Long Term - Chapter 4

Since I lived in a big city and therefore didn't own a car, I hadn't booked a parking spot at the hotel. This oversight turned out to be my first mistake, because although Adam drove the van around the spacious parking lot twice, we found no space where he could park and unfold the ramp. There were a few free spaces, but always only individual spots with cars parked on the right and left sides. Not enough room for Adam. We briefly debated whether it would be worth going into the lobby to talk to someone and possibly convince them to move their car, but decided against it given the low prospect of success. Instead, we drove around the streets surrounding the hotel.

At a gas station, Adam stopped the car next to two guys who were hanging out there with an equally large car, listening to the noise of a soccer broadcast on the radio. They talked with Adam through the open window, who was trying to figure out if it would be tolerated if he parked behind them. The two completely ignored me; they occasionally glanced furtively at Adam's limp hands, which swung back and forth when he gestured. Since the two didn't look like they had anything to say on the gas station premises, I got out after a while and went into the gas station building. A young woman behind the counter greeted me kindly.

"Hi," I said, also smiling. "My husband and I have been driving around the area for half an hour," I continued. Exaggeration couldn't hurt, after all we were running out of time. It was already starting to get dark and I seriously feared Adam would soon be expected back at the hospital. "He uses a wheelchair and we just can't find a parking space that's wide enough. Could we possibly park next to the gas station?" I gestured roughly behind me.

Remarkably, the young woman didn't bat an eye. "Where are you guys?" she asked, chewing gum.

I led her outside, pointed to the gray van with the blue wheelchair sticker on the back hatch and explained somewhat awkwardly that the ramp extended from the side. You really couldn't see that from the outside and I felt the need to describe our situation to her in full.

The woman nodded. "Come with me. Your husband can park in the employee lot. It's behind the building."

I signaled Adam to follow me. He said goodbye to his new acquaintances with a fist bump and started the van up to turn around. The woman from the gas station led us to two parallel parking spaces at the back of the building, only one of which was occupied by a small silver Fiesta. Next to the parking spaces was a large paved area, at the edge of which gas cylinders were stored.

"Perfect, thanks so much!" Adam called to her through the rolled-down window, and I also thanked her more than once. The young woman just grinned and disappeared back to her workplace.

"Good idea, Rachel." Adam winked at me as he'd maneuvered onto the ramp and lowered it. As we kissed, we were approached by the two guys who'd followed us here from their car next to the gas station.

"I'm your husband now, I see," Adam murmured against my lips. I giggled a bit embarrassed. I hadn't realized he'd heard that. "Too bad," he added, not dignifying the guys with a glance. "I have no memory of our wedding night." He skillfully slid his hand under my shirt at my back.

I gasped and grabbed the armrests for balance, burying my nose in his hair, breathing deeply. His touch sent little electric shocks along my spine. "Maybe we can somehow jog that memory?" I murmured into his ear, well aware of our audience.

Adam raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Then what are we still standing around here for?" He nodded to the two guys who stared at us, shell-shocked, as he steered the wheelchair past them.

Adam barely slowed the pace of the powerchair as we hurried back to the hotel. We didn't speak, just threw meaningful glances at each other; he absorbed in steering the wheelchair around potholes and down the lowest curb, I busy not twisting my ankle in my definitely too-high shoes.

But only a little later we faced the next problem.

"It's closed," Adam said, letting his knuckles swing lightly against the closed glass of the large sliding door as if to prove it. Nothing moved. The hotel reception desk, visible through the glass, was empty. Of the two hotel employees who'd checked me in, no trace.

"Damn!" Only now did I remember what the woman with the old-fashioned braid had told me. After 8 p.m., the reception was no longer staffed. "Wait, we need the night entrance!"

We went back down the ramp and around a corner of the building. Then we stood in front of an inconspicuous door labeled with a laminated letter-sized sheet. Night entrance, there we go. It was secured and equipped with a number pad. I'd put the code unread in my suitcase, but something else was a much bigger problem.

"Are wheelchair users not allowed out after 8 p.m. or what?" I muttered as we contemplated the two very high steps to the door.

"Didn't you know that?" Adam asked dryly. "We party too hard, it's brought down whole cities." He smiled wryly.

I had to laugh, even though I didn't feel like it at all. "Damn..." Just to do something, I pressed randomly on the number pad, which after a few digits emitted loud protesting tones and blinked red. Shaking the door also did nothing, and even less did the steps want to disappear because of it. I sank down on them and buried my face in my hands. The first evening alone with Adam in two months seemed to have receded into the distance, no matter how perfect the hotel room and the bed in it might be. All because of two steps. And because of me.

