As soon as the gambler had gone next door, Ellis busied himself in fixing up the appliances. There wasn't any sense in being anxious like he was. Nick would set things straight. Or, at least, he'd get all of this out in the open.
And then, he supposed, they could all move on. In whatever directions that may be.
His ears perked up when he heard a light knock, turning to face around as Rochelle let herself in.
"Oh, hey, Ro'," he greeted before bending back over his project, screwdriver in hand.
"Hey, sweetie," the girl returned, closing the door before walking over. She stooped, pausing to watch him for a bit as he tightened the stripped wire of the blowdryer to the connection point. "Well, aren't you being industrious?" the producer tittered, putting her hands on her hips.
The mechanic nodded. "Well, tryin' ta be, at least." He needed to go fetch a car battery from one of the vehicles down in the parking lot, but he was getting everything else hooked up first so then maybe he could get his own clothes dry. "Nick's got dibs but ya kin use it after him," he went on. "I'm settin' up the iron too, an' I reckon a microwave since we got a couple more packs'a oatmeal an' whatnot. Hopefully we kin divide e'erythin' up so we all get enough tuh eat, I know we ain't got much…" He was rambling aimlessly and he knew it, but he just didn't know what else to say to the girl that wasn't in regards to the conversation he knew was going on next door. "'Course maybe when the rain lets up we kin see if there's a grocery down the street or somethin', restock a'fore we head out again, be nice tuh have some real food again. I dunno 'bout'chu, but I been real hungry all day…" He forced his mouth to stop and went silent.
Rochelle took a seat next to him, crossing her legs. She ran her palms up and down the thighs of her jeans absently, sighing. Ellis listened to the rain coming down outside. "Kinda sucks about Coach, doesn't it?" she asked then, smiling at him a touch sorrowfully.
Ellis turned his blue eyes to her, askance. "He told'ja?"
She nodded, fiddling with some top stitching that was coming loose on the comforter. "Just a couple minutes ago." She shook her head, hooped earrings swaying. "I can't believe he didn't tell us earlier..."
"Me neither," the southerner mumbled unhappily, tossing his screwdriver aside, momentarily abandoning his work. "Tallahassee ain't that far off… Ain't gonna be easy without him, I kin tell ya that." His stomach gnawed with anxiety.
"We'll just have to make do." She smiled then, putting a hand to his shoulder and squeezing tight. "I'm not too worried, what with you and Nick around."
The mechanic chuckled, feeling a small swell of pride in his chest; he tugged the brim of his cap. "Thanks, Ro'. Jus' doin' what we can, I reckon." A few seconds passed. He wriggled a little, realizing then he still owed the girl an apology like the one he had tried to give Coach. "Y'know, I meant tuh say…" he led in, locking gaze with her again, "M'sorry for done blowin' up at'chu back there, 'bout'cher family an' all. Weren't real nice'a me…"
"Oh, honey," Rochelle said, the pitch of her voice rising with emotion, "Come here." She wrapped her brown arms around him and gave him a tight hug. The southerner flushed a little at the affection, caught off-guard like he usually was. "I'm not upset at you. At least, I couldn't be for long," she pat his knee and gave him a big-sisterly grin.
Ellis laughed. "Sure, ya say that now," he joked back.
The producer squared her shoulders, putting her hands back to her hips. "If I can get over Eli using my prom dress for a finger-painting canvas, I think you're safe."
The mechanic's eyebrows lifted on his head, issuing a guffaw. "Oh shit, ya didn't murder him fer that?" he asked– he knew just how important a dress could be to a gal, especially a prom dress or wedding dress. Whereas guys could go and rent a tux or whatever, a girl could spend upwards of three hundred dollars for a real nice looking get-up; he'd seen the price tags. Heck, for his own prom he hadn't even gotten his own suit– it was well out of his Ma's price range– instead he had borrowed his grandfather's old wool jacket and slacks, a remainder from the 40s era, a kind of ugly tan and brown tweed mixed with bits of red and blue. It hadn't looked awful, but he didn't think it had looked all that great either. Not to mention he pretty much stuck out like a sore thumb at the dance proper, his unruly hair that refused to lie flat only accentuating matters. Somehow the girls kept asking him to dance though. Must have just been his 'charm' because he also had a pretty notorious couple of left-feet.
"I was tempted…" Rochelle admitted, still smiling as she recalled her story. "He didn't like the boy I was dating." She winked. "He cut into brother-sister playtime."
"Aw… tha's cute," Ellis said. He shook his head. "Yeah, Emma didn't much like it when I started workin' at the shop fer the same reason. We used'ta do things all the time together."
The girl seemed interested, leaning an arm on the bed. "Emma? Is that your sister?"
He nodded. "Youngest, yeah. There's four'a us: me, Elliana, Emmett, and Emma."
"Wow," Rochelle laughed suddenly, her reaction making the springs underneath them squeak slightly, "your folks really liked names that started with 'E', didn't they?"
The southerner flushed a little, always feeling a touch silly whenever someone noticed and pointed out the fact. "Yeah, sometimes makes me wonder what they would'a named the next few," he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. A certain sadness temporarily stole over him. He actually knew what the fifth one's name had been supposed to be. When his Pa got diagnosed, he and Ma had decided to have a fifth child, and agreed upon 'Elliot' on account of the fact it worked for either a girl or a boy, because of course that early on they couldn't tell which it would be and the man wouldn't make it to his or her birth. His Pa had passed and not two months later came the miscarriage. Nearly tore out his Ma's heart.
"Anyway," Ellis shrugged, hurrying to push away the difficult memory, "I was always closest tuh Emma. It was hard tuh keep her outta trouble sometimes. Then again, I encouraged her sometimes," he admitted with a little laugh, nostalgia growing inside him.
"I guess that's the difference between being a big brother and being a big sister. I can't count the number of times I wanted to skin that boy alive." The reporter wagged a forefinger; Ellis laughed.
The doorknob turned, the cardshark returning from next door. Ellis blinked in shock; he hadn't expected that conversation to go quite so fast. The man was very solemn as he entered the suite, like he was carrying a great deal more weight than when he had left, and his very presence seemed to drain all the positive energy right out of the room.
"Well, guess I'll go back now..." the producer said a little disenheartenedly.
"Ya don't hafta," Ellis readily offered, touching her arm. "Ya kin stay wit' us a little longer if'n ya want."
She shrugged. "I probably ought to keep him company. It wasn't exactly an… easy decision for him either, you know?" her brown eyes threatened to mist. "I think any of us in his place would chose to do the same thing."
Ellis felt his head hang with a slight bit of guilt at the claim; as much as he wanted to deny it. "Yeah. Well, was good talkin' to ya, Ro'."
"Yeah, it was fun," Rochelle said. "We should do it again sometime."
The southerner's head bobbed. "Absolutely."
He watched from the bed as the female survivor proceeded to the door and out. He frowned to himself, looking down at his crossed legs before peering towards Nick. The gambler had taken a place in front of the bathroom mirror, both palms flat on the counter, head hung towards the sink, his whole body sagged with despair. Ellis was just about to stand, to go over to him, to ask if he wanted to talk, when the older man gave a yell and wadded up his fist, striking it against the mirror.
The glass shattered and rained down upon the countertop.
Ellis swallowed and picked his screwdriver back up, wordlessly going back to his project.
