He nods. It’s not an enthusiastic response, but at this point, as long as it has a bed and a flushing toilet, I’ll take it.

“Is it far?” I ask.

“Just up the street, about half a mile out of town.” He glances at the door and then back at me.

I don’t bother to ask him the price—it’s my only option and I’ll just have to hope it doesn’t drain all of my savings. I glance at my engagement ring. It’s such a pretty ring. I picked it out myself. Frank wanted me to have the exact one I wanted, so we went ring shopping together after the engagement. I hadn’t given any thought to engagement rings, and I picked it out because it reminded me of the kind of flower six-year-old me would have drawn. Small sapphire petals surround a large central diamond. It’s pretty, but now it feels heavy on my finger. Like I shouldn’t be wearing it.

I slip it off and slide it onto the bar. I’ll have to give it back to Frank. I guess I could mail it. I push thoughts of tomorrow away. I will know what to do after a night’s sleep.

“I’m Rosey, by the way,” I say to the stranger. I really hope he isn’t a serial killer.

He nods. “Byron.”

“Good to meet you, Byron.” I want to ask him if he’s named after the poet. Whether his parents were romantic and whether he reads poetry. All of a sudden I have a thousand questions, but from the look on his face, questions are the last thing this man wants.

I don’t ask him if I can have the key right away, even though that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to go now. Get out of this dress. When I first put the hoodie on, I could pretend people weren’t going to necessarily think that I was wearing a wedding dress—I tricked myself into believing that people would just think I was wearing a white skirt with a hoodie. But since the zipper broke when it caught on the arm of the airplane seat, there’s no doubt I’m wearing a full-fledged wedding gown.

The problem is, I don’t have anything else but this dress to put on. I don’t know why, but somehow, the idea of taking it off tonight and having to put it back on in the morning feels worse than just sleeping in it.

“You want to go now?” he asks, staring ahead at the multicolored bottles behind the bar.