I sat up and Rory propped some pillows behind me. “I need water.” I winced, massaging my temples.
“Okay, I'll be right back,” he said.
I thought about running out right at that instant. But I'd still have to get past Rory, and I was too dizzy to come to my feet without the room spinning. Rory was back quickly with a glass.
“Here.”
I took a long sip, my throat was parched. He hadn't turned on the AC and the bed underneath me was drenched with my sweat.
“Lilly, I didn't mean what happened.”
“You could have just let me leave. You just keep making things worse, Rory.”
“I'm just trying to fix this.”
I knew this was heading into one of our arguments that goes in a circle. I needed to find another way to deal with this newer, more intoxicated, more panicked Rory.
“You need a shower,” I suggested, hoping this would give me some time alone.
“I know. I didn't want to leave your side.”
“I'm okay now. I'm up.” I faked a smile. “Go shower.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “You can't leave, Lilly. Not until I figure this out.”
“I'm not your enemy, Rory. Why don't we just call Bobby and see if he can help?”
“Lilly, he left for California this morning, didn't he?”
This was not the ideal time to reveal my plan to run away with his brother. “Oh . . .” I grabbed my head. “Yeah. Sorry I forgot. My head.”
Rory's eyes softened with guilt. “Besides, I don't want to involve him in this mess.”
“I won't run, I promise. I couldn’t if I wanted to.”
“This will only be a minute.”
I nodded. Rory undressed in front of me, dumping his filthy, tattered, clothes on the floor and walked out of the bedroom to the bathroom.
I tried to come to my feet, it was worth a shot, but severe vertigo kicked in, knocking me back down on the bed. So, it was on to plan B.
The one benefit of Rory being drunk was he forgot about the phone on my nightstand. I reached for it and called the operator. My heart raced as I had her connect me to Bobby's motel. The phone rang and rang and rang. It was too early.
I gently hung up the phone as Rory returned to the bedroom.
“You look a lot better,” I replied. He was still covered in scrapes and bruises, but losing the mud and dried blood helped quite a bit.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. His eyes were heavy. I knew the booze and lack of sleep would hit him, I just hoped it would sooner than later.
“The sun's coming up,” he said lazily. “We should wait until it's dark again. Same plan. We'll say you were home alone for the past couple of days, cooped up, not feeling well. I was in Illinois.”
“Are you sure you don't want to call the cops?”
“Lilly, do you understand what would happen if I did? No. Absolutely not.”
I sighed. This battle would not be won with aggression. I had to get Rory thinking I was on his side. “Fine. We'll do it your way. Why don't we get some sleep?”
“No. I won't be able to sleep until this is fixed,” he said. “I'm making some coffee.” He headed for the bedroom door and then stopped. “Lilly, I'll make this up to you. I'm sorry about Barbie. And I know it will take a long time to forgive me. But this, when we get through this, I am really done. I know I screwed up.”
“When did it start?” I asked. It didn't make what I did right, but if I knew he was with Barbie for a good while, then my marriage was lost before I ever thought of abandoning it.
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“It does.”
He leaned against the door frame. “Two months ago.”
My head throbbed harder as if the pain was responding to his admission. “How?”
“You went to see your sister and Stan was out of town at the same time. She invited me over for a meal. And . . . do we have to go through this?”
“No. That's enough,” I declared. The odd thing was, I wasn't shocked about Rory. It was the natural evolution of our demise. But Barbie, she insisted on being my friend, and it made no sense. Did she stay close to me to be closer to Bobby? Was it because she felt guilty? I couldn't ask her, she was too busy fighting for her life as the man who drove her into a river planned to skirt the blame.
We sat for hours. Most of it in silence. I watched tensely as Rory's head would bob, and then he would bounce up. He was stubborn as always. I stared at the clock, watching my new life slip away with each minute.
At ten-twenty-one the phone rang. Rory and I made nervous eye contact.
“I'll pick it up. I'm supposed to be here.”
I answered as Peggy's voice on the other line updated me on Barbie's condition. I'm not sure I even said much. I think I just nodded and hung up the phone. Maybe I said thank you.
Without looking over at Rory, just gazing aimlessly into the emptiness of the world in front of me, I uttered the words that would change my life; not in the way I had planned hours ago.
“Barbie's dead.”
In retrospect, maybe I should have lied to Rory. Maybe I should have held on to the knowledge of Barbie's death. But I was in shock, too. I was angry with Barbie, but she was a friend and her death hurt. At first Rory took the news in silence. It was a deep silence. The kind you can only achieve by being underwater. In that bedroom, not a bird chirped, not an insect trilled, a sheet did not rustle, a throat was not cleared. I couldn't even hear the grandfather clock taunting me down the hall. It was like a vacuum sucked the noise out of the space as Rory sat there, contemplating how he was responsible for a woman's death.
But that silence only lasted seconds. Like the receding of the ocean before a tsunami. Or the eerie quiet breeze before a devastating storm. Rory stood up and without a word, he exploded, swiping everything off of the closest dresser to him. I recoiled as the objects flew every which way, but Rory didn't see me. It was like I wasn't even there. He unleashed a storm of curses and phrases of self-pity. Not once did he say he say her name. It was at that moment that I realized that I believed him. He didn't love her. He was mourning the shift in his own life. How this accident had affected him. Maybe how it affected us. Perhaps in his mind, Rory really was on the path to getting better, having his last hoorah with Barbie before moving us to Minnesota to start fresh. But it didn't matter anymore. I had made my decision before I walked through the door that night.
When there was nothing left to curse or punch, Rory collapsed to the floor and sobbed, his chest heaving in sharp thrusts as he finally mumbled “sorry” over and over again. I wasn't sure to whom. The dizziness from the fall had nearly subsided, and I cautiously approached him, kneeling next to him, and wrapped my arms around him. He turned and buried his head in my chest like a lost, scared boy.
10:34a.m.
We stayed in that position for a while, until his sobs were muted, and then they stopped altogether. He stood up, nodded once, and left the bedroom without saying a word.
The deadline to meet Bobby was approaching quickly and I didn't see a way out other than to run. Maybe the phone was my better chance. Rory would probably catch me before I ever made it to the front door. I tried not to make a sound as I tiptoed back to the bed to try the motel again. But Rory's footsteps halted my plans for the second time.
I could hear the glass in his hands clanking before he even made it up the stairs. In one hand he managed two bottles: one of whiskey and the other scotch. In the other hand, a highball glass already gleamed with the topaz-colored liquid.
“I don't want to hear it, Lilly,” he professed as soon as he saw my eyes rest on the plunder. “I just need to get through today,” he sighed, tilting the glass on its end against his lips to take the remaining sip of his first drink.