She got on the phone and started talking to somebody in Spanish. I could make out the pitch and inflections of the voice on the other end. It was a man’s voice, also Spanish. Not her brother, either.
She was doing a good job; she chose words which weren’t obvious. But Spanish is like French, you know. Even big words, carefully chosen, sound the same.
I’m not that dumb, you know. I’m just a slab of meat, sitting on the edge of a bed with a stone face.
She hung-up the phone.
“Sorry, that was a friend. I had to call him.
“Sure I do… let’s go to sleep, I’m tired.”
I was gone before she was awake.
I put the room charges on my Visa; the call had been local.
I got in my car, turned on the heater, and chugged coffee. I beat the morning traffic by over an hour.