Part 5 (1/2)
Some incredible vacation, she thought mo- rosely. Here I am in a seedy little hotel that smells of roach spray, sitting next to a pa.s.sed-out friend and thinking about Goofy!
”Sam?”
Sam heard the voice through a dream in which she was back at Big Al's, waiting on Mr. Chris- topher. She had turned from the table after apologizing for bringing the wrong order. Then he said, ”Can't you do anything right?” The voice was different, and looking back, she saw not Mr.
Christopher but Danny, his expression full of reproach. Now someone at the next table was calling her name again, and Sam spun around to see that the party of twelve was her dance troupe from Disney World.
”I'm sorry!” she cried out to their questioning faces. Her words seemed to be struggling up through layers of Jell-0.
”Don't be sorry, just get up!”
The laughing voice was Emma's, and a second later Sam's dream receded into white light as Emma opened the drapes, flooding the motel room with suns.h.i.+ne.
Sam pulled herself to a sitting position, and rubbed her face. ”Aargh! Thanks for waking me. I was having the worst dream.”
”About what?” Emma was bustling around the room in a sh.e.l.l-pink mini s.h.i.+rtdress, drinking coffee and looking like she'd been awake for hours.
”The details aren't too clear,” lied Sam, ”but I was feeling sort of lost and ashamed at the same time.” She stood and stretched luxuriously. ”What time is it, anyway?”
”Quarter past seven.”
”In the morning? I didn't know there was a seven-fifteen in the morning!” With both the dance revue and the restaurant s.h.i.+fts, Sam had become accustomed to working at night and sleeping late in the morning.
”You were the one who wanted to check out spring break in Daytona Beach, remember?”
”As I seem to recall, you were the one who slept through our only Sat.u.r.day night here,”
rejoined Sam.
Ducking her head guiltily, Emma said, ”I'm really sorry about that, Sam. I guess I was just stressed out from dealing with my family. They exhaust me sometimes.”
Sam interjected, ”Funny, but I would have blamed the wine, myself.”
”Oh, that,” breezed Emma. ”Well, I'm defi- nitely not drinking any alcohol today.” She dis- missed the subject with a wave of her hand and continued, ”I've already signed for the room, and they recommended a good place for breakfast.
Why don't you take a shower? I'll be reading my book out by the pool.”
Sam did, and felt much more alive by the time they were strolling the few blocks to the water- front. The refuse of the previous night's revelry still littered the streets, but the town looked harmless enough in the morning light. With the last remnants of her nightmare fading thankfully into oblivion, Sam found a renewed enthusiasm for life in general and their road trip in particular.
She was carrying the road atlas, which she'd asked Emma to get from the car. She'd been so anxious to get out of Orlando that she hadn't really paid attention when Emma had described their route.
She glanced through it as they ate breakfast.
Mopping up the last of her huevos rancheros with a crust of toast, Sam asked the waitress for a refill on her coffee. Emma had ordered whole- grain m.u.f.fins with fresh fruit and yogurt, and was still mincing through her meal.
”Don't you ever just want to wolf down a really greasy burger and a double order of cheese fries?” Sam asked her.
Emma gave Sam a horrified look. ”Why would I want to do a thing like that?”
Sam shook her head and buried her head back in the atlas. ”I swear, you are missing the gene for junk food,” she mumbled. ”Okay, the way I see it, we hang on the beach this morning, break a few hearts, and then head for Savannah after lunch, right?” Sam asked.
”Right,” answered Emma. ”We stay on Inter- state 95 all the way to New Haven, and since we left ahead of schedule we have plenty of time to spend an entire day somewhere along the way.
Just so we're in New York by Thursday night.
We have to meet Carrie in New Haven by lunchtime Friday.”
”Ooh! Let's spend a day in the mountains!”
”There aren't any mountains along 1-95.”
”C'mon, Em,” wheedled Sam, ”I've never seen mountains except from the air. The highest point in Kansas is a corn ta.s.sel.”
Emma thought of the Alps, which she'd had the privilege of enjoying a number of times since her childhood. It was hard for her to imagine anyone her age who had never been to the mountains.
”Let's think about it when we get to Savan- nah,” she suggested. ”I don't want us driving more than six hours a day, and I'm not sure we can stick to that if we change our route.”
”Hey, it's your wheels and your credit card!”
Sam said with a shrug.
Emma paid the check and left a tip, then turned to see Sam slip an extra dollar onto the table.
Looking a little chagrined, Sam explained, ”I always tip twenty percent for good service. No- body can live very well on fifteen, and it's a rough job, anyway.”
”How would you know?” laughed Emma.
”I guess if I'd been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I wouldn't,” Sam snapped.
”What was that for?” Emma asked, hurt.
Sam sighed. ”Ignore me,” she said, linking her arm in Emma's. ”I'm a product of unbalanced hormones.”
Once they were out of the restaurant and on their way back to the motel, Sam took on a boisterous good cheer. By now there were more people to be seen on the streets, and almost everyone nodded or smiled as they walked by.
Sam sprouted a running commentary on all sight- ings of the opposite s.e.x as they went.
”Oh baby oh baby oh baby!” Sam murmured as a dark-haired guy who looked like a model for tanning products walked by.
”Help you wax your board, dude?” she mouthed as they pa.s.sed a long-haired blond surfer.
Sam made a pouty face and said, ”Poor baby, let me put some sunscreen on those shoulders,”
when she spotted a fair-skinned, redheaded guy who looked like he'd stayed on the beach too long the day before.
At one point, the girls pa.s.sed one of the previous night's casualties, a bleary-eyed guy who left an aroma of stale beer in his wake and looked like he'd slept in a gutter.
”Sorry, but I don't date outside my species,”
Sam stage-whispered in Emma's direction.