Jack’s stomach flipped.Thank goodness for that.“I… are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure!” she exclaimed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. Come on, let’s watch some TV.”
Which was how he ended up under the covers with Carla, watching some comedy sketch show he’d never heard of. Even with the comfortable distance between them, he felt the bed shake when she laughed, full-bodied and carefree. Her hair dripped onto the pillow. She barely seemed to notice. Occasionally, she’d turn to Jack and grin, and he’d debate whether the burnt bacon had gone bad, or if something else gnawed at his gut.
When he fell asleep, it was to the sound of the wind howling outside and canned television laughter. Across the bed, close enough to touch, Carla radiated heat.
Jack woke up alone,choking on a startled gasp as the telephone rang beside him. Tangled in the sheets, he flailed, disoriented as he groped for the receiver and brought it to his ear.
“What?”
“Wake up, motherfucker!”
PART 2
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
“I toldyou it wouldn’t work,” said Carla. Her dark eyes were full of something like sorrow. Maybe pity. Jack ate his sandwich in silence. The sunlight streaming through the window made the shadows all the more overwhelming.
“Hey,”said Carla, five days after their failed escape. “You wanna borrow some clothes? That suit must be driving you crazy. I mean, unless you like it.”
Jack stared at her, surprised. “It’s… fine,” he said, even though he’d taken to removing the jacket and balling it up once inside the house. Sometimes, he left it on the couch or the kitchen chair, but once he’d chucked it out an open window. Carla had laughed at that, something real and genuine that reminded him of that night in the motel, when her laughter shook the bed and lulled him to sleep.
The last few days were dark and dismal. Exhaustion plagued him—no amount of sleep could cure the bruises under his eyes, the drowsy veneer that coated every passing hour. Once, inexplicably, he’d fallen asleep on the couch while Carla watched a movie on television. When he woke, he discovered he’d driftedsideways and come to a rest with his face smashed against her shoulder.
She claimed she didn’t mind, but Jack was mortified. He’d definitely drooled on her—there was a wet spot on her sleeve that she brushed off as the result of a leak in the ceiling, but he knew better.
“Are you sure it’s fine?” Carla asked, twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
“Yeah,” said Jack, without confidence.
“Because we have a lot of clothes just hanging around,” said Carla. “I promise, no one’s gonna bite you.”
And that was how Jack found himself pawing through the wardrobe in one of the guest rooms. Most of the clothes were far nicer than his own—suits, dress shirts, vests, ties—but there were a few polos, t-shirts, even a muscle shirt with arm holes that stretched nearly to the hem.
“You should wear that one,” said Carla. Mischief gleamed in her eyes.
Against his better judgment, Jack said, “Yeah, I think you’re supposed to have muscles to wear those.”
“You’ve got muscles,” Carla said. She leaned against the door jamb and smirked. “Even babies have muscles.”
“Not enough for this, I don’t,” said Jack, selecting a polo shirt.
“That one?” Carla raised an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just… It’s navy.”
Jack sighed. “What’s wrong with navy, then?”
“Kinda boring, don’t you think?”
Jack glanced at her red and white polka dot shirt and shook his head. “I think it’s fine.”
“I think the green would look better on you.”
