A more insistent tapping on the door. “Adele, there are two beds! I made sure.”
She glanced back at the room, noting that at least on this count he’d been right. Then, rolling her eyes and turning, she opened the door and allowed her partner to enter the room, sidling past her with the quick, coy movements of an alley cat. He winked at her as he did, and said, “My feet are very warm—don’t worry.”
Adele glared as he moved over to one of the beds, placing his laptop case and a small backpack next to the nightstand, and flopping onto the mattress.
“John, if I’m given any evidence as to the temperature of your feet tonight, I’ll put a bullet in both of them, understand?”
For a moment, he just grinned at her, but something in her tone and gaze seemed to give him pause, because his shit-eating grin faded to a docile look of supplication and he nodded quickly, crossing his finger over his heart and extending the smallest digit. “Pinky swear,” he said. “This was all a misunderstanding. If you’d like, I could go downstairs and see if they have a second room.”
For a moment, Adele was tempted to make him do just that, if only to inconvenience him a bit, but then the sheer weight of the day settled on her again, and once more she reached up to rub her neck. She shook her head, sighing softly as she approached the bed and flopped onto the vacant mattress.
Adele heard the sound of an opening fridge door, and saw a sliver of orange light stretch across the length of John’s outfit as he fiddled with the mini-fridge next to his bed. He withdrew a couple of small containers which, in Adele’s experience, were always overpriced and under-proofed.
He wiggled one of the small containers toward her. “I’m a sommelier too,” he said. “Want me to give you the tour of our fine collection?”
“John, you’re an alcoholic; there’s a difference.”
In response, he popped the lid on one of the small containers and downed the contents, emitting a sigh of contentment. “Words hurt,” he added, before peeling off the top of the second container and gulping it in one swallow as well.
Adele leaned back, closing her eyes, still in her suit and shoes. Slowly, with sluggish motions, she kicked off her shoes, knocking them onto the ground over the edge of the bed. She watched as John downed a third bottle—likely doubling the price of the room by this point.
“John,” she said, groaning, “I need you coherent for tomorrow.”
“I’m always cohea-rain,” John said, fake-slurring his words and adding a hiccup for good measure.
She sighed. “The real tragedy,” she said, “is that you think you’re funny. Could you at least hit the lights?”
“Anything for you, American Princess.”
Her eyes were still closed, but she heard the sound of John hopping off his bed and taking long strides toward the other side of the room. Then the lights dimmed, and Adele was left curled in her bed, facing the large window through which streetlights still buzzed. To her surprise and appreciation, John moved over to the window as well, without being asked, and lowered the blind.
“That good?” he asked, some of the humor from his tone having faded.
“Thanks,” she murmured, then pressed her cheek against the pillow, twisting until she was lying on her side.
“Ah, a side sleeper,” John speculated. “I should have known.”
“John,” she mumbled into her pillow.
“Yes, Adele?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Evening had conceded to night, and darkness stretched into its maturity. Thankfully, John was a quiet sleeper. Adele’s own mind worked restlessly, spinning thoughts keeping her awake for an hour, two… At last, muttering to herself, she went and retrieved one of the small bottles John had offered earlier. He’d left it out for her, on top of the fridge.
Tiptoeing around his bed, she moved back toward her own and tipped back the drink, wincing against the sudden bitter surge, but then flopping back into the bed. As she did, she glanced over, allowing her eyes to linger along John’s form. He’d switched into sleeping clothes at some point, and the soft fabric of a T-shirt outlined against his muscled body.
Through hooded eyes, she looked him up and down, faintly wondering if the motel room had a shower.
But she was simply too tired to think in this vein for too long, and eventually, the magical elixir found in the motel room’s mini-fridge did its work. Drowsiness gave way to sleep, and sleep to dreams…
…A cool hand holding hers. Quiet whispers of encouragement, murmuring, “You can do it, cara—I know you can. Don’t be afraid.”
Seven-year-old Adele stared at her mother, her eyes glazed in a thin film of tears.
Elise Romei, Sharp at the time, smiled sweetly at her young daughter, one hand gently pressed against her shoulder. “Do you not like the swimsuit?” she said, softly. “We can get you another if you’d like.”
Young Adele just shook her head, sobbing quietly. She could feel the other children in the swimming class looking at her, and she could feel the instructors watching too. But it didn’t matter. None of them understood. They wanted to throw her in that horrible pool. It was so deep, and scary, and smelled funny.
Adele hid her face in her mother’s shoulder, still crying.
Elise stroked her daughter’s hair, whispering softly into her ear. “You’re so brave, my cara. You’re so brave. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”
“I’m not brave,” Adele said, through hiccups. Her voice cracked.
“But you are,” said Elise. “Because I can see that you’re scared. And yet you’re still here. You haven’t asked me to take you home. Do you want to go home?”
This was far too big a question for Adele to answer. She simply clung to her mother, still sobbing.
“You want me to let you in on a little secret, darling?”
Adele’s head shifted up and down against where it pressed to her mother’s shirt and cheek, making the soft scratching sound of hair on fabric.
“I get scared sometimes too. Very scared. Do you know what I do?”
Adele shook her head.
“Would you like to know? It’s a secret, but I think I can trust you.”
Little Adele could still feel the eyes in the swimming area fixed on her. She didn’t want to be on the swimming team anymore. It seemed like a good idea when she’d signed up, but now she was having second thoughts. Her father wanted her to be in a sport. But Adele didn’t like the water. She didn’t like the smell of it, and she didn’t like the way the other children all splashed around, pushing water into her eyes and nose. It stung, and she hated it.
“What secret?” said Adele.
Her mother’s hand still stroked her hair, cool against her forehead, and Elise leaned in, kissing her. “When I’m scared, I think of you.”
At this, Adele pushed away from her mother, looking through her tear-stained eyes. She wiped at her bleary vision and wrinkled her nose in confusion. “I scare you?”
Elise laughed. “No, but I think of you when I’m scared. Because you make me brave.”
“How do I make you brave?”
Elise smiled at her daughter, affection emanating from her gaze. “Because when I think of you, I remember that there is good in the world. I remember that something makes it worthwhile. And I remember just how much I love you. Perfect love casts out fear. Something your father says. I think he heard it from a radio preacher once.” Elise chuckled. “Whatever the case, when I love you, when I think of you, I don’t feel so scared.”