the departure kristen tsetsi Sweat cooled Elaine’s thighs under the wedding dress, and heads in the seats in front of them bounced up and down with every roll over a bump in the road. She watched the passing street signs. They’d let each others’ hands go slowly, as if each had hoped the other wouldn’t notice, a few streets back. She couldn’t remember if it had been on Pike or Lafeyette, but she knew with absolute certainty that the church was thirteen blocks behind them, now. Hickam. Fourteen. Benjamin tugged the ‘stop’ string after twenty blocks and looked at her. Past his head and through the window a dull blue motel sign advertised rooms at fifteen dollars. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he said. “It’s just a place to rest. A lot’s happened, and stopping here and resting...we should — we should clear our heads, don’t you think?” He held his hand out to her. When she took it, she found that it was as dry as hers was damp. Benjamin searched his pockets while the front desk clerk waited. “We have numbers for delivery, if you’re hungry,” the clerk said. “No, thank you. We don’t want to eat. We just want a room.” Elaine picked up a handful of dress to study the bottom seam. It had caught on the door to the lobby and she’d yanked it until it tore free, leaving a patch of white satin tucked in a crack of splintered wood. “And there’s a refrigerator by the bed, in case you’re thirsty,” the clerk said, taking a wad of bills from Benjamin. “No, no. That won’t be necessary. We just want a place to rest. Isn’t that right?” He glanced at Elaine. “Just a place to rest.” “Whatever you say.” The clerk evened the edges of the bills and then slid them under the plastic spring-loaded arms in the cash drawer. He hooked his finger in each change bowl, counting out forty-two cents. Between the dime and the nickel, he smiled at Elaine. Elaine smiled back, then studied her hands when Benjamin turned to look at her. “Do you feel all right?” he asked her. “Of course I do. Don’t I look all right?” “Well, sure.” “Don’t worry about me, Benjamin. Let’s just get the key.” The clerk handed them the key and told them the room number and pointed them down the red-and-blue zagged carpet. Elaine’s dress swish-swished against her legs and Benjamin’s pants zip-zipped between his thighs and there was a whistle in Benjamin’s nose. “Benjamin,” she said. “Yeah?” “Do you think you might blow your nose?” “You want me to blow my nose?” “Yes. I hear a whistle in your nose and I think you should blow it.” “Well, if you think I should blow it.” He stopped and she stopped a few steps later. “Now, or when we get to the room?” “Do you have a tissue in your pocket?” He checked his loose pants pockets, keys and change jingling, and then he checked the one over his heart. “No. I don’t have a tissue.” “Then, when we get to the room.” Elaine spun around and swung her dark hair and her big dress and continued down the hallway to their room, room number twenty-three. Benjamin caught up with the key ready and held it just short of the keyhole. “I don’t like odd numbers at all,” he said. “Not one bit. There’s something about them, don’t you think? Something untrustworthy. No, this is wrong. I think I’m going to—” “Benjamin, it’s just a silly number!” “No,” he said. “No, a twenty-three is odd, and odd numbers have rough edges, if you think about it. Even numbers are smooth and round and they work, don’t you see, together. Two and two. Two and four, and four is two twos. Two and six, and six is—” “Benjamin! They’re even because they’re all twos. Two, four, six, eight, ten. You know that.” “I know, but—” “No, now—look. Put your finger here.” She pointed at the door and his finger reached up to join hers. She took it and rubbed it along the numbers, along the edges of the three. “You see? It’s smooth. No rough edges. Not like a four or a one.” He grasped her hand and laughed, then slapped his haunches. “You’re right. Elaine, you’re the most brilliant, beautiful—” “Oh, Benjamin. That’s sweet, but can’t we just go inside? I think I’d like to lie down.” “A nap? I know I need one, after all that—” “Benjamin, please. I don’t want to talk about that.” “Why don’t you want to talk about it?” “I’m very tired, Benjamin.” He slid the key in and opened the door. “Well. What do you think of that?” He held out his arm and swept her in, then closed the door. He tugged the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign from the inside knob and opened the door and hung