She stayed another cheap motel by road that led to the highway. There was another
McDonalds
there, but not much else. She wanted to spend the night next to the ocean, but then she'd have to get more cash out, and it was expensive. She didn't know how much more she could go for. When would her checks stop coming in.
Until tonight lying in bed she kept thinking that when she came home her husband would be so happy. His arms out stretched that she returned, but now laying in bed she thought "How could this be the case. I just fucking left him."
She turned over and looked in her bag. Her journal usually there was gone.
"Fuck."
The only thing she took from therapy was writing in the stupid little book. She must have left it near Chip's in that weird hotel.
Her mind wandered back to the Mcdonalds. People here are less talkative, the guy was strange though. Seemed like he was thinking about something. Too aware.
She looked in her bag for some scratch paper, or a napkin, then in the trash.
She tore off a piece of a napkin that wasn't greasy and just wrote.
