She stared at the door in disbelief, the anger rising in her, everything so petty, so futile. The heat slammed at her. The clock on the dashboard inched forward. Finally—these were the conditions of her life, this blistering lot, this obscenely ugly motel and more of the same, more, more, more—she reversed the car, the transmission whining, and made a slow circuit of the parking lot till a space appeared on the far side of the building, right next to the dumpster, the funk of which nearly made her gag. Gathering up the two bags of groceries, the newspaper and her purse, she started down the walkway, feeling as tired, angry and empty as she’d ever felt in her life. She didn’t even want to think about dinner. Last night they’d had cheese sandwiches, washed down with a cheap rosé wine that tasted like aluminum and tonight would be no different, unless they went out to a burger stand. But she didn’t feel like going out. She didn’t feel like anything. She just wanted to crawl into bed, crank up the air conditioner and watch the TV that was bolted to the wall over the plasticized desk/bureau combo until she fell away into oblivion.

When she got to the door of their room, just as she was juggling the bags of groceries and her purse and trying to fit the key in the lock, she threw a glance at the car taking up their assigned spot with the number—19—painted right there on the pavement in white numerals nobody could miss, something arrested her, something clicked, and she saw that this car, a standard black VW Bug that seemed no different from a thousand others, was somehow familiar. Then she heard a shriek of laughter from within—Fanchon’s laughter—and felt the burden drop from her.

Ken, Fanchon and Alice were stretched out on the queen-sized bed, their backs propped against the wall, feet bare, glasses of what appeared to be—what was—gin and tonic in their hands. The bottles stood on the end table, along with three limes, one of which had been cut in wedges and sat glistening in a puddle of its own juice. Fresh lime. The smell was enchanting—right, just right, perfect—and it drove down all the foul reek of the parking lot and flipped her mood as automatically as if a switch had been thrown. “My God!” she said, the groceries still clutched to her chest, “this is a surprise, I mean the best, the best surprise I could—my God, I can’t believe it!”