it on the outside knob, then closed the door again. “What was that?” she said. “What was—what was what?” “What did you just do?” “Well, you said you wanted to sleep, so I hung the sign out there.” “Well, take it back in.” “Why?” “Because. What if — what if someone calls?” “Well,” he said and sat on the bed and gestured to the phone, “it’ll ring in here. They just patch it right through, you know.” “But, what if there’s a problem with the phone and it doesn’t ring, for some reason?” “Well, Elaine, no one even knows we’re here.” “Oh. Well, you’re right about that.” She folded her arms over her chest. “But we should tell someone sometime, don’t you think? I wouldn’t want moth—I wouldn’t want anyone to worry.” “I do think we should, but now you take a nap. No one needs to know where we are, just yet, with everything so raw. I’ll just, I’ll sit right here and keep watch.” “Over what?” “Over you.” “I don’t think I want you to watch me sleep, Benjamin.” “You don’t think it’s romantic that I want to watch you sleep?” “I don’t. Not at all. In fact, I think it’s sort of strange, if you ask me.” “Well, if you think it’s strange.” “I do. I think it’s sort of strange.” “Well, if you think it’s strange, I won’t watch.” “Good.” “I’ll—” He looked around the room from where he sat in the chair until he found the remote control, and then he stood up and walked across the room and picked it up. “I’ll just watch some television.” “Thank you, Benjamin.” She got under the blankets, dress and all, and pulled them to her neck. “Benjamin?” “Yeah?” “I just can’t stand to listen to the whistle in your nose.” Benjamin went to the bathroom and blew his nose, and then sat in his chair and turned on the television. He kept the volume low so he could hear her breathing. The next morning, Benjamin sat in the chair with his feet on the bed and watched a show on plastics. “I want to call home,” Elaine said. Benjamin looked at her. “Good morning!” “I want to call home.” Benjamin reached down behind him and opened and closed the refrigerator. “Do you know they – they don’t keep anything in there?” “I guess some are just for putting your own things in to keep cold.” She lowered the blankets to her ankles and spread her dress flat around her legs. A strand of brown hair fell loose along her neck and Benjamin so wanted to feel that hair between his fingers. “Besides, you know, she’ll just tell you all kinds of things, and she’ll talk you into going home and going through with it all over again. You know how she–” “I don’t need you to tell me about her.” Benjamin opened the refrigerator again, closed it again. “It’s really just — I say, they should put in some of those small bottles they give you on the airplanes for three dollars.” Elaine swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Anyway, Benjamin, let me have the phone.” “How about — let’s — let’s wait, say, a day, and we’ll call her together.” “Not you. Never again.” “Don’t be silly, Elaine. If we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives—” “The rest of our lives?” “Well — yes. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you came with me. I don’t see how I can avoid talking to your mother, is all—” “If you speak to my mother, I’ll stop talking to you now and forever.” “Oh,” he said. He handed her the phone. She dragged it to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. When she came out, she pulled up her dress and sat cross-legged on the bed. “Well?” Benjamin said. “She wasn’t home.” “It seems silly, to me,” he said, “that I should never talk to her. You can’t carry it around with you forever, you know. I already forgot.” “Benjamin, stop it.” He went to the window and opened the curtain and looked outside with his hands in his pockets. “It’s a beautiful morning. We should go out.” “In this?” She picked up the outer layer of her dress and let go. It floated down. “Well, we’ll stop by your house and get you some clothes.” “Benjamin.” “You’ll need clothes, Elaine, and if you have a better idea about how to get them, I mean, well.” “I’ll go alone.” “What’ll I do?” She sighed. “I don’t know, Benjamin. Maybe you can go to the gas station across the street and buy something to put in the refrigerator.” “That wasn’t very nice.” “Oh, Benjamin.” “That wasn’t very nice at all.” “I really do need something else to wear.” The room was bright from the sun. Some of the light seemed to reflect off her dress. “I certainly don’t want to sit alone in a dark hotel room for hours,” he