Page 81 of The Close-Up
“Hang in there,” Simon says. “Just a five-minute drive and we’ll get you to your room.”
“Thanks for this,” he says quietly as I drive. “I’m sure you didn’t think you’d be spending your weekend taking care of my sister.”
“It’s not a problem. Honestly.”
Simon directs me to the hotel, and I pull into the parking lot and into the first free spot I see. I hop out and round the car to help him pull Amy out of the backseat, but then I hear a lurching noise. I freeze. I know what that means. Amy falls back into the seat and starts to dry heave. When I realize she’s about to upchuck in my rental car, I go to grab her, but Simon has the same idea because he pulls her by the arm so that her torso hangs out the open door. She promptly spews onto the pavement.
He winces, then looks over to me. “And sorry for that.”
“Yeah. So sorry.” Amy wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
I hold back a sigh. “It’s okay. You didn’t get it in the car, it’s all good.”
Simon pulls Amy out, supporting her left side. She’s so wobbly that I’m scared she’ll fall, so I immediately take her right. I noticed he’s slung my camera bag over his shoulder too, and I tell him thanks.
“You think you’ll get sick again?” I ask Amy.
“Nope. I mean, I’m pretty sure I won’t.”
The three of us slowly make our way to the hotel lobby. Even though I’m partly distracted with Amy, I still take in the stunning design and décor. The earthy adobe tile roof shrouding the building and the cream-hued stucco exterior set a rustic tone. We make our way along a stony pathway under a wrought iron arch with the words “Rancho Caymus” greeting us. Heavy wooden doors lead to a cozy reception area. We walk through and make it to the outdoor courtyard, which boasts a pool and a hot tub. Individual rooms line the perimeter.
“Wow,” I muse. “This is such a cute—”
Amy breaks out of our hold and darts to the nearest trash can, vomiting once more.
A heavy sigh rockets out of Simon. I walk over to where she’s hunched over and gently rub her back.
“That’s it. Get it all out.”
Simon fishes her room key out of his pocket and walks over to her room just a few doors away.
I help Amy stand up and we start to walk over, but then she halts. A panicked look crosses her face. She starts to turn toward the trash can but it’s too late. She lurches before I can move out of the way, and then it happens. She spews all over my chest.
Chapter Seventeen
Amy’s eyes go wide as she looks at me. “Oh no... I’m so sorry, Naomi.”
I bite down and try not to gag at how wet and warm and chunky her vomit feels on my skin.
Simon spins around, horrified.
“Just...hold on. Let me get her in bed with a trash can next to her and make sure she’ll be okay, and then I’ll help you get cleaned up in my room.” He stares unblinking at my face, like he can’t bear to look at the vomit a second longer.
Gritting my teeth, I force a breath through my nose and nod. “Just. Hurry. Please.”
Holding my hands away from my torso, I close my eyes and force deep breaths in and out, trying with everything in me to ignore the hot, wet liquid coating my favorite cream blouse. I hunch over so I don’t drip all over my jeans, but it’s no use. It soaks through my shirt to my bra.
The door opens to reveal Simon’s panicked face. He mumbles that his room is the next one and whips out his room key.
I stand behind him and bounce up and down on my heels while wringing my hands, like I’m doing some sort of awkward dance.
“Hurry hurry hurry! It’s warm and wet and so gross!”
It’s a struggle to keep my volume low when I’m squealing out of sheer disgust. I’ve never had another person’s vomit on my body before and it is absolutely vile. Is this how Simon felt when I vomited on him?
He opens the door. I walk into his room and drop my purse and camera bag on the stone floor.
When we’re inside, I eye the bathroom door on the other side of the room. “Shower. I have to shower.”
