She woke to Jonathan lightly rocking her shoulder. "Elena."

She opened her eyes slowly, growing accustomed to the neon light of the "American Motel" sign standing thirty feet above her. She moved to a sitting position, cringing when she straightened her neck.

The lot they were idled in was littered with cars. Three shabby streetlights illuminated the middle of the lot, leaving the corners in darkness. Their cab was parked directly beneath a deteriorating overhang. It was obvious the feature was not original to the building, as the plastic siding was slightly darker than the rest of the building's covering. There was a small glass door to her right that read "OFFICE" and a separate entrance labeled "GUEST ENTRANCE."

"You okay?" Jonathan's face appeared in her window. She jumped. "Sorry." He opened the door, holding out his hand, but she grabbed the door instead and slid from the rear of the cab. To the side of the cab, there was a small hotel trolley with bags stacked carefully on it. Her bags, she noticed. From the rack on the cart hung two black garment bags, one she recognized, and one she didn't. "Here you can put that on the cart," Jonathan said. He reached for the small bag she had forgotten she was carrying.

"Thanks." Her voice cracked.

The lobby was small and smelled of rotting drywall. The front desk took up much of the right wall, but the remaining room was dedicated to what the hotel called "Complimentary Continental Breakfast." Three little glass tables were huddled together beside a coffee bar and two empty serving trays that, she assumed, held small pastries in the morning. Directly behind her sat two, floral print love-seats, the kind you would find in a nursing home, and a matching recliner. A coffee table littered with Better Homes and Gardens magazines rested in the middle on a small oriental rug.

Jonathan parked the cart next to one of the love-seats and made his way to the front desk. She stayed behind, sinking into the blue patterned cushion and letting the fabric hug her. She closed her eyes. Maybe it was the warm, almost humid air, or the dim, yellow lighting, but she felt she could sleep for hours. She buried herself deeper into the cushions. The smell of mothballs was overwhelming. It wasn't the Peabody, but it was cute. It reminded her of her Nanna's house.

Her room had the same, nursing home atmosphere. A seemingly smaller than full-size bed sat in the center of the room, pushed up against the right wall. Rather than the typical white hotel linens, the bed was adorned with a horrific patchwork quilt featuring various patriotic symbols. A large picture of the White House hung above the head of the bed and directly across from a small TV, no more than 20 inches wide. Following in suit, the bathroom was checkered with red and white squares and featured a navy star-spangled shower curtain. She laughed. Something about the ridiculous bathroom décor made her feel as if she should be wearing a suit and saluting the flag each time she peed. This thought made her laugh even louder. It was a strange sound. Her tiny squeaks echoed off the tiled walls, surrounding her, sounding foreign, unfamiliar.

Her smiled faded as quickly as it appeared. For the second time that day she was completely alone. Jonathan had said goodnight and settled into his room down the hall. Before he left, he handed her an envelope. "The car will be here at 11 tomorrow, outside the lobby door." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly. His dark hair brushed her forehead and his shaggy goatee tickled her nose. He smelt of Old Spice aftershave. The same her father wore.

He began to leave, smiling and closing the door. In her mind, she was lunging for the shrinking gap between the doorframe and door. She was screaming "Wait! Don't go!" But she said nothing, just stood frozen. She couldn't believe she'd never made the connection before. It's funny, she thought, how much you don't notice about a person until they're gone. Her heart ached.

She moved reluctantly to the bed, balancing on the edge and turning the envelope over in her hands. She didn't know if she really wanted to open it. The envelope was large, for an envelope. It was the yellow kind, a package almost. It was sealed with a brass tack at the top. Underneath the seal, Jonathan's handwriting stretched the width of the paper.

"Here's to the rest of our lives.

Jon"

It was no surprise to her what was in the envelope. She'd planned it all. Their emergency plan B. But the object she held in her hands felt foreign. The Eleanor who called the American Motel and booked two rooms for tonight, the Eleanor who meticulously google-mapped alternate route destinations and booked rental cars that would transport them to the Botanical Gardens separately, the Eleanor who naively thought this plan would never play out, that Eleanor had long since given up.

The organized, spunky, positive Eleanor had died with her father. Now she was a shell. Empty. Blowing in the wind. Determined to carry out a plan she'd made six months ago when she thought she'd never truly need it.

The peace she'd felt on the drive over began to fade. She could feel the dark cloud forming above her.

She clamped the legs of the brass tack together and slipped the fold of the envelope up and over them. There were quite a few documents inside. One, she recognized immediately, was her birth certificate. The other…

She stood, suddenly, and reached for the bathroom door. She barely made it to the toilet before she lost the small amount she'd eaten for lunch. She made her way to the sink, splashed some water on her face, and took a deep breath. She didn't touch the folder for the rest of the night.