said, “while you’re running around in a wedding dress just waiting for someone to marry you. It’s … and the walls have these — well - smudges on them, of some kind or other.” “Where?” He walked around the room looking at the walls. “They were right here,” he said, not pointing. “Where, Benjamin?” “You can’t see them, not right now. The lighting. But I saw them last night, smudges of I don’t know what, and I’ve heard stories, Elaine.” “What stories?” “Oh, they were very bad. Now isn’t the time, and they’re really — they’re not good stories at all, Elaine.” “Benjamin, I’m going alone and that’s that.” “What if she’s not home and she’s changed the locks?” “Already?” “They probably came out last night right after and changed all the locks.” She blinked her big, brown eyes. “She wouldn’t do that.” “Oh,” he said and laughed. “Oh, well. I saw their faces, and, let me say, they weren’t too happy with you. If I had a daughter that did what you did, I would change the locks.” She sat down in the chair by the table and the sunlight fell across her mouth. “I don’t think I know you at all. Here you are, and here I am, and we’re both here because of you—” He stood behind her and almost touched her hair. “—and now you say you would change the locks if someone else did the very same thing. You think what I did was wrong.” “Not me,” he said, “but Mrs.—” “Benjamin.” “I’m just saying, they spent a lot of money.” He moved around her to stand where she could see him. “That was no small church. Everyone sure looked good, though, didn’t they? Your parents sure looked good. I’d never seen that blouse before, and — it was rather –” “What are you talking about?” “People are always buying new clothes for weddings and things like that, and if you think about how much they spent on the church and the reception you never went to and the blouse, why, that’s got to be over fifteen thousand dollars.” “If you talk about my mother one more time, Benjamin.” She looked out the window and he watched her lips. “Any-way,” she said, “I just remembered I don’t have my key.” “Where is it?” “Well, it’s—it’s not here.” Elaine fiddled with a nub of knotted lace. “It’s with him, isn’t it? What, did you leave it on the nightstand? He probably wrapped it up in — in one of your bras, or —” “Benjamin!” “He’s probably there right now with your parents and everyone, and they’re all probably eating our cake.” She looked up at him. “Whose cake?” “Your cake from the wedding, I mean.” “No. No, he couldn’t be.” She stared out the window. “I’ll bet he—” And Benjamin saw it. If not for the bright sunlight falling on her lips, he’d not have noticed, but there it was, the smallest smile. “H-he, I mean, if he’s there at all it’s probably to take all the good gifts and leave you with a blender and a tea set.” “Would it be so bad?” “We could use the blender, I suppose.” “Mother always said tea was refined.” “Your mother was refined, all right.” “Do you really think he’s there?” “Didn’t you hear what I said?” She stood and smoothed her dress. “I’m going, now.” “If no one is home, you’ll wish I were there.” He walked around the room, looking for things. “We’ll have to make sure we don’t leave anything here.” “Benjamin, we didn’t come with anything. And anyway, I don’t see why you should go with me.” “I, uh, well,” he said, going toward the door, “I insist, Elaine, that—” “What do you insist?” She backed against the door and folded an arm behind her, fingers wrapped around the doorknob. “I insist that I don’t want to stay here alone in this dark room,” he said. “It’s not dark, and I won’t be long.” “If he’s there, I mean, they—” “Oh, Benjamin, I really have to go. I just have to get out of this dress, I mean. I’ll come right back.” “You swear?” “I’ll be back before it gets dark, before the smudges show.” She turned the doorknob and he reached for her free wrist. “Elaine, will you—” “Will I what?” “Will you kiss me before you go?” She touched his cheek. “Benjamin.” “Just — just one kiss.” “I’ll be right back, Benjamin, okay? All right?” She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The ice machine down the hall chugged and she swish-swished toward it. “When you come back,” he said, “I’ll have juice and an apple in the — here in the little refrigerator, okay?” “Yes, Benjamin,” she said, and she turned the corner into the lobby where he couldn’t see her, anymore. He put his hands in his pockets and went to the window and looked outside, then turned off the television and made the bed.