By Emma Hamilton
Everything was blue. The cracked patio chairs, the palms in pots in the corner, the smooth ladder on the far side of the pool. Even the crumbly old motel in the background took on the blueness from the pool’s ultra-strong LED lighting. And Ellen was blue, too, when her head broke the surface of the water every few seconds as she swam laps, gasping for the blue air around her. Even her metallic, rust-colored hair turned blue; it shrouded her in a coolness that was unlike her.
The spray of her breaststroke splashed Trey’s feet, but he didn’t care; he liked watching her in her peace, nothing in her ears but the sound of pumping water, before she got out of the pool and he’d fill them with words she didn’t want to hear. It could wait.
She pulled herself up out of the pool along the ledge, splashing water all over the concrete. The smell of chlorine caught Trey mid-thought as he was about to greet her — it reminded him of summers spent at the public pool in Granby, his mother smoking Kools in the lounger by the pool and flipping through magazines.
“Hey, sparky,” he said.
“Hi.” She pulled her hair over her shoulder and wrung it out, a little river flowing over her chest and down her belly. “How long have you been standing there?”
He pulled her toward him, the cold, wet nylon of her swimsuit bunching beneath his fingers, and planted a kiss on her flushed cheek. He could almost feel her heartbeat pulsing as her body cooled down from the exercise.
“Few minutes,” he said. “You hungry? I got pizza.”
“Starving,” she replied as she grabbed a threadbare towel from a nearby plastic chair.
Room #5 always seemed to be slightly damp; the carpet adhered slightly to the bottom of their feet with every step. Ellen threw her towel over the air conditioning unit and made her way into the tiny bathroom. After she closed the door, Trey grabbed the towel and draped it over the chair. He sat down on the edge of the creaky bed, turned on the bulky television, and flipped through the speckly channels until he landed on a Jaws rerun. Staring at the thrashing water, his thoughts churning, he braced himself to tell Ellen the last thing she’d want to hear — that they had to hit the road again.
Despite the facts that the room smelled like wet towels and the tacky art on the wall reminded Trey of his mom’s assisted living facility, dingy #5 had come to feel like a home. He knew where all the buttons on the remote were without having to double check, and Ellen had even unpacked her duffel bag, distributing all her worldly possessions into the three drawers beneath the television. They’d certainly spent the longest amount of time in Georgia than anywhere else; Trey almost started to believe they’d finally shook the cops off their trail. Until, of course, about an hour ago when he’d heard his name on the police scanner as he drove back from Domino’s.
Ellen got out of the shower, releasing clouds of steam into the room as she stepped out in her towel. Trey smiled at the puddle of water that always pooled around her feet after a shower; he couldn’t understand why she wrapped her head in a towel, but left her legs to drip, drip. She pulled on a pair of white cotton underwear and one of his old mechanic shirts with the faded nametag that she loved to sleep in, climbed onto the double bed, and opened the red and blue cardboard box.
“Flyin’ Hawaiian! Good call, baby.” She grabbed a piece of pizza, her eyes moving down the long string of cheese left behind, eventually breaking it off and piling it on top of her slice. As far as they knew, they invented the Flyin’ Hawaiian pizza: pepperoni and pineapple.
“And Jaws, too. It’s fixin’ to be a good night at the Palm Royal.” She laughed and settled back against the headboard, paper plate resting on her knees. It was a familiar sight. They’d been on the run for so long, Trey could hardly remember their last home-cooked meal.
“You know it.” Trey smiled, turned toward her, steeled himself to break the news that they probably should have already left. Not while she’s eating dinner. It could wait.
“Do you miss home?” He blurted it out without thinking, as if the thought had been hiding somewhere in his mind, trying to catch him unaware and seize its chance to escape.
Ellen turned toward him and hesitated, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“I mean, of course I do. It’s not like this is what we’d pictured for ourselves. But I’d rather be with you in this motel room than at home alone while you’re locked up.”
Trey nodded, his unfocused gaze turning toward the TV. Ellen reached out and touched his cheek, turning his head back toward her, but he was silent.
“We gotta move on. I’m happy here, with you. I chose this. We did. And look, we can make home anywhere. How long have we been here — three weeks now? And going strong. I’ve actually been thinking about dipping into the stash to buy a little electric cooktop. Cook something real. Pancakes!” she said suddenly, her face lighting up. She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently, trying to get him to smile. “Pancakes. We can go to Wal-Mart tomorrow and get the thing and some Bisquick. It’ll be fun.”
She kissed his cheek and got up from the bed to grab a Diet Coke from the mini fridge. Trey let out a deep breath, his heart beating faster and faster as he opened his mouth.
“Ell — “
But just then, a siren sounded from the parking lot, and flashing red and blue light filtered in through the curtains.
