The man’s expression is hidden, and I step sideways to see him. He has started towards the doorway to his living room or whatever it is, but in turning catches my eyes. He pauses. He calls out to me. Stone stands there wanting me to be quiet but the man’s head is turned now and I manage to say that he forgot to ask me for a deposit. My hands ease into my pockets to keep from trembling.

The man stares at me. No, you already paid, he says.

No I didn’t.

He laughs. You did too, though if you want to pay twice I won’t object.

But I didn’t.

Come on, Stone says. Let’s go.

The hotel guy gestures towards Stone. He paid, son.

Stone looks at me shyly. There is something nervous in his eyes.

Why did you pay for me?

No reason.

No, you paid for lunch. I can’t let you pay for my room too. My voice trembles from upset just getting the words out.

Don’t worry about it, buddy. My treat.

By now the hotel guy is looking at Stone and you can sense that Stone feels this and wants me to be quiet and can we get out of here and so I keep quiet, even though the words want to burst out.

You folks father and son? the man says to me, stepping forward.

He’s my nephew, Stone says.

The man regards him suspiciously, but I nod and he watches us as we push open the glass door. We stand beneath the arch of the covered drive and the hotel guy watches us through the window, making Stone uncomfortable, but I stay here anyway. Instead of going back into the inner room, the hotel man takes a seat behind the front counter, facing us as he opens a ledger and goes over it with a pen.

Stone seems impatient to go.

So why’d you pay for my hotel room? I ask him.

Do I have to have a reason? he says, trying to make himself angry but failing.

He tries to pat my shoulder, but only manages an awkward slap, and I do not respond.

Let’s just get some of your bags from your car into your room, he says. After a moment he adds: Come on, buddy, don’t look at me like that. What the hell do you think this is about?

This makes me blush and look down. We walk to the truck and climb up the platform and open the car door, slanted as it sits, and grab two duffel bags and lug them across the parking lot towards my room. Stone holds the key in his hand, clattering against his leg. But before we get within ten yards of the door, I set down my bag and stop. I cross my arms.

He sighs. Okay listen, buddy, he says. I’m not paying for your room.