"Was it silly? Leaving home and all?"
"Nah. I respect what you did." Dave's hand tightens on the steering wheel.
"You can be honest with me if you think I'm a fool and a spoiled brat."
He glances at me but says nothing, which spurs me to keep talking.
"Perhaps I am. Although I don't know how I can be. Spoiled people are used to having their way. I never had my way. To the contrary. I've always been told what to do, how to do it, when, why, and with whom."
"Sounds familiar." Dave lets out a deep throaty chuckle.
"If my mom saw me now, in this car, with you, she'd freak out."
"Well, you seem to be doing alright."
Rain lashes against the windshield, a relentless curtain blurring the neon glow of the roadside attractions. The Pontiac wipers thrum a frantic rhythm, barely keeping up with the deluge.
I stifle a yawn, and Dave reaches out, gently adjusting the air conditioning towards me.
That tiny gesture of his, ensuring that I'm comfortable, means so much to me.
Then the memory of what we did swipes its ugly paw at me, and my drowsiness is fully gone. I grip the passenger seat, a knot of tension tightening in my stomach.
We need to talk about this.
I've never been the one to keep everything inside until it boils over, and I'm not about to start now.
"Dave, what happened back there, in Clinton diner... I mean, that was crazy. Skipping out on the bill? That's not me."
A flicker of what I think might be regret crosses his face, momentarily hidden by the windshield glare.
"Yeah, I figured," he mumbles, his voice tight. "Sorry. I just... You seemed kind of worried and I wanted to shake things up. Do something spontaneous. Something fun."
My jaw clenches. In hindsight, it didn't feel like fun to me. "You could have gotten us arrested!" After the adrenaline wore out, it felt kind of mean. "Harold was kind to us and now he's stuck with our bill. I think I learned a lot from that short conversation with him."
Watch and learn. That's what one of Dad's letters says.
"Not gonna lie, I feel bad about it, too." He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, it was a stupid idea. Honestly, I..." A flicker of sheepishness crosses his face. "I was trying to save some money."
My brow furrows. "Save some money? But you just filled the tank. And that wasn't exactly a cheap diner."
"Yeah, well." He avoids my gaze. "I... underestimated the cost of things."
An uneasy silence settles between us, punctuated only by the rhythmic roar of the rain.
"Dave, how much money do you actually have left?"
The thrill of our escape from the diner has all but evaporated from my head, replaced by a cold dose of reality. My initial anger simmers down into a deep concern. We're in this together and if there isn't enough money, things could become very difficult very quickly.
David pulls out his wallet and hands it over to me.
"You want me to...?"
"Yes, Lewis. No more secrets." Dave nods, a grimace twisting his features.
I scan the contents and take a deep sigh of relief. "There's around five hundred dollars here. We should be good, but barely."
"Gas will cost us around two hundred, that much I calculated."
"And if we can find some budget-friendly motel options..." I add with a smile. "Enough to get by till Wednesday."
"Good to know we won't run out in the middle of nowhere."
We pass the flashy vacancy sign saying Day Inn, 10 miles and Dave straightens up in his seat.
"Hey," he says softly, reaching out to touch my hand briefly before retracting it. "Why don't we pull over for a bit? This weather is crazy, and it's getting late. How about we call it a night? We could sleep at this motel, and continue tomorrow morning. But only if you want to," he adds hastily.
A sigh escapes my lips. The tension in my stomach is replaced by a weary acceptance. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."
The clock on the dashboard is blinking midnight blue as we pull into the Day Inn parking lot. The rain eases slightly – a temporary truce in the downpour.
A warm bed and a chance to regroup definitely offer a moment of calm before the storm within us, and the one outside hopefully fully subsides.
I guess it's best not to dwell on anything behind us and think of everything that is ahead of us, as is ever so on the road.
The neon vacancy sign casts a soft, reddish glow on the weathered exterior of the two stories high motel and the damp pavement. Dave parks the car in a distinctive horseshoe shaped driveway. The engine ticks as it cools down.
He turns to me, a tired smile etched on his face. "Ready to crash for the night, runaway?"
I offer an identical tired smile in return. "More than you know."
Taking a deep breath, I unbuckle my seatbelt, the tension from the car ride still lingering in my muscles. We gather our meager belongings and walk towards the office, the rhythmic hum of the neon sign a constant companion.
The worn green carpet muffles our footsteps as we approach the counter —behind it sits a young couple, both black, their faces radiating a warmth that defies the damp chill outside.
The woman leans back in her chair, a magazine in her lap and a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.
"Welcome to the Day Inn!" she booms, her voice carrying a joyful lilt. A broad-shouldered man with a gentle smile straightens up from fiddling with a coffee pot behind the counter.
My cheeks flush as her gaze flickers between Dave and me, a knowing glint in her eyes. "You two checking in for the night?"
David opens his mouth to speak but then he nods at me, letting me take the reins this time. I am grateful for it.
"Yes, thank you. One room, please." It's all we can afford.
