Part 42 (1/2)

”Yes.”

”What about your mother? Did she die?”

He starts to say yes, then hesitates. ”I. . . yes, I a.s.sume so,” he says. Mouse tilts her head in an unspoken question. ”I mean,” Andrew continues, ”I don't remember ever talking about that, but I do know my father loved her. He loved her a lot. . . and I can't see him feeling that way if she'd just run off, and left him with the stepfather. So yes, she must have died. . .” But he frowns, unsatisfied with his own logic. ”I'll have to ask about that.”

They talk a while longer. Then, about a half hour after sunset, Mouse lays her head back, and the next thing she knows they are pulled over by the side of the highway again.

”What?” she says, sitting up straight. ”Where are we?”

”Coming up on the Wisconsin border,” Andrew tells her. ”There's a city up ahead, so I thought you should probably take the wheel again. I'm ready to stop for the night.”

Wisconsin. . . Mouse checks the dashboard clock, which reads 10:29. She tries to remember whether she reset it to the correct time before leaving the motel this morning; even if she did, they've probably crossed another time zone by now. So it's really after eleven, maybe after twelve.

It's late. Mouse takes the wheel, and drives across the Mississippi River into La Crosse, Wisconsin. They find a motel. Mouse, ready to nod off again, pays scant attention as Andrew negotiates the check-in.

Loins isn't so sleepy.

”Twin or queen-size?” the girl at the check-in counter asks.

”Huh?” says Andrew.

”One bed, or two?”

”Oh. . . Two rooms, please.”

”No, that's all right,” Loins interrupts, deftly putting Mouse under. ”We can share a room. I don't mind.”

”You're sure?” Andrew says.

”I'm very sure,” Loins tells him, trying hard not to give herself away. ”There's no need to waste money on a second room.”

”All right. . .” He turns back to the check-in clerk. ”Two beds, then.”

”Excuse me.” Loins leans across the counter and whispers something in the clerk's ear that starts them both laughing.

”What?” says Andrew.

”Oh, nothing,” the clerk giggles. ”Here you go, room 230.”

They go up to the room, which only has one bed. Andrew frowns when he sees it. ”Sorry,” he says, like it's his fault. ”Let's go back down and fix th --”

”It's all right,” Loins says, stepping past him into the room. ”It's a big bed.” She sits on a corner of the mattress and bounces up and down a few times to test it. ”We'll both fit.”

”Uh, Penny. . .”

”I'm really tired, Andrew,” she says. ”I don't want to go through the ha.s.sle of changing rooms. I'll just curl up small on one side, and you won't even know I'm here.”

”Penny. . .” He knows something's off, but not what. ”Maledicta?”

Loins laughs. ”Do I sound like Maledicta? It's me, Andrew.” She gets up quickly, and goes into the bathroom to wash her face and hands. When she comes back out, Andrew is still standing by the open door. ”What's the matter?” Loins asks him. ”You're not going to stand there all night, are you?”

”Penny. . .”

”At least close the door.”

”Penny, what --”

”You know what you need?” Loins says. ”A good shower.”

”A shower?”

”Yeah.” She nods. ”To relax you. Wash the day off.” She tosses her head and smiles in a way that she knows is seductive. ”Or maybe a nice hot bath. . . I'm going out to get a soda, anyway, so while I'm gone, feel free. . .”

”You're going for a soda? I thought you were really tired.”

”Oh, I am,” says Loins. ”But I'm really thirsty, too.” She steps past him again, unable to resist stroking his cheek with her finger in pa.s.sing. ”See you when I get back. . .”

Five minutes, Loins tells herself, as she makes her way to the ground level. She finds a soda machine in an open breezeway that runs between two sections of the motel. There's a cigarette machine, too, but Loins barely glances at it; she doesn't actually like to smoke, and only does it for effect. But Andrew, her intuition tells her, isn't someone who finds smoking s.e.xy.

But speaking of s.e.xy smokers. . . as Loins is making her selection, a cigarette coal flares in the shadows farther down the breezeway. The cigarette's owner is a shaven-headed man in a jogging suit.

He's cute enough to make Loins forget about Andrew momentarily.

”Hi there,” she says, making her voice a purr. ”Looking for some company?”

The smoker smiles at the come on, but then holds up his left hand and waggles the digits; a wedding band glints on his ring finger.

”Your loss,” Loins informs him. She takes a can of 7-Up from the soda machine, and -- although the night air is cool -- presses it to the side of her neck as if she is very, very hot. ”Sleep well. . .”

When Loins gets back upstairs, the bathroom door is closed and the water is running in the shower. She drops the soda can on the bed, primps briefly in the mirror above the dresser, and goes to join Andrew.

”Hi there,” she says, pus.h.i.+ng the bathroom door open without knocking. ”Want some comp --”

The bathroom is empty. The shower-sounds Loins heard are coming from the room next door.

”What are you doing?” Andrew says from behind her.

She whirls around. Andrew is sitting in a chair by the door with his arms crossed. Coming in, Loins must have walked right by him.

”What are you doing?” Andrew asks again.

Loins smiles and gives a little shrug. ”Just checking to see if you needed any help. . .”

”You aren't Penny.”

”You caught me.” Loins raises her arms in a fetching display of surrender, but Andrew's not fetched.

”Do you think it's right, you pretending to be someone you're not?” he asks her.

”Right. . . ?” says Loins, her tone implying: What a concept! ”I think it's fun.”