Chapter 13
The key was heavier than I expected. Brass, with a green diamond-shaped tag that said 214. The lock turned hard and then gave, and the door opened on a room that smelled faintly of cleaner and old heat.
I stepped in and let the door click shut behind me. The rain was still going, softer now, ticking against the window instead of hammering it. A lamp was already on beside the bed. Warm light, yellow, pooled on a white comforter that had been pulled tight, corners tucked. There was a small sink against the far wall with a mirror above it, a framed print of a harbor I didn't recognize, a desk chair with no desk, and a radiator humming under the window. It wasn't fancy. It was clean and dry and mine for the night.
I stood there a minute with my suitcase in my hand. I hadn't set it down yet. Old habit.
Then I set it down. Beside the bed, handle up, where I could see it.
I sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave a little. I untied my shoes and slipped them off and placed them side by side on the thin carpet, soles down, laces tucked in. My socks were damp at the toes. I wiggled them without thinking about it. My feet ached in that low way they do after you've stood too long on pavement.
I took off my coat. I folded it carefully, the holes showing at the elbow when the light hit them, and laid it across the back of the chair. My gray shirt underneath was wrinkled at the collar. I smoothed it once with my palm and let it be.
There was a glass on the sink, wrapped in paper. I peeled the paper off and filled it at the tap. The water ran cold. I drank it in small sips, the way you do when your throat's been dry for hours and you don't want to choke. I filled it again and brought it to the bedside table and sat again.
That's when my breathing finally evened out.
All night in that lobby I'd been holding it shallow without realizing. In, out, careful, like if I breathed too loud someone would notice me and tell me to move along. Now in that small room with the door closed, I let my shoulders drop. I heard the radiator click. I heard my own breath go in and out, a little ragged at first, then steadier. I wasn't trembling anymore. My hands rested on my knees and stayed still.
I looked at the bed again. Two pillows. I didn't need two. I just kept looking because I couldn't quite believe I was supposed to lie down.
A soft knock came at the door. Not loud. Two taps.
I didn't answer right away. I looked at the suitcase, then at the door.
"Mr. Walter?" The owner's voice through the wood. Quiet. "It's me. I don't mean to bother you."
I stood. My stocking feet made no sound on the carpet. I opened the door a few inches.
He was still in that dark overcoat, though he'd unbuttoned it now. His hair was a little damp at the sides. He kept his hands where I could see them, not on the frame, not pushing in.
"I wanted to make sure the heat was on okay," he said. "And to ask if I could see you at breakfast. There's a diner across from the bus station. They open at six. Would seven be all right? No rush. Just to talk."
He paused to let me answer. He didn't step forward.
I thought about saying no. I thought about saying I should just be gone before then. But the glass of water was on the table and my coat was on the chair and my shoes were lined up like I lived there.
"Seven," I said. "That's fine."
He nodded like I'd given him something. "Seven at the diner. I'll be there. If you change your mind, I'll understand. And if you need anything before then, dial zero at the phone. It rings the desk."
"I don't need anything," I said.
"I know," he said quickly. "I just meant if you did."
We stood there a second. The hallway light was dim behind him. I could hear the rain again, faint.
"Thank you," I said, because it had to be said plain.
He swallowed and nodded again. "Get some rest, Mr. Walter."
I closed the door after he stepped back. I turned the lock. The little brass bolt slid home with a solid sound.
I went back to the bed and sat again and drank more water. The lamp threw my shadow big on the wall. I reached over and turned the brightness down with the little switch until the room went amber and soft. I swung my legs up. The comforter was heavier than it looked. I didn't get under it right away. I just lay on top of it with my hands folded on my chest and looked at the ceiling where the light made a circle.
May you like
Seven at the diner. That was set. That was my doing, my time to keep.
For the first time in months I wasn't listening for someone to tell me to leave. The room was quiet. The rain had softened to almost nothing. I closed my eyes and let the heat work on my feet, and I didn't make any plans beyond morning.
