It takes me over an hour to pack up a set of luggage. I fill another box of personal items to take with me, with photos and such. Santos hauls it out to his truck for me.
I turn to my mother and we hug, bursting into tears.
“I’ll miss you, baby girl.” She rubs my back.
“I love you, Mama.”
“I know you do. And that’s what’s going to keep me strong. It’s only one year. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“What happens when I turn eighteen? Santos will expect me to go on my way. Where do I go, Mama? The house will be gone.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll figure it out. You’re not to worry, understand?”
I nod, tears in my eyes. “I don’t want to go.”
“I know, baby. I know. But I need you to be strong, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now dry your eyes, and don’t think about your past. I don’t want you to look back. I only want you to look forward. I know there’s so much changed, but I want you to think long and hard about what will make you happy, truly happy. Okay? Because I want you to have a happy life, Kami, more than anything. Promise?”
“All right. I promise.” It’s a little thing and it makes her happy. I hug her tight.
She releases me and takes my hand, lacing our fingers. “Let’s go. Your groom wants to get on the road, and after all he’s done for us, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
We go downstairs, each lugging a suitcase. Santos loads them in his waiting truck, lifting the heavy bags like they weigh nothing.
My mother gives me a final hug and Santos opens the truck door for me. I climb in the passenger seat, wipe my eyes and face front. Before Santos can climb in on his side, my mother stops him. I can hear her voice through the glass.
“Promise me one thing. Don’t let her miss her graduation. My attorney tried to get them to delay my sentence another week, but they’ve already delayed it a year. They won’t budge another week. It’s next Saturday.”
“I’ll try, Barb, but I can’t promise.”
She nods, and hugs him. “I understand. You take care of my baby.”
“I will. That I can promise you.”
She steps back, and he climbs in the driver’s seat. Without another pause, he fires the engine and puts it in gear, heading us toward the road.
As we roll down the drive, I can’t help craning my neck to see my mother one more time. She has her face in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking with her sobs.
Santos reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Don’t look back, babe.”
I turn and face front, silent tears rolling down my cheeks.
We travel for hours, and eventually drive into a storm. The weather matches how I feel on the inside—dark and gloomy and despairing. Lightning flashes in a crackle across the sky, followed by booming thunder, and the rain becomes a downpour. Vehicles drive slowly with flashers on; some begin to pull to the shoulder.
“See if you can get the weather up on your phone,” Santos says while he tries to find a radio station with an update.
I pull up the National Weather Service, and the current radar. “It’s not going to let up for hours. Heavy rains from here all the way up to the Tennessee border.”
“Great.”
We see an exit coming up and a hotel sign glowing in the distance. Santos flips his turn signal on. “There’s not another exit for a good twenty miles. I’m pulling off.”
A car flies past us at a high speed, fishtailing and almost hitting the overpass abutment.
I grab the dash. “Oh, my God.”
“What an idiot,” Santos agrees.
When we get to the end of the ramp, he turns towards the hotel and pulls in. The lot is full of cars, and a couple more are parked under the portico. We’re obviously not the first to throw in the towel tonight.
Santos pulls in behind one of them, managing to get us out of the rain. “Cross your fingers.”
With that he climbs from the truck and jogs inside.
I peer back at the bed of the truck. My suitcases are all soaked, but luckily they’re hard-siders. My box is pushed up against the back of the cab and the forward movement of the truck kept it mostly dry, but if it stays out in the parking lot all night, it’ll be soaked. I wonder if he’s got a tarp.
I text my mother, telling her we pulled off because of the weather, and we’re trying to find a hotel.
Santos comes back. “Got one.”
“Wait. My box is getting soaked, do you have a tarp?”
“No, but we can move it to the cab. Can you hold it on your lap for now?”
“Sure.”
He gets out and grabs it, bringing it around to me. It’s damp, but I’m thankful my things won’t be ruined.
We find a parking spot in the back of the building.
“Which of those bags do you want?” Santos asks.
“Um, the carryon.”
While he grabs it, I climb out and set the box on my seat. He grabs his own backpack from behind the seat and we dash to the door.
Santos swipes us in with a key card, and holds the door for me. “We’re on the second floor. ”
I follow him down the hall to the elevator, rolling my bag behind me, and a few minutes later, we’re in our room.
This is a well-known chain, and the room is nice. I stare at the one bed.
“Sorry, wifey dear, but I can’t afford two rooms, and Kings were all they had left.”
“If you think we’re doing anything in that bed besides sleeping, you’re mistaken.”
He drops his backpack on the floor. “Let’s get something straight right now. If you’re nursing any silly notion I’m interested in you, forget it. You’re just a favor I owed your mom, and that’s all you are to me. Clear?”
“Crystal.” I set my bag against the wall, and rub my arms. “It’s freezing in here.”
“They’ve got the AC cranked. I’ll turn the heat on.” Santos moves to the thermostat and adjusts it.
“Do you have any money for the vending machine? I’d like to get a cola.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Maybe I want something, too.” He grabs the key card off the dresser and we exit the room. The vending machines are near the front desk. Santos pulls out his wallet. “All I’ve got is a twenty. Let me get some change.”
He moves off toward the front desk, and I stand studying the options.
A guy approaches, swaying slightly, and motions to the snack machine. “You done?”
“Go ahead. I haven’t decided yet.” I smile, waving him ahead of me.
“Thanks. Got the munchies bad, ya know.” He grins back and I can smell the marijuana. He absolutely reeks of it. I notice his eyes are bloodshot as well. I step back, and he loads his money, and makes a selection. The dispenser spins but the bag of chips gets hung up.
“Son of a bitch.” He shakes the machine.
The bag swings, but stubbornly hangs by a corner.
The guy shoves his shoulder into the machine.
“Hey, careful,” I say.
“Damn it. That was all the money I had on me.” He turns his attention to me and moves closer. “You got any extra on you, honey?”