She's already gone when he walks out of the bathroom fully clothed. The tiny room is still dark but he can tell she's no longer snoozing in the creaky bed. Her bag is missing from the threadbare easy chair.
His stomach drops out from under him, the sudden feeling of emptiness leaving him adrift. He stands perfectly still, blinking as though he's not seeing reality. Disappointment is lodged in his chest where he thinks relief should be, and it pisses him off.
He snatches his overnight bag up and lets the door slam behind him as he sullenly stomps to the motel office to check out. It's dusk, the sky a pale orange sherbet melding into navy blue as the sun disappears from view. He can't believe how long he slept curled up next to her.
The bell above the door tinkles cheerfully as Danny pushes through it, bright fluorescent light shuddering overhead. One of the bulbs is on its last leg, making a buzzing noise every few seconds as it flickers.
And there she is, ugly blue poncho draped over her once again as she leans on the counter. The oily looking man behind it is smiling up at her, brushing crumbs off his stained western shirt. He looks like a wannabe bull rider with his bolo tie hanging loose beneath the collar.
Mindy has one hand on the other man's forearm, and she's laughing, but it doesn't sound right, not like the few times he's heard it before. It's tinny, like a lo-fi recording playing in a loop.
The man nods and reaches under the counter, pulling out a handful of tiny shampoo bottles. Mindy sweeps them off the counter and into her bottomless bag with a toothy grin. "I just love that lavender shampoo." She says the word love like it has three syllables, and Danny rolls his eyes behind her. "Thanks a lot, Merle"
Danny's attention flits down to the man's shirt, searching for a name tag, but there isn't one. The idea that they've been chatting for a while unnerves him, and he steps forward, clearing his throat.
Mindy whirls around in surprise, her wide eyes lighting up at the sight of him. He forgets to breathe for a second, robotically moving forward to lay the room key on the counter. The recently conjured images of her pop back up again. He can feel his cheeks flaming, and he's grateful that he skipped shaving.
Merle snatches the key off the counter, breaking the strange tension in the air. He casts Danny a look of disgust before returning his attention to a wrinkled magazine.
Danny ignores the ire radiating from the unbathed man, instead focusing on Mindy. "We need to get a move on."
She holds up her index finger, the universal sign for "one second please," and turns back to the now recalcitrant motelier. "Is there any place close by where we could get something to eat, Merle?"
She says his name like its delicate spun sugar, and as if by magic the sour expression on his face sweetens. He pointedly ignores Danny as he gives Mindy the name of a place just a few miles down the road.
The bell tinkles again as Danny shuffles wordlessly through it, leaving Mindy to charm her newfound friend alone. He gets about three steps before he's searching through his pockets for the slightly mashed cellophane pack that lives in his jacket pocket.
He's not a smoker, not really, but sometimes when he feels restless or frustrated it's just the thing he needs to slow his racing thoughts. It's easy to sit still when there's something to occupy his hands, especially if that something has nothing to do with the thing that's making him restless.
He's smoked more on this roadtrip than in the entirety of his adult life, and yet he still refuses to call himself a smoker. The ashtray in the rental car is meticulously clean, and the upholstery doesn't even have the faintest whiff of tobacco. But right now, he's not searching for his cigarettes because he has anxiety about his father.
Much like mother's telling their squirming little boys to sit on their hands in church, Danny is looking for a way to keep himself from reaching out and grabbing the dangling ponytail of the girl sitting in front of him, tugging on it until she pays attention to him.
He sits on the hood of his car, waiting for Mindy to finish her riveting conversation with Merle. His fingers trace the gold line separating the filter from the long white tube. She would know if he smoked it, the smell seeping into his clothes and lingering on his hands. The image of her nose wrinkling in disgust amuses him. He can't help it when the corner of his mouth quirks up. He doesn't know why, but he's sure she'd take issue with it, in spite of the other things she no doubt inhales herself, and the idea of getting her riled up about something is more than a little appealing.
He hears the bell tinkle over the door, jumping like he's been caught red handed stealing money from the church collection box. The offending item gets shoved back in his jacket pocket in a jerky motion, loose grains of tobacco exploding around his fingers as it gets crushed. He pushes off the car, reaching to take her bag for her. "Let me."
She looks at him a little strangely, eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out why he's being so helpful. Better to not question these things, she decides. He's in a hurry again, ready to move on down the road. Her bag gets tossed carelessly into the back seat with his own.
A full five minutes pass in companionable silence, the only sound between the two of them the humming of the engine as it winds up and shifts gears automatically. "Cigarettes are disgusting, by the way."
She brushes away a few errant pieces of unsmoked tobacco from his thigh before turning her attention to the radio, quickly finding a station playing bubble gum pop. Danny figures she wins this round, saying nothing as Britney Spears's autotuned voice pours from the speakers.