This installment written
by Mary Ann.
continued from Friday…
The door to the motel office was locked. I anxiously rang the night bell and waited for Mrs. Martin, the motel operator who lived on premises, to walk the thirty feet from her television chair to open the door. She was older, and she was slow. I could see the light from the television flickering down the hallway, and I could see the clock on the office wall. It read 6:15.
The thought flashed across my mind like lightning that Prentice must, by now, be out of his head with worry. He’d be thinking they had caught me… taken me. Of course, it’s what he’d think. It’s what we’d been warned would happen. It’s what we had feared.
Mrs. Martin took her time getting to the door. She was in no hurry. She expected a customer looking to ride out that miserable night in one of the motel’s room. She didn’t expect to find me there.
When she reached the door Mrs. Martin peered through the small security window in the door to see who was ringing. I must have looked terrible. I was wet, frozen and scared. Looking out at me through the small window her chin dropped and eyes widened to dimensions I wouldn’t have thought possible. In her haste to open the door she fumbled several times before she was finally able to turn the lock and let me. Even before the door was open I could hear her urgently asking, “What’s wrong? What’s happened, Mary Ann?”
As I fell through the doorway all I could think of, all I could say, was “I’ve got to use the phone. I’ve got to call Prentice.” She ran for a towel, and I reached for the phone on the desk behind the cheaply paneled front counter. I stopped short of picking up the receiver. The sickening realization came to me that I had no number to call.
There was no phone in either of our rooms. I couldn’t think of any of Prentice’s friends who had a phone. The only phone I knew that might help get a message to him was the main switchboard at the Rio Grande. I didn’t know the number, but surely it would be in the book.
I hurriedly grabbed the Austin phone book from underneath the telephone and frantically flipped through the pages. Rio Grande… Rio Grande… Rio Grande…
How was I going to explain what had happened? I had ridden that same bus for a week without a problem. It was always on time, and the bus stop sign was still in place. I had ridden the bus to work earlier that day. Had I passed out and not known it—a petite mal, perhaps?
There were so many things named “Rio Grande”… dozens and dozens of Rio Grande something or others in the Austin directory, but none were located on Rio Grande Street. I couldn’t find it!
It was certain now. I was going to miss my wedding, and Prentice wasn’t going to know why! He was going to be sick with fear, and he was going to be searching for me. I was afraid of where he’d look first, the first call he’d make when he could get to a phone, and what he would say to the party on the other end of the line.
He’d know I didn’t get cold feet. He’d know I was trying to get there… that after all this time I hadn’t changed my mind. He’d know that, wouldn’t he? It was impossible to know which thought would be worse.
In despair, I dropped the phone book, put my arms on the counter and wept.
Mrs. Martin, a short gray haired woman in her mid sixties, hovered around me, patting my shoulders and asking, over and over, “What’s happened, Mary Ann? What can I do?” After a minute I finally regained some control of myself and poured out what had happened.
I could talk, but I could not stop the crying. I had worked so hard, waited so very, very long for this night. Hundreds and hundreds of nights, black empty nights had passed so slowly… waiting, waiting, always waiting… then hundreds of miles between us… keeping our heads down and making our plans… plans I lived for… plans that saw me through.
Before I realized what was happening I found myself seated in the front seat of the Martins’ black 1965 Plymouth with Mr. Martin behind the wheel. Mrs. Martin had helped me into the passenger seat. Just before she closed the car door she handed me another towel and told me to wipe my face.
As Mr. Martin guided the Plymouth down Guadalupe Street toward campus he explained that city busses traveling south on Guadalupe had been re-routed to accommodate emergency road repairs occasioned by the unrelenting storm. He’d heard that information on the radio when he’d ventured out into the storm earlier in the day. He hadn’t thought to pass the information along to me. He hadn’t realized that I rode the bus to work. No busses would be passing the stop outside my office until at least tomorrow.
Ten minutes after we left the motel Mr. Martin turned into the main entrance at the Rio Grande. As the headlights swept the face of the building I could see Prentice standing in the sheltered parking lot. His hair and jacket were soaked with the slushy rain, and he more resembled a man who’d met with misfortune than one going to his wedding. I had never seen a more welcomed or wonderful sight.
Prentice was waiting for me. One way or another we were getting married.
To be continued…
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
The unanswered question is…how in the world did you keep missing the busses? Is it a “stay tuned to find out” answer?
How many installments are planned for this series? A friend recommended this site. This is fascinating reading!
Robin… how did you miss that? It’s in paragaph 16 above.
Okay… I’ll confess. After reading your comment I added paragraph 16.