Cliff grabbed her hand to see how bad it was.
“I got a first aid kit in the office,” Ed told them. “Be right back.”
In a few minutes Ed was cleaning her wound, wrapping it with a Band-Aid. “Ah, you’ll be fine. Just a little cut but one heck of a bleeder. Must be a full moon coming, though you can’t see it for all the clouds.
“Thank you,” Cliff said. “We’ll pay for the window.”
Ed glanced back toward the bathroom, the broken glass on the floor. “Those windows are old. Needed replacing anyway. I’m just glad you’re okay, ma’am.”
“Come on, Michelle. Let’s go home.” Cliff reached his hand out to her.
“If you’re checking out, here,” Ed told them. “Let me refund your money. I’ll be right back.”
“No,” Michelle said. “Please, I’ve caused you enough problems tonight. Keep the money and send me a bill for the window. You have my address.”
Ed stayed behind when they walked from the room.
Michelle headed into the parking lot. The night was brisk. Michelle had nothing but her lightweight cotton blouse. Snowflakes floated down onto the hood of a parked car. Cupping the bottom of her purse, she felt the pistol. She ran her fingers along the barrel. What was she doing with a gun? What was she doing here? She bent her head back and looked up at the night sky, milky black and bloated with snow. It had been nearly seventy degrees at noon, Michelle thought, wondering how the day could have changed so completely. Maybe she hadn’t been paying attention.
“Here, put this on.” Cliff slipped his jacket over her shoulders.
Cliff unlocked the passenger-side door. Michelle climbed in and started shivering. The windows fogged. Cliff turned the key, his profile a dark silhouette against the lights of the motel. She watched Ed walk toward her room carrying a piece of cardboard and a roll of duct tape.
When Cliff turned from the motel parking lot onto Main Street, a string of yellow traffic lights flashed above the street, blinking haphazardly, like a swarm of frenzied fireflies. The street was abandoned, the dark windows of businesses reflecting other businesses, most of the signs unlit. They passed Pink’s real estate office. Darcy’s Explorer still sat where Michelle had left it that morning.
“Cliff, stop. I’m gonna drive Darcy’s car up to the cabin.”
“We’ll get it tomorrow. On the way home.”
He hadn’t even bothered looking over, as if he’d already made up his mind to leave it, had already decided their future. She felt a heat rising up in her chest against Cliff’s assumption she was flawed in some way, weak, feeble, incapable of directing her own life.
“Stop the fucking car!” Michelle grabbed the wheel.
“Christ, Michelle, you trying to kill us . . . !”
“Pull over, Cliff. Pull over now!”
Cliff glanced over briefly before shifting his eyes back to the road. Snow blew past the headlights. He eased the car to the shoulder.
“I’ve had it, Cliff,” she said. “You’re not making all the decisions. You’re not telling me what to do! I’m driving Darcy’s car back to the cabin.”
She was almost out the door when Cliff grabbed her arm. She glared back at him, at his hand squeezing her bicep. “Be careful, okay?” he said.
“Jesus, Cliff, I’m not fucking helpless.” She was almost out the door then stopped.
“You called the police on me, Cliff?” she said. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Christ, Cliff, I saw them in front of the real estate office. How could you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Michelle. I didn’t call the police. I came into town for groceries and saw Darcy’s Explorer, so I made a quick left and cut some guy off and he ran into a parked car. Luckily no one was hurt. That’s why the police were there.”
She stared at him a second. “Fuck.” She jumped out and slammed the door.
Cliff’s car sat motionless, the brake lights burning bright red across the snow-dusted pavement, as Michelle walked back to Darcy’s Explorer. The cold felt good on her face, the snowflakes refreshing. She looked back. Cliff’s vehicle hadn’t moved. Why did he have to come? For once, why couldn’t he just let it be, leave her to figure this out on her own? She didn’t want his help. He couldn’t help anyway. They might as well have been strangers who’d never met before and having him here was frustrating.
Chapter 19
Pink drove his Suburban. Claire sat in the back seat, Kenny in the front, his back against the door, gun pointed at Pink. Occasionally Kenny glanced back at Claire, smiled and then brought his eyes back to Pink. Pink wasn’t sure if Kenny was crazy enough to shoot them or not, but when they were younger, he’d seen Kenny wound rats with a pellet rifle down by the water treatment plant. Kenny loved to watch them spin in circles trying to get up. Eventually he’d walk over and crunch their skulls with his boot—but not until he’d heard a good bit of squealing.
“What’s that on the seat, Claire?” Kenny pointed the gun at something shiny next to her. She picked it up.
“A camera.”
“Hand it here.”
Claire reached it over the seat.
“This is one of them digital cameras, like you got—isn’t it, Claire?” Kenny said. “Looks like the same brand.” Kenny poked Pink in the shoulder with the tip of the pistol. “You get a two for one special on cameras or something?”
“I bought my camera with my own damn money!” Claire said.
It was true, she had paid for it with her own money, but Pink had gotten both cameras from a man who dealt in stolen goods. Claire had wanted a digital so she wouldn’t have to wait for her pictures. She’d shown Pink how to take the memory card to Val-U-Mart and print out the photos. “See how easy it is?” she’d told him. Pink thought it was a lot of unnecessary trouble, but it did save time with newspaper listings. For those, he only had to take the card to the Ardenwood Press and Ramsey took care of copying the images.
Kenny turned the camera on and perused the pictures in memory. “Why in hell did Clarence take pictures of his nasty toes? Did you see these, Claire?” Laughing, Kenny turned the camera display so Claire could see.
“Oh, stop it, Kenny. Let’s go back home. This is silly.”
“What’s silly is you and Pink, Claire.” Kenny laughed again, studying the photos of Clarence’s feet. “You’re cousins, for Christ’s sake. That’s disgusting.”