You need more coffee, I remind myself. Stew on that heavy shit later.
So I go and get two more cups of coffee from the breakfast room, snagging a couple of sucky-looking apples from the buffet for later, pretending that I’m going to only have healthy snacks today, then I head back to the room to see Max standing in the doorway fully dressed, dark jeans, leather jacket, green flannel, holding our suitcases in his hand, my purse on his shoulder.
“Need anything else from the room?” he asks, looking like a pack mule.
I shake my head and hold up the coffees. “Got everything I need right here.”
We head over to the Super B and Max piles everything in the trunk, pausing by the windshield to groan in frustration again.
“We can get it fixed,” I tell him.
He mumbles something in response and unlocks the door.
“You okay to drive?” I ask. “I got you home in one piece last night.”
“I’ll be fine.”
We both get in, and I hand him his coffee. He takes a moment to drink it down like it’s cold water on a hot day.
“Max,” I comment, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, “you know that’s weird, right? There’s a reason they put warning labels on those lids.”
“What, like it’s hot?” he says, a surprisingly pitch perfect impression of Elle Woods in Legally Blonde.
“You are full of surprises this morning,” I tell him as he starts the engine, the car purring to life.
“Just trying to keep you on your toes, Blondie,” he says, before slamming the car into reverse. We go screaming backward through the parking lot before he shoves it into drive and we peel it out of the driveway and onto the highway.
He laughs and I have to laugh too. My god, this car is fun. We’re fun.
“Next stop, California,” I yelp, rolling down the window enough to get that ocean breeze in my hair, closing my eyes to the sun as Max turns up the music, Ozzy’s “Crazy Train” playing on cue.
We leave Oregon in the dust.
Nine
“I drift along the ocean, dead lifeboats in the sun. And come undone.”
– No One Knows
“Well, this place is a shithole,” I say, staring out the window at the stiff-jawed junkies twitching past vacant office buildings, the grey sky above seeming to suck the color right out of Eureka, California.
“Always has been,” Max comments, eyeing the streets as we drive past. “Only good thing to come out of this place is Mr. Bungle. Unfortunately, we have to stop for gas.”
“You’ve been here before?” I ask.
He nods. “Long time ago. Didn’t stay long then either.”
Now if there were going to be demons anywhere, this would seem like the place. Thank god we’re just stopping for gas and not staying the night.
Today has been a long-ass drive and we’re not done yet. Highway 101 took us into California and off the coast through the redwoods before it popped us back on the shore. We’ve got another long stretch after this through more national parks and tall trees until we hit Mendocino, which is a place I always wanted to visit, and I managed to convince Max to let us book a room in the super cute Mendocino Hotel instead of a roadside one.
We pull into a gas station and Max gets out to fill up just as my phone starts to ring.
I pull it out of my purse. It’s Perry.
“Shit,” I swear. I have no reason to think this, but I can already tell this won’t be good.
“Hey,” I answer, trying to sound innocent and upbeat.
“Where the hell are you?” she practically barks.
“At home, why?” Lies, lies, lies.
“I’m at home, Ada,” she says. “As in, your house. I’m in the kitchen with Dex right now, Dad’s in the other room.”
Well, fuck. “Why are you home? Aren’t you in Hawaii?”
“We were in Hawaii, but our plane got diverted to Portland. We decided to come here, and Dad was going to drive us up. He says you’re with Max going to New Orleans?” Her voice goes so high at the end I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
“Tell her she’s in danger,” I hear Dex speak up.
“Danger? What the fuck is your husband talking about?”
“He’s just being paranoid about Max.”
“He’s fine,” I say, feeling defensive. “I’m fine. It’s all good.”
“Well, you can’t blame us for being a little overprotective here.”
“And I said I’m good. We’re having a good time.”
“I bet you are,” she mutters.
“What does that mean?”
“It means don’t do anything stupid,” she says.
“Oh. Stupid. Like sleep with him? Like you did?” I didn’t want to bring that up, but it needs to be said because that’s what she’s thinking.
“Hey! That doesn’t count.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t count? Sex doesn’t work like that.”
“I was possessed. I wasn’t myself. It wasn’t me who slept with him.”