Why hadn't I looked at the night entrance beforehand? How could it happen that I hadn't thought of that? Sure, I hadn’t really dreamt of us ending up anywhere near the hotel room in the first place, but still. That was accessibility 101. I should have checked.

But I knew it was fruitless to blame myself now. I would accompany Adam back to the hospital. It was getting to be time anyway; I could tell by the increasingly frequent intervals at which he tilted his upper body right or left, one fist propped on the seat. Position changes to relieve his back. He really needed to lie down as soon as possible. I'd take the streetcar back here and wait until a guest came by who used the night entrance or had the code for the door. At least I could return to my hotel room.

"What else does it say there?" Adam asked, squinting and indicating with a dangling hand behind me.

"Huh?" I turned around and peered up. On the laminated sheet stuck to the door, there was more, in much smaller print at the bottom. "Emergency number," I murmured after I'd jumped back to my feet and examined the sheet more closely.

"Well then..." Adam smiled. "I'd say that applies! Can you give me my phone?"

While Adam talked on the phone, I stood beside him, arms wrapped around myself, shivering since it was getting cold, and watched his face. A smile lay in the corners of his mouth, his eyebrows rose and fell, his forehead furrowed with his explanations. He was charming, funny in his own, dry way. Whoever he was talking to, it sounded like a conversation between best buddies. His eyes flashed as he looked up at me and winked. Finally, he said goodbye to his conversation partner, lowered the phone clamped between two palms, and leaned back. "Well that was easy," he asserted.

"Is someone coming?" I asked, not really believing it. Adam wasn't even a guest of the hotel. He hadn't mentioned this with a single syllable, as I'd noticed.

"He just has to finish watching the second half, then he'll drive over," Adam said. "Five minutes tops, if I'm right."

"Right about what?"

"Three minutes overtime for a foul."

I grunted something and leaned against the building wall. Lucky that half the world loves soccer.

Less than ten minutes later, a Mazda pulled up onto the sidewalk directly in front of the hotel's main entrance, to which we'd returned by now. A middle-aged man in sweatpants got out. He nodded to Adam, who steered the wheelchair up the ramp, while the man climbed the steps and turned a key in a lock next to the sliding doors. Almost silently, they opened.

"Thank you very much, sir," Adam greeted, swiveling the wheelchair back around.

"Don't mention it," the man grunted, his gaze only briefly grazing me. "Everything okay from here? I can lock up again?"

"Absolutely," Adam said, lifting a limp hand halfway.

"But don't go back out. I'm not driving out here to let you in again. Need my sleep."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Adam replied and threw me a look that made the pizza in my stomach do somersaults.

The man, presumably the janitor, shrugged and nodded. "Well then, have a good evening."

"You too, thank you so much," I chirped and hurried alongside Adam into the deserted lobby.

Adam looked at me with an appraising glance.

"That was amazing," I whispered and squeezed his shoulder.

The unlit lobby was almost a bit eerie. Only the power button of the screen at the reception gave off a pale green light and the carpeted floor swallowed every sound as we moved toward the elevator. It felt a little like we'd just broken into the hotel. I had the urge to whisper to point out the way to Adam, who glided effortlessly over the soft floor thanks to the powerchair.

After we'd had to overcome so many hurdles, it almost surprised me that the elevator door promptly opened. "After you."

Adam maneuvered the wheelchair into the cabin, which no longer seemed so small. He could even make a complete turn, wheels squeaking softly, and looked at me penetratingly as I also stepped in. Still, we stood close, the sliding doors catching on the backpacks I'd slung over my shoulder.

Adam's blue eyes glowed in the shine of the elevator's turquoise lighting. He looked up at me with a somber, if tired, smile and I ran a hand through his hair and stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and hummed something unintelligible. I kissed his hairline and smelled his unmistakable scent again. It was like coming home. He leaned his head back for a kiss, his lips incredibly soft. We were completely caught in the moment until someone cleared their throat.

"Excuse me, uh... may I?"

It was the older man with the beret who'd checked in before me. Unnoticed by us, the elevator had reached the first floor and opened the doors. The older man regarded me with a frown as I stepped out of the elevator past him, unable to banish a grin from my face. Adam needed a moment longer to place his hand on the joystick and push forward.

"Have a nice evening," he politely greeted the man, who stepped into the elevator after us and watched us wordlessly and rigidly until the doors closed in front of him.

"He probably thinks he's dreaming," Adam noted.

My cheeks burned a bit, but I smiled as I fumbled with the room key at my door for a while until it sprang open. What a beautiful dream, I thought and winked at Adam.