Listen to Me

by Hannah Pittard

  She opened the passenger door. The air felt swampy. “Just wait here, okay?”

  “But if they don’t have power, then they don’t have—”

  She didn’t bother letting him finish. She was ready to be out of the car, ready to be stationary for a few hours. She needed to lie down and sleep safely behind a locked door. Her body demanded a break from the world. It was nearly four in the morning. Did it matter that there wasn’t power? Not for a minute.

  Inside, the lobby was muggy, humid—close, thought Maggie—and the front desk was lined with more tea candles. The room had a homey glimmer about it, but there was no one actually manning the desk.

  Maggie stepped closer; her armpits were damp. She was aware of a slight funk drifting up from her shirt. Somewhere behind the desk, in a back room, there was music playing, something soothing and familiar. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She stepped closer still and saw that, on the counter, there was a little silver bell on top of a small sliver of paper. Ring me, it said.

  Hesitantly, Maggie held out her hand. She’d seen little bells like this before, but she’d never actually had to ring one. They’d never been on the road this late, and there’d never been a time when any lobby had been totally deserted.

  She was nervous, but she was also determined. She believed she was mere moments away from lying in a bed, mere moments away from sleep.

  She brushed the bell once with her ring finger.

  “You don’t need to do that,” a woman’s voice said.

  Maggie jumped a little.

  “I’m right here,” the voice said.

  Maggie looked around, but still she didn’t see anyone.

  “I see you,” it said. “Just give me one second, please.”

  The voice was coming, Maggie realized, from some place low behind the front desk. She leaned over to look.

  There, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was a very small woman. Her arms, from wrist to elbow, were lit up with glowing plastic bracelets. Around her neck was a clunky glowing necklace. She appeared to be going through the open cabinet in front of her.

  Maggie retreated to her own side of the counter. “Sure,” Maggie said. “Take your time.”

  The song from the back room was an instrumental version of something that Maggie usually associated with lyrics. What was it? It was organ-heavy, maybe even a bit ritzy, out of place for a secluded hotel in West Virginia. Was it “Spanish Harlem”? Was she making that up? It sounded like “Spanish Harlem,” or at least a version she’d once heard at the Green Mill back in Chicago. She turned her head to the side and angled her ear toward the music. She listened.

  It was another minute before the woman on the other side of the counter finally stood, during which time Maggie was able to see that the lobby—which she’d already gauged as quite large—was even larger than she’d first understood. And now, Maggie’s eyes adjusting, she began to make out little glow sticks, similar to the ones the woman was wearing, tied, for light, to various lamps and fixtures all around the room. In the planter at the entrance, she now saw, someone had stuck several dozen of them decoratively around a fern.

  “You got to replace them every hour is the thing.”

  Maggie jumped again, but only slightly.

  Even standing, the woman was not much taller than the counter. She gestured toward the fern. “Pretty much I finish getting them lit up and they lose their light and I have to do it all over again. Passes the time, though.”

  “The glow sticks?” asked Maggie.

  “We been like this for three days.”

  “Like this?”

  “No power.”

  “For three days?” said Maggie. They’d only heard about the storms that afternoon.

  “Tornado number one took out the power lines and the phone lines. We were first in line for help, but then the real cities got hit by the second storm and, you know, they’re cities, so our dumb-fuck governor redirected the assistance. More people equals more need.” The woman held up a small neon bag. “You know how they work?”

  Maggie shook her head.

  The woman tore open the bag and pulled out three dim sticks. She handed one to Maggie. “Bend that till it clicks.”

  Maggie looked down at the little piece of plastic in her hand. “Like this?” she asked.

  “Yep, but keep going until—” The glow stick clicked and came instantly to life in Maggie’s hands. “And voilà,” said the woman. “You’re a natural.”

  Maggie smiled.

  “You here for a room?” the woman said.

  Maggie explained that she was traveling with her husband and their dog, that her mother-in-law had made a reservation online, that the website had indicated a vacancy, and that they’d in fact already paid.

  During Maggie’s short speech, the woman nodded, every once in a while glancing in the direction of the back room.

