Page 11 of Forgotten

Still, it was curious she wasn’t there. I wondered what time it was and realized I had left my phone in the living room with my pants. Searching around for a remote, I found one on the bedside table and clicked on the television. Immediately, in the top right corner, the time appeared. Eleven-fifty-two.

Ahh.

Scooting out of the bed as the Weather Channel continued to show how bright and godawful hot it was going to be today, I made my way into the living room, not bothering to put anything on. I had a mild hope she would be in there, sipping coffee or eating the sandwiches she’d brought over.

Unfortunately, I was alone, and all of her clothes were gone. I searched for a note, something she might have left me with a phone number on it, or any other way to contact her and found nothing. A faint memory clicked in my head that she said she had something to do this morning, and I felt a twinge of guilt for how obviously little sleep she’d gotten, and how she was likely still wearing last night’s clothes.

Still, I had a late checkout for one in the afternoon, a requirement I had put in for every room I was booked by Flynn, which meant I had just an hour to get showered, changed, and back on the road. Without another way to contact Charlotte, I had to think of something. I picked up the ancient and out of place hotel phone on the kitchenette counter and hit the button for the lobby. Maybe she was there and would pick up. Wouldn’t that be convenient?

“Front desk, this is Stan.”

“Hey, Stan,” I said casually. “This is Jesse from room, uhh…”

“Eight hundred,” he said. “It comes up on the screen when a guest calls.”

“Right. Eight hundred. Anyway. I am a friend of Char—I mean, April’s. April Garafalo? Is she in?”

“No, I’m sorry, she left earlier.”

“She left?” I asked.

“Yes, she was with another gentleman around ten. She hasn’t returned, but I can leave a note for her to contact you.”

“Ahh,” I said, crushed. “No, that’s fine. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

I hung up before he could respond and hung my head. Of course she was taken. She was gorgeous and smart and funny and somehow even more of all of those things than she had been eight years ago. She must have not been able to stop herself lastnight and now was going to go back to her normal life, having checked my name off some bucket list.

As depressing a thought as that was, I tried to see the bright side. At least I got to cross her name off my list too. Even if that meant that I now didn’t have a list anymore, because she was the only one ever on it, and everyone else was just a placeholder.

Sighing, I gathered up my clothes and tossed them in a ball on the bed. Opening up my bag, I grabbed my fresh clothes and took them with me to the bathroom. Remembering the bottle by the door, I came back out and grabbed it, popping it open and taking a swig as I turned on the water.

I was sure the bus wasn’t going to leave until one. Kevin never got out of hotels on time. For this leg of the journey, I would let him drive my car, and I would ride the bus. The whiskey was going to make sure I wasn’t driving.

I got myself clean and mostly drunk before I got out of the shower and got dressed. My phone was ringing on the bed, and I got excited before I remembered I didn’t give Charlotte my number. Pulling out the phone, I saw the name and was disappointed yet again.

“Hey, Flynn,” I said.

“Hey there, boss,” he said. “How was the room? Everything up to your standards?”

I huffed a laugh. “The room was great,” I said. “Thanks. I think I am going to ride the bus down today though, so make sure they don’t take off without me.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “I’ll have someone get your car to Arlington. Don’t worry about a thing, superstar. I got you. Flynn Moody has always got your back.”

“Thanks,” I said evenly. People who spoke like that usually had an ulterior motive. I just didn’t care what his was. Not right now, anyway. “Hey, just a question.”

“Sure, champ.”

“When you booked this room, did you speak to someone about it? An April?”

“In April? No, I booked it yesterday, actually.”

“No, notinApril. An April.”

“Oh. No… No, I don’t believe so. I spoke to a guy. Stan? Stan, I think.”

“Ahh,” I said.

“Why? Was something wrong with the room?”

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