Why she thought of that now she couldn’t guess. Libby made up an address, scribbled the signature and pushed the card back toward the woman.
“That’s forty-nine eighty-two with tax.” She shifted the child to her other hip and peeked into the backroom. “Damien, get down from that cupboard right now or I’l tan your little hide. No more cookies!”
Libby counted out fifty dolars and placed it carefuly on top of the card.
“That child wil be the death of me yet, the rotten little bugger, just like his father.”
Libby smiled weakly and hoped the woman would remain distracted and not question why a teenager was renting a room at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.
“Here you go, room eight.” She handed her the key and her change. “I’ve gotta get this one changed before I have a bigger mess on my hands.” The woman scooped the cash and card behind the counter then vanished into the chaos of the back room.
Libby picked up the key and then paused to be sure the clerk wouldn’t return. When the coast was clear she took a huge handful of candies from a dish on the counter. She walked with a skip in her step as she went to find her room. A clean bed, a warm shower and hard candy to enjoy, life was looking up.
The room turned out to be little more than a closet. The wals were thin and the fuzzy old television barely worked. The shower wals were marred by rusty water stains, but the faucet provided hot water. Between the tiny soap for shampoo and the touch of water, butter soft as it roled over her, she hadn’t felt this good in weeks.
Libby spent more time under the spray washing out her panties and socks. Finaly, exhaustion and wrinkled finger tips coaxed her to turn off the shower. After drying with a thin towel and hanging her undergarments over the shower rod, she fel into bed, asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pilow.
The next morning Libby woke slowly. She’d slept straight through the evening to the next day. She sat up in bed and noticed her groggy reflection in the dresser’s chipped mirror. Her hair was a mess of blond, split-ends; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d trimmed it. The tangled strands fel to her waist. Dark circles shadowed below her eyes. She realy needed mascara. Her adrenaline had been churning for so long from her fear of being caught, that she’d let her looks go.
She needed to regroup and figure out what to do next. Her money would only pay for another night or two and then she’d be out on her own again. While in Chicago, waiting overnight for the next bus south, she slept on the streets and spent most of the night terrified, freezing and heartbroken.
She pushed the thoughts away. A pity party wouldn’t solve any thing. She got up and slipped into her dirty jeans and puled on a cami and a long-sleeved shirt. Her socks were stil damp, so she set them on the heat register and slipped into her tennis shoes sans socks. She pushed her cash deep into the front pocket of her jeans.
Her life savings. It was meager, but enough to survive on for a few more days. After sliding the room key in her back pocket she grabbed her coat and braced the cool December air.
The squeaky door of the office announced her arrival. The familiar drone of a kid’s show seeped in from the next room. The frazzled voice of the desk clerk sounded as she popped her head around the doorway to see who interrupted. She held a phone to her ear. “Just a minute,” She said and disappeared behind the wal.
Libby examined the tourist pamphlets displayed in a rack while she waited for the conversation to end.
“No, I don’t know when I’l be able to bring the kids again.
I’m trying to keep this place afloat by myself and Jimmy, Jr.’s asthma is flaring up again. Jimmy, I’m not blaming you. I’m doing the best I can is al. I gotta go, I’ve got a customer.” Libby heard the phone clunk back onto the cradle and pretended to read a brochure about underground caves.
“Men.” The woman said, coming back around the corner.
“You certainly can’t live with ‘em and it’s near impossible to live without ‘em.” She pushed her bleached hair out of her flushed face.
“You checking out?”
“Uh, no. Do I have to yet?” Libby