  “So here’s the deal,” she said when Maggie was finished. “We got rooms. We got clean towels and clean sheets and cold running water. We got glow sticks. But that’s all we got. We do not have air-conditioning. We do not have hot water. Repeat: No air-conditioning. No hot water.”

  Maggie started to speak, but the woman stopped her.

  “And with regard to payment, you’ll have to let me take a carbon of your credit card. When we get our power back, we’ll weed through the online payments and the in-person payments. But I can’t give you a room without the carbon.”

  Maggie knew the air-conditioning was going to be a problem for Mark, but she also knew he was too tired to keep driving. They both were. He wouldn’t like this business of the credit card—and practically he would have been right not to—but she could get it taken care of now, before he came in, and he’d never have to know about it.

  “What about our dog?” said Maggie. “You’re okay with a dog?”

  “The more the merrier,” said the woman.

  “Then we have a deal,” said Maggie. “I’d like a room.”

  19

  Mark flipped off the headlights, rolled down the windows, and killed the engine. It was hot out, but the fresh air felt good in his nostrils. He left the key in the ignition so he could listen to the radio. There was a feeling in his gut not of childhood, but of that beautiful purgatory between childhood and adulthood. Yes, with the windows rolled down and with the sudden solitude—sharp solitude there in that car on the top of a tiny mountain town miles and miles from anywhere legit—and with the magenta darkness all around him, he remembered keenly what he’d felt so long ago first as a teenager and then as a young man just starting out in the world. He remembered the feeling of life, how big it was, how conquerable the world seemed then. Behind him: boyhood antics. In front of him: glory, love, sex, fame, ambition, life, anything he wanted. Yes, just now, just at this very moment, he remembered it all so vividly. What he needed was a Springsteen song. Something gritty. Something as full of vim and vigor as he’d been so long ago.

  He kept the volume low as he flipped through the stations. The first three were nothing but static. The fourth was talk radio. He knew it was evangelical from the extra vibrato in the man’s voice. It was only a minute before he grew restless with its content. If man came from apes, then how come apes still exist? etc., etc.—to which Mark would have retorted, applying their slant logic: If Eve came from Adam, why do men still exist? But it wasn’t as entertaining without Maggie there listening too, which obviously said something awfully small and petty about him—that he couldn’t enjoy it without Maggie there not enjoying it. He knew it. And he was sorry. He really was. But he also knew it meant something loving and solid about the two of them. She drove him crazy, but that’s how he knew he still cared. They really were like a country song, which he would have settled for if he couldn’t find Springsteen—Johnny, Waylon, Merle, maybe a little Willie.

  The thing was Mark needed her around, no matter how batty she got. She was still Maggie, his Maggie. Christ, he needed to lay off her every once in a while. He nee
ded to temper his expectations because—Yes! Expectations! Wasn’t that absolutely part of the problem? Wasn’t he always expecting just a little too much from everyone, but from Maggie especially? He was. He was.

  The only other channel was news. It came in staticky, but Mark didn’t mind. He leaned back in his seat, shut his eyes, and listened. The weather had top billing. There were outages from Indiana straight through to western Virginia. His parents had been right. Just a few hours earlier, the president had declared federal emergencies in four states. Congress was in a brand-new uproar. Money was on everyone’s minds.

  The next story up was out of California. A university had issued a statement: it was mere weeks away from unveiling its development of full artificial intelligence. After the statement, the anchor read aloud from an old interview with Stephen Hawking. “. . . could spell the end of the human race.” Mark reclined his seat as far as it would go. The end of the human race . . . The idea itself—the end of humanity—didn’t trouble him necessarily, but that humans would be responsible bothered him to no end. He remembered when Hawking had given that interview a couple years back, and he remembered the jeering that had gone on in the department in the days following. Most of his colleagues resisted the idea of an intelligence that could surpass their own. Of course, most of his colleagues were narcissists. They resisted the notion that artificial intelligence would ever be able to redesign itself of its own volition, and so obviously they rejected the possibility that it would eventually supersede humanity. Perhaps they were only a few weeks from finding out.

  In the backseat, Gerome yawned. Mark turned onto his side and scratched the dog’s head.

