Trust. All of that property is called the ‘trust property.’…blahblahblah.”

  She rubbed her forehead.

  “Upon the death or incapacity of Kristine M. Montague, the trustee of this trust and of any subtrusts created by it shall be Valerie S. Montague.”

  She skipped past the Bond, Compensation, and Liability sections.

  “The trustee shall have all authority and powers allowed or conferred on a trustee under Oregon law, subject to the trustee’s fiduciary duty to the grantors and the beneficiaries…yaddayaddayadda…The trustee’s powers include, but are not limited to: The power to sell trust property, and to borrow money and to encumber trust property, including trust real estate, by mortgage, deed of trust or other method…The power to sell or grant options for the sale or exchange of any trust property, including stocks, bonds, debentures, and any other form of security or security account, at public or private sale for cash or on credit…”

  This lawyerese was making her headache even worse. She stopped to rub her eyes and heard a quiet knock at the door.

  She prayed it wasn’t the clerk asking to clean her room. That would make it two places she couldn’t go into.

  She started to put down the section she was reading but dropped it. It fluttered to the floor so she quickly picked it up and stacked it neatly on top of the other sections before going to open the door.

  Cam stood there, looking concerned.

  “Cam!”

  “Are you okay? I heard you were in the hospital.”

  “Yes, I’m fine now. Come in.” She backed up and closed the door when Cam stepped through. “How’d you know I went to the hospital?”

  “The night nurse has a thing for my morning hot chocolate.”

  “Okay, but how did you find me here?”

  “Hemlock’s not that big, Val.” She gestured toward the lobby. “Plus, I used to work with the clean freak when we were short-order cooks. Many years ago. Anyway, I hope you don’t mind.”

  Val laughed. “It’s definitely okay.”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  She seemed genuinely concerned, which comforted Val. She’d been feeling pretty low, not to mention still a bit polluted from her natural-gas party.

  “Yeah, I’m good, really. I was just killing time while I wait for the gas company.”

  “Then how about a fresh-cooked breakfast?”

  *

  Cam took her back to the candy store and they went upstairs to her apartment. It was small and conveniently designed, with the front room opening up to a kitchen. A table made from salvaged timber separated the two rooms. Val sat at the table while Cam fried some eggs and bacon at the stove.

  “I hope you don’t mind eating here. I don’t hire help during off-season since business is slow enough for me to handle. That means I’m here pretty much all day. A bell rings up here so I know when someone comes in.”

  “No, I don’t mind at all.” The bacon was beginning to rouse her hunger. The last thing she’d eaten was popcorn.

  She looked around the tidy, eclectic apartment. The couch in the front room was framed in dark wood and upholstered in leather. It easily could have been made from twenty or thirty perfectly aged bomber jackets. The club chair nearby had a low back and was covered with plush, dark-green fabric. The heavy sides formed armrests that were a little lower than the back. A coffee table made from a large slab of wood that showed all its growth lines and cracks sat upon a metal nickel cross base. A braided jute, knobby-knitted rug and a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall completed the comfortable mood.

  The kitchen was fairly modern, with brushed-nickel appliances housed between dark shaker cabinets. The counter was made from either quartz or granite, and its greenish tinge stood out nicely.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  Cam turned the eggs over. “I bought the building about five years ago but had to gut the apartment and renovate it. That took almost a year because I did it on my own.”

  “That’s remarkable.”

  “I took my time because I was also running the shop. But it was fun.”

  “Did you make your furniture, too?”

  “No. I’m not that talented. I found the slab of elm by the side of the road and took it to a guy that made it into the coffee table.”

  She filled Val’s coffee cup and went back into the kitchen to get two plates from the cabinet. “And I saw the couch in Portland at a thrift store. It was caked with dirt and Lord knows what else. That one took me two weeks to thoroughly clean, but it was worth it.”

  “I really like your place. It’s got a lot of personality.”

  “Thanks. I don’t get much company but I’m glad you like it.”

  “You’re not seeing anyone?”

  “This isn’t a great place to meet new people.”

  “I don’t suppose the influx of tourists is a great place to look either.”

  “Not really, unless I was looking for a summer fling. Which I’m not.”

  “Do you talk with your ex? The one that’s with Mack?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Isn’t it hard avoiding her?”

  “Believe me, that’s a whole lot easier than spending the last three years avoiding each other in the same bedroom.”

  Cam filled the plates with eggs and bacon and retrieved some utensils from a drawer. “What about you?”

  “Enduringly single.”

  She put a plate and utensils down in front of Val and sat across from her. “That sounds like a self-help book.”

  Val laughed. “Maybe I should write it.”

  “Are you an expert?”

  Val took a bite of the eggs. “I’m not really trying to be. My job has me traveling a lot.”

  “What do you do?”

  “These eggs are really good.” She picked up a piece of bacon and, before taking a bite, said, “I own a few designer antique stores.”

  “What’s that exactly?”

  “We sell antiques and repurposed items.” Cam made the same blank face that a lot of people did, so she elaborated. “We take worn-out antiques, sometimes unusual items, and turn them into something that has another purpose. For instance, we’ve gutted used armoires and turned them into liquor cabinets and taken old fe
edbags and resewn them into throw pillows. We can repurpose a library card-catalog cabinet into a wine rack or a group of used clarinets and trumpets into garden fountains.

  “I work with interior decorators that have clients all over the United States. We also have a large customer base so I’m fortunate to be able to travel a lot in search of great finds.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Dallas.”

  “Is that where you’ve been since high school?”

  “Yeah. I went to the University of North Texas near Dallas. After I left here, I was pretty much on my own. My mom supported her boyfriend so she didn’t have much left over. I worked full time and went to college when I could.”

  “How is it out there?”

  “I like Texas. It can be a bit conservative, but Dallas is a fairly tolerant city.”

  “I’ve never been. Actually, I haven’t even been out of Oregon, except for a few trips to Seattle.” Cam took a sip of coffee. “I went to work straight out of high school. I’ve had just about every job you can have in a beach town. I waited tables, cleaned hotel rooms, stocked souvenir stores. I even roasted coffee beans in the middle of the night.”

  “You did?”

  “I had the graveyard shift. I liked it because I didn’t have to deal with people.”

  “The locals didn’t give you a break even when you became an adult?”

  “No. They talked about me a lot. They didn’t trust me. That’s part of the reason I had so many jobs. Plus, I liked the night shift because I could watch my little brother during the day. My parents weren’t the best caregivers, and I’d make sure he had food. But anyway, I worked really hard, but all it took was somebody making a comment to my bosses and I had to bounce.” She continued eating for a moment. “Anyway, the coffee place was my longest job. Mostly, I just worked my butt off, but I’d also stick around after the coffee shop opened for the day. I’d work for free into the morning so I could learn about running a business.”

  “That was clever.”

  Cam shrugged. “The only way I could ever control my surroundings was if I owned my own business.”