The idea of touching my lips to something that Mendenhallâs mouth had been on was nauseating. I could barely stand to hold it in my hand.
âIâll keep this,â I said. âYou go in and get a room.â
Instead, he leaned toward me, apparently deciding my new attitude deserved a kiss.
Again, I gently shoved him away with my palm. âGet a room.â
He almost fell getting out of the truck, and he staggered slightly as he went into the office. As soon as he was inside, I grabbed my phone and tried to call Joe. His phone was out of service. I debated throwing Mendenhallâs suitcase out right there, but by the time Iâd left a message for Joe, Mendenhall was coming back out. I put the phone away.
Mendenhall got into the truck and held up a key card. âAround to the right,â he said, âand I want to assure you that I consider myself a very lucky man.â
âWhatâs the room number?â
âOne twenty-two.â
âGood. Youâre on the ground floor.â
There was a parking spot in front of 122, and I pulled into it. Mendenhall got out and went to the door. By the time heâd fumbled through opening itâhe tried at least four times before he got the card in the slot the right way upâI had taken his suitcase out from behind the seat.
He turned around, smiling, and motioned for me to precede him into the room.
I crossed the walkway and dropped the suitcase in front of him. I handed him the flask. I presented him with the box of chocolate snowmen Iâd forgotten to give him earlier.
âGood-bye,â I said.
Then I got back in the truck and locked the doors. Mendenhall was still standing there, looking stupid, as I backed out of my parking place.
I rolled the window down a few inches and yelled through it. âSomeone will pick you up in the morning!â Then I drove off.
I was halfway back to the office before Mendenhall ran after me, shaking his fist. I could see his lips move, but I was too far away to understand what he was saying.
Leaving the motel, I turned right so that I wouldnât have to wait for traffic to clear. This meant I had to turn around in the parking lot of the supermarket across the street to head back to I-196, but I did not want to linger on the motel grounds.
Once I was on I-196, headed toward Warner Pier, the pace of traffic had picked up, and I was able to drive at top speed for five miles. My phone rang twice, but when I checked the number, I saw it was the one Iâd called to reach Mendenhall. I turned the phone off.
I pulled off at an exit that advertised a McDonaldâs. I went inside, ordered a cup of coffee, sat down at a table, and shook. I donât know if the shaking was caused by nervousness or fury.
After a couple of sips of caffeine, I turned my phone back on and tried to call Joe again. Still no answer. Mendenhall hadnât left a message, and he had apparently quit trying to reach me. I scanned the numbers I had saved in my cell phone. I didnât have George Jenkinsâ number, and I needed to tell him Iâd dumped his juror. I found Ramonaâs number, however, and she needed to be told, too. I called her, but she wasnât answering. I didnât leave a message. Somehow I didnât want a permanent record of anything I might say at that moment.
By then Iâd stopped shaking, and I remembered that Joe kept a Warner County phone book in his truck. I put the lid on my coffee, got back in the vehicle, found the phone book, and called George Jenkins. He didnât answer either.
Sarajane Foster needed to know sheâd have an empty room at the B and B that night, and I tried to call her. No answer there, either, but the answering machine picked up. I left a message saying Mendenhall wouldnât be there until the next day, but I didnât explain why. I simply said he was staying in Grand Rapids that night.
Since it was then after five p.m., in December,