  “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” he said.

  Gerome stood and stretched.

  “You want a walk?”

  The dog nosed forward and licked at Mark’s ear.

  “How about a walk, then?”

  Mark patted the front seat, and Gerome climbed over the center console and took Maggie’s spot. He sat bolt upright, like he expected to be buckled into place. Maggie hated it when Mark let the dog in front, but she loved it when Mark was tender.

  “A fair trade,” Mark said. “Good boy.”

  He started the car and pulled it into a proper parking spot, then he hooked Gerome’s leash to his collar and the two got out on the driver’s side together.

  They were standing in the middle of what he guessed was maybe ten acres of cleared mountaintop development. There was the hotel and there was the plant across the street and there was some sort of office park across from that. But nothing more.

  The forest resumed behind and down from the hotel. Mark couldn’t see well enough to explore that far, and he didn’t want to walk in what he imagined was thick wet grass and mud, so he opted to pace the perimeter of the parking lot, which was lined by a narrow strip of grass. Gerome peed instantly.

  Tree frogs were chirping in the distance. It would be morning in only a few hours. Mark’s head was killing him and his eyes were sore. If he hadn’t had those beers, then he probably would’ve been good to drive straight through. As it was, he needed shut-eye. At the very least, he needed to lie supine for a while. Maggie was taking forever, which he assumed was a good sign. She was getting them a room, and any minute she’d come out and retrieve the two of them.

  But she didn’t come out, not immediately anyway. So after Gerome had peed a second time, the two of them went in.

  Tropical was how he’d describe the air if anyone asked, which no one did, so he kept the word to himself. Maggie was standing at the hotel’s front desk; she was blousing her shirt for air. There was a couple standing opposite her, a very small woman and a very large man. Maggie was laughing.

  Mark approached.

  “What’s the deal?” he said. He didn’t address the couple.

  “We have a room,” Maggie said. “And glow sticks.” She held up two plastic baggies.

  “I told her,” said the small woman across from them, “we got cold running water and clean towels. We do not have air-conditioning. We do not have hot water.”

  “Are there fans?” said Mark.

  “We got fans,” said the large man. “We got plenty of fans. But we don’t got power.” He laughed as though what he’d said was quite funny. “We also got two fridges filled with spoiled food if you’re interested.”

  “Isn’t there a generator?”

  “That broke two days ago,” Maggie said.

  Mark looked back and forth between his wife and the couple. If there weren’t fans, then what on earth were they still doing there?

  “This is Tina,” said Maggie, “and this is Pete.”

  Pete held out his hand. Gerome jumped up and licked it. Mark yanked on the leash.

  “Sorry,” Mark said.

  Pete wiped his hand on his pants. “Not a problem. We got seven at home. He can probably smell them on me.”

  “Dogs?”

  “Pure breeds. Boxers. We got two puppies right now. Folks say they want to come by to look, but nobody comes by just to look. Once you’ve seen ’em, you want ’em. I don’t even have to advertise. So we’re real careful about who we let see ’em.” Pete paused and looked at Tina. “Ain’t we?” He nudged her.

  Maggie took the leash from Mark. “Tina and Pete are engaged,” she said to Mark. “Pete doesn’t actually work here. He’s just helping Tina while the power’s off.”

  Pete held up his arms and flexed. He kissed his biceps one at a time, then smiled. “Call me the bodyguard.”

  “How nice,” Mark said. He turned to Maggie. “If there’s not air-conditioning, what’s the point? We won’t sleep. We won’t even relax. Look at Gerome. He’s already panting. He can barely breathe.”

  Maggie looked down at Gerome, who looked up at her and seemed to smile. She scratched under his chin. “Panting is your way of sweating,” she said to the dog. “It’s healthy.”

  “You two need a minute?” Tina asked.

  “We don’t need a minute,” Maggie said. “It’ll be fine.” She handed Mark the glow sticks. “I need to lie down. So do you.”

  As if on cue, Gerome yawned.

  “Bodyguard, eh?” Mark nodded. “There’s a lot of crime up here? People up to no good?”

