Chapter 2

Anthony Wells was not a remarkable man. He was returning to Las Vegas from another elongated visit with his sister, a woman who owned seven cats and painted ceramic plates. Anthony was the receptionist of the Bellagio Hotel on the main strip, and dreaded having to spend time with his sister, whom he thought wasn't reaching her full potential. It had taken all of his willpower not to bring it up in her presence, and thank God he'd be back home soon so he could forget about her cats and her ugly plates.

No matter how many times she said that she and her husband were perfectly happy with their simple existence, Anthony was too convinced that they never be.

To Clara, Anthony was just the person she and Eleanor needed. He was rich, fairly young, and knowledgeable of the area they were headed to. She'd watched him over the pages of her romance novel, carefully planning what to say to him. He was right across the aisle from their seats, and she made sure Eleanor sat by the window.

He was reading Great Expectations on his e-reader device, an interesting choice; he claimed to be partial to older novels, finding them much more "intellectually stimulating" than the newer books that tended to be more successful. Clara let him drone about his thoughts, giving him a sweet smile every now and then, putting a hand on his knee at one point. She gave Eleanor several "please don't talk" looks, since her daughter was fond of book discussions (and Anthony seemed adamant about his opinion being the only one that mattered). But Clara new better, and wasn't about to have Eleanor chase off a potential connection.

Anthony gave Clara his business card, adding his personal cell number at the bottom before catching a taxi that would take him to the city.

"Why didn't you tell him we have nowhere to stay?" Eleanor asked.

"You'll understand when you're older." Clara sighed. "We can't seem too eager, now, can we?"

"But we –"

"Eleanor, please. I've got a splitting headache."

The time-zone change was the hardest thing to adjust to. Eleanor did the math in her head, glancing at a map she'd seen in the airport. They were approximately eight hours behind what they were used to, and Clara was especially suffering from terrible jetlag. They found an overpass a few miles away from the airport and spent a couple of days sleeping and eating the leftover airport food squished at the bottom of Eleanor's backpack. On the third day, they wandered down the highway, sleeping in an open field and then finding another overpass to take shelter under. Two days later, they found themselves entering the city as soon as the sun was up.

"We're running low on money," Clara noted, looking at her pocketbook. "Stay in the area and wait for me." She kissed the top of Eleanor's head and disappeared into a large crowd gathered on the other side of the street.

Eleanor always hated when her mother would leave her to make them money. It was one thing to leave her in a small town, or a place where there weren't many people around. This pace wasn't like the others they'd been to; it was bright and boisterous and she could easily get lost. Clara never saw the need to buy them cellphones, so how were they expected to meet up again?

She considered calling Anthony from one of the public phones nearby, but Clara had his card in her purse. She didn't understand what ignoring his help was accomplishing. He could get them a hotel room and food, at least. Why ignore him in favor of some strange flirting game Clara was so fond of playing?

It was much sunnier here, as well. Her jeans and red hoodie were making her warm, her under arms already starting to dampen. All this noise was hurting her head. She had to take refuge somewhere cool and quiet, or at least with significantly less people.

She ducked into a coffee shop, opening the map Clara had given her before she'd left. Everything was crammed together, and nothing along the strip suited their need to lay low. There had to be something in this city, somewhere out of the way, just for a while –

"Bit of a mind fuck, isn't it?"

She'd been joined by a young man with a mohawk and leather jacket, spinning a Styrofoam cup in his hands and jiggling his leg. She nodded absently, not sure if she should trust him or not.

"You lost or something?"

No. Never lost. Lost could lead to trouble. Perhaps the truth would help, for once.

"My mother and I need a place to stay."

"Let me guess. Somewhere cheap, right?"

She nodded.

"For how long?"

"A few days, at least."

"How much you got on you?"

"Not very much."

"Do you have any with you?"

She shook her head.

"Right." He sat for a minute, frowning at the table top. "Hang on a sec." He went to the front counter and came back a minute later with a water cup, which he pushed over to her. She accepted it quietly as he tore off a corner of the map and wrote something down. "Here. This is right at the edge of the strip, before the road goes through the desert. It's cheap, but it's pretty decent for a motel."

Eleanor studied the address he'd given her. "Thank you."

"You here by yourself, then?"

"I came with my mother."

"And where is she at? You need me to call her for you?"

"She doesn't have a phone."

"Doesn't have a –" He shook his head. "Whatever. I'll give you my number if you need anything else." He wrote his name – Travis – on the back of the scrap, followed by his number. "Just go to a payphone or use the motel's phone or something. You said you have money, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright, that's good. You…want me to wait here with you until your mom shows up?"

"I'll find her." Eventually. She always did.

"You sure? I mean, I'd hate to leave you sitting here all by yourself."

She stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly.

"I'm assuming that's a no." He shook his head and stood. "Alright. You have my number if you need me, okay?"

"Thank you."

"No problem. It was nice meeting you – what's your name?"

"Eleanor Webb."

"Eleanor." He nodded at her. "Travis Tate. I'll see you around, then." He took his empty cup, threw it into a trash can, and walked out the front door.

Eleanor looked again at the scrap he'd left her. The motel was called Shark Ridge, and the cost didn't look too terribly expensive. She just had to find her mother.