“You’ve been Mr. Cranky Pants since Florida. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m hungry and tired, and I could use a bed right about now,” I got out of the car, reached in the backseat for my purse, snack bag, and suitcase. “I’m walking to the motel to see if they have a room. If they do, great for me. If they don’t, I’m sure there will be a very uncomfortable chair in their waiting area, and I’ll catch some sleep there. I guess you can just stay here and seethe on your own.”
I slammed the door shut with a flourish and took off toward the motel. I didn’t get fifteen feet from the car when the absolute darkness of the Mississippi highway surrounded me. I looped my snack bag around the handle of my suitcase, pulled out my phone, and turned on the flashlight app.
The sound of footsteps and wheels from another suitcase came up behind me. “You forgot your coffee maker.”
I turned and pointed the flashlight at Flint. “Great. You can carry it to the motel.”
He gave me a skeptical look but wisely kept his mouth shut for the remaining trek.
The paint on the Dorsey Motel screamed80s teen heartthrob poster. The walls were a faded fuchsia pink. The trim around the roof and paint on the doors was a chipping black that likely looked more gray in the daylight. A neon pink sign buzzed on the side of the road. It announced the “Dor-ey M—el” had a “Vac—y.” There was also a sign below it that advertised:
HDTV
Eggs, Waffles, Biscuits
And my personal favorite:
Gravy Hot Tub
I didn’t even know aGravy Hot Tubwas a thing. But now, I couldn’t get it out of my head. And I could only imagine the jokes Wysdom would make about “Dorey Mel” in the middle of the wilderness.
That’s what did it. That’s what sent me over the edge into a fit of giggles. The giggles turned into full-on laughter until I couldn’t breathe. I stood right in the middle of the highway, slapping my thigh, gasping for air, and laughing until tears ran down my face.
Just when I thought the fit would pass, I made the mistake of looking at the sign again.
Gravy Hot Tub.
I went off into a fit of giggles again.
“Jesus, Ceel,” Flint stood over me. I didn’t realize I fell to the asphalt laughing. I sat there, looking up at him and laughing my butt off.
When the laughter subsided, and I could breathe again, I wiped my eyes.
“Are you better now?” Flint stood there in stony silence.
“Living the dream, my man. Living the dream,” I stood, brushed off my pants, grabbed the handle of my suitcase, and walked toward the front door as if I sit in the middle of the road every day, laughing like a crazy person.
Relief flooded through me that the lobby was open. I pushed through the neon pink and black door. A bell chimed in the back room. I heard a thump.
“Be right witcha,” a deep voice rumbled from the back.
I waited at the check-in desk while Mr. Cranky Pants hovered behind me, checking for the location of all exits, the motel’s health report posted on the wall, and probably hidden assassins.
Well. I guess most assassins werehidden. If they were out in the open, you’d see them, then likely thwart their attempt to assassinate you. Right?
A troll-like man appeared in the doorway behind the check-in counter. His white hair went every which way while his sharp blue eyes focused on me. “Can I help you?”
I looked at his name tag. Harry Tracy. “Hi, Harry. We need two rooms for the evening.”
Harry looked behind me, and his eyes narrowed. “No vacancies.”
Flint growled.
I whipped around to give him my Momzilla Glare, and he looked at his feet.
“Your sign out front says differently. And maybe you didn’t hear me correctly,” I smiled at Harry. “I’d like to rent two rooms.”
Harry poked a gnarled finger toward Flint. “I don’t rent rooms to his kind.”
