A Step Of Faith Part 26

"Yes," I said, panting. "Just wet."

"You're definitely wet."

"That's okay," I said. "I was born wet."

She laughed.

The hotel's lobby was crowded with the storm's refugees, probably more than a hundred people in all, surrounded by their pets and belongings and huddled together in small clans. I quickly surmised that most of the people weren't hotel guests.

There was a television on in the dining area off the lobby, and a group of men were sitting around it at tables, drinking coffee and, to my surprise, watching football instead of the weather.

Paige and I worked our way through a labyrinth of people to a small corner of the room that no one had yet claimed. I took off my pack and we both sat on the floor. Paige took off her coat, then pulled her long hair back from her face.

"How long were you out there?" she asked.

"A few hours. I walked from the last town."

"No wonder you're so wet," she said. "Where are you from?"

"Seattle. We don't do tornadoes."

She took a brush out of her travel bag and began brus.h.i.+ng her hair. "It's Alan, right?"

"Yes. And you're Paige."

"Right. Where are you headed?"

"Key West, Florida."

"All the way from Seattle?"

"That's the plan," I said.

"That's amazing. The farthest I've ever walked at one time was ten miles for a breast cancer fundraiser."

A cardboard box crashed loudly against the window next to us and Paige screamed, then laughed at herself. "Sorry, I'm just skittish."

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"I was born in St. Louis. That's where I live now."

"What brings you down here?"

"I'm headed to Memphis to see my grandma. I was hoping to make it by tonight, but it doesn't look like it's going to clear up anytime soon."

"I was planning on walking to Cape Girardeau by evening," I said. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Not likely," Paige said.

"I wonder if the hotel has any vacancies," I said. "I think I'll check."

I got up and walked to the hotel's front desk. The woman behind the counter was listening to the weather report on the radio, and I could hear a hysterical caller screaming over the sound of the wind that a semi had been blown over. The clerk glanced up at me as I approached. "May I help you?"

"Do you have any rooms?"

"We have two left," she said. "They're both nonsmoking, first-floor rooms with two queen beds."

"I'll take one," I said. I gave her my credit card and driver's license.

"How many room keys do you need?"

I glanced over at Paige, wondering if she trusted me enough to stay with me. "Two," I said.

She slid two plastic cards through her encoder, then handed them to me with my credit card. "There you go. It sounds as if the worst of the storm is over, but if another tornado touches down, the safest place to be will be in the hallway outside your room."

"Thank you," I said.

I walked back over to Paige and lifted my pack. "I've got a room. It's got two beds. You're welcome to hang out with me in there."

"That would be nice. Thank you."

We gathered our things and walked to the room, which was only halfway down the hall off the lobby. The window's curtain was drawn back and rain pelted the gla.s.s, coagulating in long streams of runoff.

I threw my hat on the TV cabinet, lay my pack on the floor near the corner, then sat at the foot of the bed and took off my shoes. "How long do these things usually take to pa.s.s?"

Paige ran her hand down the length of her bed. "You never know. It'll probably die down in the night." She pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed to take off her shoes.

"You're from St. Louis?" I asked.

"Mostly," she said. "I live there now."

"What do you do?"

"I work for a hospice company."

"Hospice? You help people ..."

"... Die," she said. "I know, it sounds sad."

"What's that like?"

"The worst part is that just about the time you start caring for someone you lose them."

"That sounds awful."

"In a way it is. But it's also really rewarding. I can't imagine doing anything else with my life right now."

She lay back on the bed, her long red hair splayed out over her pillow.