he went to a liquor store and then disappeared.” Pause. “No, I don’t think that, but I was just thinking he might have called…no. Well, he’s alone on Thanksgiving, so—Yes.” Another pause. “Fine. Happy Thanksgiving.” And he hangs up.
What do I say? “How’s your mother” doesn’t seem appropriate. So I just say nothing as we head back in the direction of the hotel. He stays glued to the window, staring out, ears flat against it, straining to hear through the glass.
We don’t see any sign of his car all the way back to the Quality Lodge, where Lee gives up and stares down at his knees. But as I’m parking, I glance to the right and stop. “Hey,” I say. “Isn’t that your car?”
He sits bolt upright and looks, and shoves the door open. “Hold on!” I say, but he’s closed it before I get any other words out. I park, and jump out to join him over by his car.
“It’s okay,” he says, and sniffs the air around the door, ears up and flicking around. “I think he was alone, but it’s so cold, it’s hard to tell. Don’t think there was any alcohol on his breath.”
“Maybe he’s back at the room.”
“Uh-huh.” And we both run back inside.
At the room, Lee calls, “Dad?” as he opens the door. But nobody answers, and the room is empty. Lee checks the bathroom and comes out shaking his head.
I lean against the door, holding it open. “You’re his son. You should kind of know how he thinks, right?”
Lee rubs the side of his muzzle, and then his ears perk up. He looks kind of disgusted and angry. “If he…” His eyes rest on the bench where his bag sits. He sighs and walks past me, out into the hall. “His bag’s gone. I bet he got another room. Sit by himself, stay out of our way.”
“Drink alone,” I remember.
“Yeah.”
I follow my fox back to the front desk, where the stoner clerk blinks as we ask him if the fox who was with us got another room. It takes him a while to answer, though I can’t tell if he’s struggling to decide whether to tell us or struggling to remember. Eventually, though, he says, “Yeah, about ten minutes ago. Maybe an hour?”
“I need the room number,” Lee says.
“Uh…” There’s another long pause.
“Come on, you saw us come in with him.” Lee leans over the counter. “He’s my father.”
I put a paw on Lee’s shoulder. “You know,” I say, “if he’s got a room here, then he’s okay, and you’ll see him in the morning. Maybe we should just let him sleep.”
He turns to me, blue eyes challenging mine, and I know exactly what’s going on in that pause. But he decides I’m right and waves to the clerk. “Thanks,” he says, and lets me take him back to the room.
We don’t bolt the door, in case his father comes back. Lee drops his coat on the office chair and sits on the bed, tail curled beside him. I sit next to him, naturally.
“You need your sleep,” he says.
“Uh-huh.” I wrap an arm around his back. “And you need a shoulder.”
He doesn’t lean into the embrace, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’ll be fine.”
I pull him against me. “Listen,” I say, “I know you’ll be fine. But maybe you’ll be just a little bit better if I’m here with you?”
“You’ve got to worry about football,” he says. “Every game’s important. You can’t be at 95% because your boyfriend’s parents are splitting up.”
“You’re important. And anyway, I’m not going to be at ninety-anything percent. The game’s four days away and I can sleep on the plane.” I’m sure most of the rest of the guys on the team are not spending their Thanksgivings exercising and resting up for the game. Except maybe Gerrard.
“What about your family?”
“I’ll call. I’ll go over in the morning and we’ll have breakfast the way we planned.”
“Your dad’ll be upset.”
I laugh. “That I spent the night here? Now you’re just making things up. Dad won’t care. I mean, as long as you don’t call him a
What do I say? “How’s your mother” doesn’t seem appropriate. So I just say nothing as we head back in the direction of the hotel. He stays glued to the window, staring out, ears flat against it, straining to hear through the glass.
We don’t see any sign of his car all the way back to the Quality Lodge, where Lee gives up and stares down at his knees. But as I’m parking, I glance to the right and stop. “Hey,” I say. “Isn’t that your car?”
He sits bolt upright and looks, and shoves the door open. “Hold on!” I say, but he’s closed it before I get any other words out. I park, and jump out to join him over by his car.
“It’s okay,” he says, and sniffs the air around the door, ears up and flicking around. “I think he was alone, but it’s so cold, it’s hard to tell. Don’t think there was any alcohol on his breath.”
“Maybe he’s back at the room.”
“Uh-huh.” And we both run back inside.
At the room, Lee calls, “Dad?” as he opens the door. But nobody answers, and the room is empty. Lee checks the bathroom and comes out shaking his head.
I lean against the door, holding it open. “You’re his son. You should kind of know how he thinks, right?”
Lee rubs the side of his muzzle, and then his ears perk up. He looks kind of disgusted and angry. “If he…” His eyes rest on the bench where his bag sits. He sighs and walks past me, out into the hall. “His bag’s gone. I bet he got another room. Sit by himself, stay out of our way.”
“Drink alone,” I remember.
“Yeah.”
I follow my fox back to the front desk, where the stoner clerk blinks as we ask him if the fox who was with us got another room. It takes him a while to answer, though I can’t tell if he’s struggling to decide whether to tell us or struggling to remember. Eventually, though, he says, “Yeah, about ten minutes ago. Maybe an hour?”
“I need the room number,” Lee says.
“Uh…” There’s another long pause.
“Come on, you saw us come in with him.” Lee leans over the counter. “He’s my father.”
I put a paw on Lee’s shoulder. “You know,” I say, “if he’s got a room here, then he’s okay, and you’ll see him in the morning. Maybe we should just let him sleep.”
He turns to me, blue eyes challenging mine, and I know exactly what’s going on in that pause. But he decides I’m right and waves to the clerk. “Thanks,” he says, and lets me take him back to the room.
We don’t bolt the door, in case his father comes back. Lee drops his coat on the office chair and sits on the bed, tail curled beside him. I sit next to him, naturally.
“You need your sleep,” he says.
“Uh-huh.” I wrap an arm around his back. “And you need a shoulder.”
He doesn’t lean into the embrace, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’ll be fine.”
I pull him against me. “Listen,” I say, “I know you’ll be fine. But maybe you’ll be just a little bit better if I’m here with you?”
“You’ve got to worry about football,” he says. “Every game’s important. You can’t be at 95% because your boyfriend’s parents are splitting up.”
“You’re important. And anyway, I’m not going to be at ninety-anything percent. The game’s four days away and I can sleep on the plane.” I’m sure most of the rest of the guys on the team are not spending their Thanksgivings exercising and resting up for the game. Except maybe Gerrard.
“What about your family?”
“I’ll call. I’ll go over in the morning and we’ll have breakfast the way we planned.”
“Your dad’ll be upset.”
I laugh. “That I spent the night here? Now you’re just making things up. Dad won’t care. I mean, as long as you don’t call him a
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