Page 16 of The Stranger

CHAPTER EIGHT

WALKER

Hot water has never felt so good.

I melt into it.

Allow it to melt into me.

Close my eyes and sink into the heat. The blissful, beautiful, life-altering heat.

It’s magical. Madness. Beautiful. Everything all at once.

I stand in the water, not washing my body or daring to move. I can’t. I just need to stand here, stand still, and feel. Exist.

It wasn’t until the moment the scalding water hit my skin that I realized just how chilled to the bone I was. My toes are bright red, along with my knees and ankles. From the heat of the water, the rest of me is quickly becoming just as red.

I form a cup with my hands in front of my chest, collecting the water in handfuls and dropping them down over myself.

As my body finds a normal temperature and the initial euphoria of the warmth wears off, I begin to form rational thoughts again.

And, not surprisingly, my first thoughts are of her.

I try to convince myself it’s because she’s a stranger in my room. A stranger who has taken over my night, who is grumpy and ungrateful, and without whom I might’ve made it farther than I did, might’ve passed through the closed interstate before whatever happened to close it occurred.

But I know it’s not the whole truth.

For some inexplicable reason, this woman fascinates me. For all her stubbornness, her rage, her inability to answer a question, I can’t help wanting to spend time with her. Wanting to know her better. Ask one more question.

As terrible as it sounds, as much of an ass as it makes me, I can’t help the quiet voice in the back of my head that seems to be hoping her friend won’t make it tonight. That she’ll have to stay. That she might stay in this room with me for another hour or so, talk to me more, fight with me, even.

Maybe I have frostbite to the brain. Honestly, it’s the only logical explanation.

I also—and this is the more rational side of my brain, thankfully, glad to know it’s still in there—wonder who she is. Did she lie about that? Why was she running? Who is this mysterious man who hurt her? Is it his blood on her shirt? Or hers? Maybe someone else’s entirely?

There are so many mysteries surrounding her. So many questions left unanswered.

I can’t imagine what my parents would think of what I’m doing, but I’m sure they wouldn’t be pleased. Don’t leave her alone on the highway, sure, but to pick her up and bring her to a motel with me? I’m not sure they’d advise that I go this far.

I can’t help thinking of Ernest and his wife, wondering what life must be like for them out here. Alone. For the last year, I’ve been alone. With friends, at times. But ever since Alicia and I broke up, I’ve kept my nose down, grinding at work. I never downloaded my old dating apps again or took my friends up on the offers to be set up. Maybe it’s because I wanted to give myself time to get over the girl I thought I might marry someday, or maybe it’s because I don’t know what I want in life anymore.

Part of me has always thought I’d end up back home, that I’d settle down like my parents, and like Ernest, but another part has always craved the adventure Tibby talked about earlier.

There’s this road I take to work every morning, and on it, I pass two houses, side by side. One is an older farmhouse with a classic wraparound porch, shutters, and character. The other is completely modern. Clean. It has black siding and large windows. They’re so completely opposite, and yet I can picture living my life happily in either one. Two different lives, two different paths. In one, it’s a quiet life. A wife. Two kids. A dog. We drink coffee on the porch together each evening and soak up the sunset. Christmases are cozy at our house, and we’re the hosts for every family party.

The other is a bachelor life with all the amenities. I work my way up in the company, earn a great salary, and have my suits dry-cleaned. I’m happy alone. I watch what I want and do what I want. My house is always clean. There are no pets or sticky handprints to clean. It’s not empty or lonely but fulfilling.

I see both options so clearly, and most days, I just wish someone would tell me which one to choose.

Today, Tibby is like that second house. Here I was thinking I had my life figured out. That I was happy. Fulfilled. Then she came along, and now I don’t know anything except that I want to get to know her more.

When the hot water starts to run out, I shut it off, shivering instantly as I pull the curtain back and step onto the thin rug on the tile floor.

The small bathroom is filled with steam, rising up toward the yellow ceiling. I reach across the maroon counter to wipe the filmy mirror clean, getting a better look at myself.

I should’ve brought my suitcase in here, I realize, and it was honestly nothing but pure desire to be in hot water that made me forget. I wrap a towel around my waist, then run a hand over my hair and pull open the door.

I stick my head out into the room, and my heart drops when I realize it’s empty.

---