Page 128 of Past Due

“You’ve gone on cruises before,” I reminded her. “You didn’t have problems on those.”

“That’s true,” she said and packed away the toiletries and the opened packages of clothing. “Did you make it to Spain on your trip?”

“No, but I met a really nice Spanish guy while I was hiking. He lives in The Woodlands, and we became friends.” I decided not to go into his injury. “He’ll be back in a few weeks, and we’re going to meet up for dinner.”

“And Besian doesn’t mind?” she asked, concerned.

“No, he doesn’t mind.” Not anymore, at least.

“You’re happy with him?” She searched my face for any sign of regret. “He’s good to you?”

“I’m very happy, and he is good to me.”

“It won’t always be easy,” she warned, “but if you two really love each other and you’re committed to making it work, marriage can be a wonderful thing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She unzipped the coveralls and sat next to me. “I didn’t actually think he would get me out of the country this easily.”

“He made a promise, and he always keeps his word.”

She jammed her legs through the coveralls until her feet poked out the bottom. She stood up and stuck her arms through the sleeves. The coveralls were probably a size too big, but they didn’t look too ridiculous. “I hope I pass as a ship worker.”

“You will.” I handed her the boots. “Ew! They’re greasy!”

“They smell like they came off a donkey’s ass,” she said and made a gagging face.

“I’ll be right back. If Besian knocks, answer the door.” I ducked into the bathroom and scrubbed the oil and grime from my fingers with the smelly water and cheap bar soap.

Besian had returned when I walked back into the main part of the room. He handed my mother five heavy white envelopes. “To help you get started,” he explained. “Zec will make the banking arrangements for your new life. Until then, this should see you through.”

“You keep envelopes stuffed with cash in your car?” I asked, stunned.

“How else would I have access to money if I needed to run?”

Well, he had me there. “Were they in the glove box? Isn’t that dangerous to have money just sitting around like that?”

“No, rrushe. They’re in compartments I had installed.”

“What did he call you?” Mom asked as she stuffed the envelopes into a Walmart bag.

“Grapes,” I said, catching Besian’s eye and smiling.

“Grapes?” Perplexed, she glanced at him and then me. “Are you serious?”

There was a knock at the door, and Besian turned to answer it. “It’s an Albanian thing.”

“Clearly,” Mom muttered.

Besian checked the peephole and unlocked the door. A woman around my mother’s age wearing similar coveralls stepped into the hotel room. She didn’t bother introducing herself and was rather brusque as she asked, “You the one joining our crew?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Then let’s go.”

Mom turned toward me, and I raced into her arms. We hugged one last time, clinging and squeezing and pushing all the love we had for each other into the embrace. She patted my back twice and then broke away from me. She grabbed her Walmart bags and cleared her throat. “I’ll call you later, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Mom.” Later? When would later be? A day? A week? A month?

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