Polaroids and Postcards | ✔️

Chapter 20: Ginger Ale at 2 AM

"We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us." – Anonymous

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Around 1 am, I came upon the motel that Pete, the gas station-guy, had mentioned. It was a dinky little place, but I figured that a moth-eaten bed was better than staying in the car overnight again. My back was not up for that. And surely Della's wasn't either.

I had already parked the car and opened my door to exit when Della jerked upright in her seat, suddenly wide awake.

"Jason?" she gasped. Her hair fell in her face, but she didn't bother moving it out of the way.

"Hey!" I replied, jumping a little at the suddenness of her awaking. "You're awake."

"Where are we?" Her half-opened eyes were full of panic.

"Hey..." I changed my tone of voice to make it a bit softer. "We're in Texas."

She glanced around, but the parking lot was still dark. "Texas?"

"Yeah, I drove through Louisiana while you were asleep. You were dead to the world."

Della was quiet for a moment, gently pulling the blanket back up under her chin. She seemed to be thinking over what I just said, carefully.

I interrupted her pause by saying the only thing that came to mind. "Um... We're at a motel. I wasn't sure if you'd want to pull another all-nighter in the car again, so I was about to run inside and rent a room."

Della frowned a little, seeming to think this over as well. "Mmmm..."

"Is... that okay?" I hesitated. She didn't seem overly enthusiastic.

She laid her head back over onto the seat, lethargically. "I don't feel like moving."

My eyebrows drew close together. "What do you mean? Do you not want to sleep on a mattress tonight?"

"I'm fine right here, Jason."

I just stared. This wasn't like Della at all.

"Della...?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't sound fine.

"Della, what's—?"

"I'm fine, Jason. I just feel..." she stopped, sitting up in her seat again.

"Della, I think that—"

She flung her door open before I could finish, and fell out of the car, onto the asphalt outside.

"What the heck? DELLA!!" I cried, leaping after her in hopes of catching her before she fell.

When I realized that I was too late, I switched tactics and went out through my door, rounding the front of the Beetle.

I found Della on her hands and knees near the back of the car, her hair falling into her face again.

"Della? What the heck was—?"

I stopped short.

Della was vomiting—profusely. Her poor elbows shook uncontrollably while the rest of her body heaved with the effort.

I dashed over, kneeling at her side. In one moment, I swept up her beautiful hair into one of my hands and held it back. With my other hand, I gently patted her back in the most soothing manner I knew how.

Della trembled as she vomited again.

"Hey..." I sighed, trying to help her stay calm.

Vomit never really bothered me—and I was never more grateful for my strong stomach than in that moment.