"Ah, a romantic getaway, huh?" The woman winks at me, and I manage a weak smile.
"It's not a roman–"
"We have a lovely single room available," the man chimes in, reaching under the counter for the key. "Fresh towels, TV, and all the coffee you can drink in the morning, for thirty bucks. Breakfast is extra."
"Sounds good," Dave mutters, pulling out his wallet.
The woman leans forward, her friendly demeanor unwavering. "We also have a late night snack menu if you are feeling peckish. Burgers, fries, the usual diner fare. So how about a bite to eat?"
"No, thanks, we're not hungry," I say, remembering the burger I ate and the diner disaster that followed.
"Young people in love are never hungry, are they, Daisy?" The man leans towards Daisy and kisses her soundly on the cheek.
Noticing our shy and puzzled glances, he adds: "My Da said to me, he did, on our wedding day: "Jeremy, always kiss your wife like it's the first time and the last time. Every day."
Daisy returns his kiss, and then she claps her hands together, her enthusiasm infectious. "Let me get that room squared away for your lovebirds, and I'll see you in the morning."
She bustles around, a whirlwind of friendly chatter, while Jeremy prepares our room key.
Heat crawls up my neck and a sense of awkwardness settles over me. We are far from lovebirds on a romantic adventure. The image of the couple and their easy affection evident in their every interaction sends a strange pang through me.
Stealing a glance at Dave, I catch his gaze. A flicker of amusement is dancing in his eyes and... nervousness?
A shy understanding passes between us in the blink of an eye.
Neither of us is comfortable with the charade but admitting the truth right now would feel equally weird.
Daisy ushers us in the ground floor hallway. "Here you go. Room number four. There's a washroom at the end of the hall, it's a share. And if you shave, make sure you clean the sink afterwards. Nothing you haven't told him a million times, eh?" She grins at me.
The room is smaller than I imagined. A single, worn bed dominates the space, taking up a good chunk of the faded floral wallpapered walls. I start to undress but then stop. This feels absurd. We are here in this tiny motel room, alone, and there's no more need to pretend to be lovebirds.
Even though I wouldn't even mind to pretend that much. My heart is pounding.
What am I saying?
I face the peeling window, the sound of rain a constant murmur against the glass. Dave's image reflects off the shiny surface; he hesitates but then slips out of his shirt. I sneak a glance. His bare chest is all hard muscle. Face burning, I make a point to stare at the small pink roses on the wall. The rustle of clothes, the sigh of exhaustion, the loud yawn mirror exactly my movements. I'm so tired but wide awake at the same time.
Slipping into my pajamas, I steal another, longer glance at him in the glass. A sense of pleasant warmth slithers down my spine. Under the harsh blue glow of the tiny television set, I see David Rivera in a new light.
His broad chest is ripped with grooves that form a six-pack. The muscles in his arms flex and relax, revealing a car engine tattoo. He pulls a fresh t-shirt over his head but doesn't bother with any bottoms besides his boxers.
I look away, cheeks stinging, and when I catch his form again out of the corner of my eye, he is kneeling on the floor, unfurling a thin blanket he must've found in the closet.
"Dave..." my voice is barely a whisper.
Marjorie would skin me alive for the words I say next.
"You don't... you don't have to sleep on the floor."
A small smile blooms in the corner of David's mouth and he shrugs. "It's okay. I'm used to it. More comfortable sometimes."
"It's stupid." My voice is firmer this time. "Let's just share the bed. It's a small room."
Dave hesitates, then slowly rises. We settle in, the bed barely wide enough for two bodies, and turn off the light. I squeeze all the way to the edge to give him more space. I tense when his elbow strokes against my back.
"I'm really sorry about Harold," he mumbles. "That dine and dash was a dumb idea."
"It's okay." Lying with my eyes wide open, staring into the darkness, I'm incredibly aware of the heat emanating from him. "I get it. Sometimes it's incredibly tempting to run away like we did. But it might mean hurting people who were genuinely nice to us. Holding ourselves back from someone who cares."
I turn my head; he stares right at me, his eyes searching mine. A flicker of something, maybe hope, or maybe vulnerability, shines in their whisky-brown depths.
"I think these words apply to you, too. Not everyone will leave you, Lewis, and I believe you need to hear that. No wait. I will. I'll be thrilled to get rid of you as soon as we reach L.A."
I nudge him in the ribs. "And I'll be thrilled to get there — get as far away from you as possible."
David chuckles and buries his messy head of hair in a pillow.
"Good night, Lewis."
"Good night." I wiggle to find a comfortable position and our legs end up touching. He doesn't pull away. The warmth of his skin radiates through the thin fabric of my pj bottoms; it's as if his leg belongs there, just like his body. We are together in this bed, in the darkness, and even though I should be mortified, it feels oddly right.
Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected journey wouldn't just be about running from somewhere, but about running towards somewhere.
Towards someone.
Finding something new, beautiful, and unexpected. Something that will stay with me long after this journey is over. Because then, everything that has happened so far would actually make sense.