Page 115 of Road Trip
Therese left the room and came back with a full ice bucket. She rattled the bucket under her sister’s nose. “Look! I never thought I’d be so glad to see a whole bucket of ice.” She rifled around in her carry-on bag until she found a pint bottle of Tarrymore whiskey. She poured some over the tumbler of ice and held the bottle out to her sister. “Want some?”
“No thanks. But you know, you can’t just take a bottle of whiskey back to the States. You’ll have to declare it when we go through customs.”
“I used to take liquor back all the time without declaring it when I went down to the islands,” Therese countered. “I just hide it in my bag with my dirty laundry. No customs agent wants to go rummaging around in a lady’s unmentionables.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. “Fine. Get yourself arrested for a stupid bottle of whiskey. But I’m not bailing you out.”
“Nobody asked you to.”
Therese turned on the television to drown out the deafening silence of Maeve’s annoyance and flipped channels until she found what she was seeking—reruns ofFriends.
“Look.” She pointed at the television. “It’s the Friendsgiving episode, where Monica puts the whole turkey on her head, and Rachel makes the trifle with mashed potatoes.”
“How many times have you seen that?” Maeve asked.
“Over the years? Probably a couple dozen times. It’s my second favorite, after the one where Ross uses the self-tanner.”
“Isn’t there anything else on? At all?”
“I don’t want anything else,” Therese said. She stretched out on the right side of the bed, plumping the pillows under her head. “Friendsis my comfort watch.”
“Dinner?” Maeve asked,waving a hand in front of Therese’s face. She’d fallen asleep and Maeve had turned the television off.
“Huh?” Therese sat up and looked around the room. “What time is it?”
“Almost seven. We could go down to the lobby to eat, or order room service. I’m thinking room service. I want to take a shower and get to bed early.”
“I’m thinking lobby café.” Therese swung her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed her purse.
Maeve ate whatthe room service menu called shrimp with linguine. She twirled the noodles around her fork and fished in the thick greasy white sauce for shrimp. In total, she counted four of the shrimpiest shrimp she’d ever seen. But the garlic bread was semi-warm, and she had a glass of a not-obnoxious Chianti that made up for her entrée.
She puttered around the room, showered, and got ready for bed, checking her phone every fifteen minutes to see if Therese would message that she was on her way up. At nine, she allowed herself to look at the photos Angela Grogan had texted.
Memories of that day flooded her central nervous system with dopamine. Liam’s family was funny and warm and welcoming to his “lady friend.” With her fingertip she touched the photo of Clairesitting on her lap, playing with the kitten, and she chuckled anew at the arm-wrestling photo of Liam and Cormac.
But the last photo stopped her in her tracks. She and Liam had been sharing a private joke. He was staring into her eyes, his mouth stretched into a wide smile, and Therese had been right. She was looking at Liam with open adoration. She felt a confusing mixture of embarrassment and longing. That day, that golden moment, was an elixir she wished she could bottle. But the moment was past, Maeve thought. It had slipped through her fingers, never to return.
Therese was wrong. Maeve had no intention of deleting this photo. She would still be looking at this picture decades from now, wishing she could recapture that fleeting magic.
She fell asleep clutching the phone close to her chest.
Hours later she heard the click of a key card. The room was dim, the only light coming from a clock radio on the nightstand. She heard Therese bump into something and curse softly. She checked the time. It was nearly 3AM.
“Go ahead and turn on a lamp,” she said groggily. “I’m awake now.”
“Sorry,” Therese said. “I’ll just be a minute.” She switched on the bathroom light. Maeve heard water running, then the toilet flushed. Therese came out of the bathroom dressed in the T-shirt she wore to bed. She climbed in beside her younger sister, clinging to the edge of the bed to put a little distance between their bodies.
Maeve turned on her side to face away from her sister. She was almost asleep again when she heard Therese’s voice, her breath soft and warm in her ear.
“Please don’t be mad at me, Maevey.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Good. You know, you’re one of the smartest women I’ve ever met. But what you’re doing, running back to Savannah and away from Liam, is the single dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your life.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Maeve said, not bothering to suppress a yawn. “Now, go to sleep.”
CHAPTER 50
