The motel was all hers, one-story, eight rooms in a line. Josephine made her way up and down the row each afternoon, cleaning when a family checked out, before a couple checked in. No one stayed more than one night; it wasn’t that type of place. It wasn’t a resort, or a home base where you unpacked while exploring everything the area had to offer, but still she found herself here, week after week, trying to find purpose or a way out. At this point, she didn’t care which.
***
We fought near the Grand Canyon; he wanted to go west to Vegas while I wanted to go east to Four Corners.
“Who cares about being in four places at once?” James yelled, not caring that tourists were turning to watch.
I thought of how I wanted to be in four places at once instead of with him, staring out the window at the flat nothingness we passed. I saw a rundown motel in the distance, the opposite of what James would book in Vegas, yet suddenly there was no place I’d rather be.
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