  Maggie glowered at him. Mark knew the effect of his question, but he was irritated that she hadn’t consulted him, pissed at the plan of paying money to sleep in a sealed-up room when they could just as easily sleep in the car with the engine running. He’d be much more comfortable in the front seat than in a room without air. Christ, he’d nearly drifted off while he was waiting for her! The car was plenty comfortable.

  “No, no,” said Tina. “It’s real safe up here.”

  It was not what Mark was hoping for.

  “But there’s a certain type,” she added.

  Better, thought Mark.

  “There’s drugs on the other side of the mountain. Big trucks, loud music. Your basic ruffian, you know? But we never had a problem. No riffraff or horse thieves up here.”

  Pete clucked his tongue. “Not entirely true, Miss Tina,” he said. “With the current situation as is, there have been some ‘instances.’ ” He made quotations with his fingers.

  “Instances?” Maggie said.

  Bingo, thought Mark. Five more minutes and they’d be back on the road. He was sure of it. They could sleep at the first truck stop. He was good for at least another hour if he had to be. In fact, he was probably good to drive straight through. He’d been wrong about the beers; they’d worn off completely. He had just needed some air; needed to stretch his legs. His eyes felt fine now. Everything felt fine. Do a couple jumping jacks, maybe a few squats, and then be back on the road. More than doable.

  “Just some kids roughing up lawns at night and such,” said Tina. “Nothing to do with us or the hotel.”

  Maggie nodded. Her face was shiny with sweat. “Just kids?” she said.

  “You’ll be fine,” said Pete. “That’s why I’m here. Plus,
I got some buddies staying in a couple of the rooms just in case.”

  Maggie was nodding still. “Just in case?”

  “Yep,” said Pete. He flexed his arms again and grinned.

  Mark felt sure he’d won.

  Maggie sighed. “Well,” she said. She looked at Mark. “If Pete says it’s safe, then I guess it’s safe.”

  20

  Pete walked in front, shining the way with a floodlight. Mark was next, followed by Tina. Maggie and Gerome took the rear.

  Maggie was surprised when they were led into a stairwell. She’d assumed they’d get a room on the main level. She was further surprised when Pete walked them not up the stairs, but down. She hadn’t realized—how could she have?—that the hotel was built into a hill and that there was an entire basement level with windows looking out onto a back parking lot.

  What Maggie liked about Pete and Tina was their youthfulness, their hopefulness and straightforwardness. There was something pleasantly stupid about Pete in particular that Maggie found comforting, as if he lacked the imagination necessary to commit any wrong. It was the right way for a man to be if he didn’t have imagination: sturdy and loyal as a dog. There seemed in him the quality of indefatigable goodness, something god-inspired, she suspected. And, sure, ordinarily she tended to fall on the more judgmental side of people who actually practiced religion, but right then she felt protected by its rote unwillingness to tolerate evil.

  The nearness of the stairwell, the metallic ping of the steps beneath her shoes, brought on a memory, one she’d not entertained in ages. On the night they met, after Mark’s confident approach aboard that riverboat, they’d found themselves not three minutes into their acquaintance in a steep enclosed stairwell between the second and first floors of the ship. If there was a light, it wasn’t turned on. Maggie had led Mark, his hand in hers—though the way was no more familiar to her than to him—down and out and into the pink dusk of early evening. The intimacy of those few moments in that tight space nearly a decade ago—the swampy smell of the Potomac, the humidity seeping in from the water beneath them—came back to her now full force. That night—she’d never told Mark—but that night she’d been on the brink of agreeing to a proposed affair with her advisor, a married man nearing sixty. Thanks to Mark, to his singular attention, she’d never followed through on her intentions. Years later, after she and Mark were married, after they’d moved safely from DC to Chicago, she learned that her advisor had been bounced from the program. Videos had been discovered. There were dozens of young women, all students, and he’d secretly recorded his trysts with every one of them. If it hadn’t been for Mark, Maggie might easily have been among those tapes. Her entire life might be something wholly different than what it was now. What she realized at this moment: her greatest fear—well, her greatest intellectual fear—was of being left behind emotionally. Of being the one caught in that terrible limbo of still being in love when the other person has already left the room.