Sure enough, short curls of blond hair peppered the clothes and carpet like forlorn golden question marks. We were both silent for a moment, assimilating this new oddity, and then she giggled.
“He travels around in space naked?”
I snorted, and then we both started laughing. Stress’ll do that.
We spent the rest of that long night dozing in our room, waking up and looking through the open door. But Sal’s room stayed empty except for Pebbles staring watchfully from the bed.
By our noon check out time, we were tired of snack bars and water, the sky was clear and sunny, and we gave up on waiting for Sal. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find us if he wanted to. If he was able to.
The cheerful, white-haired man behind the counter was eager to fill us in on how the storm had nipped the area near Snow’s Cut as a Cat 2, weakening immediately to a Cat 1 before scooting up the coastline and back out to sea. Typical damage—trees down, beach erosion, some houses and mobile homes struck by debris—but no reports of injuries or tornadoes, so all-in-all he thought the Lord had looked out for us. I nodded solemnly.
I wondered if this man was the husband of the lady from last night, and I made a point to thank him for such clean rooms. Hopefully no one would notice the stray blond hairs when they vacuumed. The ones I’d gathered were sorted and smoothed in a tiny bundle now in my pocket. I wasn’t sure why I’d done that, but when I’d caught Eileen watching me, she hadn’t said anything. After all, we lived a mile from Snow’s Cut, and we’d had more than God watching out for us last night.
As we drove into Wilmington, we saw the familiar post-hurricane sights of strewn branches and patches of standing water, but all the intersections had working traffic lights and some businesses were even open.
“Are you starving for some real food? Or should we get Pebbles home first?” At the sound of her name, she looked up from where she’d been sleeping on Eileen’s lap.
“We should check on Adam.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart . . . you heard Sal, right?” She flopped her head back against the seat. “Just . . . let me get you home first.” I glanced out the windshield up at the sky. “I think since we remember everything, Sal must still be looking out for us.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “If Adam doesn’t call us, I’ll call him.”
But what would I say? What would he be thinking? What would he remember?
“It isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t. But you know what they say . . . ”
“That aliens are like vacuums?”
I got it just as she raised an eyebrow. “Maybe one is like a fridge,” I countered.
“Maaaaybe.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, but by the time we pulled onto our muddied, pine straw littered road, Pebbles was mewing and pawing at Eileen’s window.
“She knows we’re almost home.”
“Or she really needs to poop. She hasn’t gone since yesterday.”
“Good point.” Forgot to ask for my twenty bucks back. “Easy, Pebbles, we’re almost—”
“Adam!” Eileen sang out.
It was. His big F150 was in the driveway with a couple of sheets of plywood in its bed; and as we pulled up, I heard the faint sound of a drill from the other side of the house.
“House looks okay.” I parked and slowly turned the key. Eileen waited as the engine quieted, watching me. I hooked my thumb toward a pine leaning on a wiry magnolia. “Might have to call a tree service.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed the door handle. “We have to listen to what he says first! Don’t mention Sal.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” The truck rocked as she slammed her door.
Heavily, I pushed open my own, freeing Pebbles to streak into the woods. “Guess she really needed to go,” I muttered.
“Go where?” Adam startled us both, but he looked relaxed, waving at Eileen before coming up beside me. “Was that your cat?”
“Mmm . . . hey.” I returned his smile just as Eileen tackled him with a hug.
“Hey there, kid! How was the hotel? You missed a good storm.”
She shot me a quick glance. “It was okay . . . I forgot we told you . . . ?”
“What, gettin’ senile already?” He grinned at me. “Did you forget me, too?”
“Of course not.” A dull ache centered itself under my collar bone. “Taking down the boards already . . . ? There’s no hurry.”
“I didn’t have anything else to do.” His half-hearted shrug twisted the ache into stabs. Cara. Baby. Gone.
“I’m starved.” Eileen announced. “Have breakfast with us!”
“You mean lunch, right?” He looked at me. “I don’t want to intrude . . . ?” His lovely hazel eyes were red-rimmed and puffy.
“You’re always wanted, Adam.”
That sounded all wrong, but thankfully, my daughter started chattering away and I was free to duck in the truck for our bags. She was right. It wasn’t fair. Not fair at all! I gathered our things slowly, giving her time to lead him into the house, and when I slammed the back hatch, I flipped an obscene gesture at the sky for good measure. Monitor that!
I couldn’t waste time on emotions now, though; Eileen and I needed to learn exactly what poor Adam’s mind had been altered to believe, otherwise we were going to slip up and say the wrong thing. Clearly he remembered us, which meant he remembered meeting me, and it was probably safe to assume that he remembered the party and all that came of it, too. Or did he? If Cara wasn’t waiting for him at home, where did he think she was? What did he remember about her pregnancy?
I hoisted the bags over my shoulder and grabbed the cat carrier, burdened more by my emotional baggage as I trudged up the steps. Wet pine needles made the wood planks treacherous, and I was exhausted. Psychologically exhausted—and not doing so well physically, either, thanks to a lack of sleep. I paused near the top of the steps,
