It’s nice to be under the awning and out of the heavy, nearly blinding rain on this freezing night in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

 As I stare at Ross, I revisit today’s events in my mind. I think of everything from the beginning of my day when I had no clue how the rest of it would go, to this very moment in time. I just ran away from home with a total stranger.

I just left my best friend… my only friend.

My life is in danger.

A Mafia group is after me.

I was told about my forgotten past by this stranger I’m sitting beside… in his truck.

Sudden fear grips me when someone knocks on my window, and I let out a shriek. The same hand that knocked begins to make a circular motion on the window to wipe away some of the water. I find myself scooting closer to Ross, who appears calmer than I’ve ever seen him, and it’s not until he moves his arm that I realize I’d been gripping it as if doing so would save me from impending harm.

“Amelia, relax,” he says in a patient tone, which was completely unexpected to me. He nods to the man on my side, who goes around to the driver’s. I assume the nod was a sign of given permission, but for what? “I should have told you. There are two other U.S. Marshals here to ensure our safety, but they’re not dressed in their usual uniforms for obvious reasons. He’s one of them, and he’s here to park the truck, so get your bag and we’ll go inside.”

The other Marshal opens the door, and Ross exits. Nearly at the same time, I hurry out, not wanting to be in the truck with this new stranger for even half a second. For all I know, he could be a Mafia member with a stolen badge.

I’m handed my overstuffed Ralph Lauren carpet bag by Ross, who surprises me with the gentle way he places it into my arms. “You got it?” he asks.

I look at him strangely, wondering where my real bodyguard disappeared to, and who replaced him. “Yeah, thanks,” I answer slowly, staring at the pinkness of his eyes, and the way they’re half closed. He yawns a few times before we even make it to the French doors of this hotel – Hilton’s Homewood Suites. Once we’re inside the lobby, he yawns a sixth time, and I can’t resist teasing him.

Half serious and half joking, I say, “Oh, you’re tired! That explains why you haven’t been yourself lately. You’ve actually been bearable to be around for the past twenty minutes!”

“Oh, and what is my usual self?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Grumpy,” I reply. “Cold. Heartless.” Ross’s next words make me want to take mine back.

“My profession and experiences will do that to a person.”

“Oh.”

“But so will naïve little girls like yourself who have to rely on someone else to think for them.” Ross is back. “I’m surprised I haven’t yet gone grey with the work they assign me.”

“I am not work!”

“Hello,” says a smiling man behind the front desk. How much of our conversation did he hear? I was simply following Ross, and didn’t even see where we were going. “Welcome to Homewood Suites. How may I be of service?”

 “Hi,” Ross replies. “I called earlier for a room. Here’s my card and…”

“Miss, you can go ahead and have a cookie if you’d like,” the hotel clerk says, causing me to realize I’d been staring at them since we got here. Sugar cookies are my favorites.

I try to get in Ross’s head before acting, but I realize I don’t like it there. How does he live? He must be thinking the cookie is poisonous. But still, I look at him, hoping to get the same nod of permission he gave to the guy who parked the Hummer. I don’t think about how strange this must appear until after I receive the “yes” I wanted, when I turn back to the man, whose face makes me fully realize the oddity of it.

“You two sure packed light,” he says, surprising me. I lower the cookie from my mouth and look at Ross, curious to know his reaction to the man’s words. He appears surprised, too, but we’re both even more so at his next. “Running from the law?” When no one else laughs at the joke, he does. “I’m just kidding. So, anyway… The total for the week will be $1,393.84. How will you be paying?”

“Cash,” Ross answers. After digging in his pocket and handing me a dollar bill, he says to me, “July, why don’t you get yourself something from the snack shop? I know you must be starving.” I begin to ask him if he wants anything, but Raymond, the clerk, interrupts me.

“No way is your name July!” he says. “And your name is Romero… Romero and July… Romeo and Juliet!” He laughs again, this time with more enthusiasm, but stops at the sight of the look Ross is giving him. Ross is making it clear that he’s not in the mood for jokes. “I see neither of you are amused. Here are your keys.” He hands them to us, but doesn’t receive a ‘thank you’ until I speak up.

As Ross and I walk away, I elbow him in the side. “You can be polite no matter how tired you are.”

“I’ll be polite when I get my coffee.”

“For some reason I doubt that.”

☆⍟☆

“Room 406… 407… 408… Here we are: Room 409.” Ross slides his card into the reader and waits for the light to turn green before opening the door. I breathe in deeply to take in as much as I can at once of the wonderful scent of this hotel room.

My bodyguard has me stick close to him while we go through the suite. He looks in every closet and under every bed. Each corner is also checked. The search for anything suspicious is more thorough than the one he did at home.

“Alright, everything looks safe,” he says. The confidence in his voice and on his face gives me enough to relax. Even enough to possibly sleep. I sit down on the blue suede sofa in front of the television, but then gradually slide down until my head is resting on one of the forest green pillows. “I’m going to make a phone call and then make my coffee. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper, then presses a few buttons on his cell phone, his eyes darting back and forth from the paper to the keyboard. Then he puts the phone to his ear, and waits. “Hi ma’am, this is… Yes… Yes, she’s fine. Mhm, yes.” My ears perk up at the mention of this ‘she’. He has to be talking about me. “She’s right here. I’ll put her on the phone for you.”

My brows are knitted in confusion as I look up at Ross, who hands the phone to me. Covering the microphone, I say quietly, “Who…?”

“Just say hi,” is all he replies, his voice soft.

“Um, okay.” Before the phone covers my ear, I hear my name being called on the other end, and the hand that holds the phone suddenly loosens its grip around it. I nearly drop the device.

“Amelia? Amelia?”

I freeze, and my heart begins to race as the aching of it returns. I look up at Ross again through eyes fogged with water, wondering if this is really happening. He doesn’t say a word, but instead turns around and goes into the kitchen area, then begins to make the coffee.

“Amelia?” the voice repeats. It sounds like how I imagine mine does… filled with emotions. I can’t even pinpoint the names of mine. “Baby?”

I immediately click the ‘End’ button.

Leaning forward, I rest my head on the arm of the sofa and let out a short-lived sigh. A quiet sob interrupts it, and slow tears begin to run down my hot cheeks.

“Well, that was a quick conversation.”

I lift my head to stare at Ross, unable to believe he could use sarcasm right now. “Huh?”

His facial expression completely changes when he takes his attention off the heating coffee and turns it onto me. “Amelia, I’m sorry… I forgot… I wasn’t thinking.”

“How could you forget?” I say with surprising control over my voice. “You Marshals are the ones who took her away from me. She hasn’t sent me anything in almost a year, so I’ve been on pins and needles, fearing for her life. No one had the decency to tell me what on earth happened to her!”

“It was for your safety’s sake,” Ross says gently. “And Amelia, please keep your voice down. Our neighbors don’t–”

My voice cracking a little and rising in pitch, I reply, “Keep my voice down? The neighbors are all you care about? You don’t understand, Romero. My–”

“I understand!”

My eyes wide, I bring my head back in surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to shout. Especially not after telling me to lower my own volume. “I’m sorry… I–”

Ross holds on to the edge of the marble kitchen counter as if trying to control himself while in the calming process. His tone changed significantly during the lag time before his response. “I understand more than I care to share, Amelia.” He ignores a knock on the door as he brings my coffee over. I mumble a, “Thank you,” and take a sip.

The third knock on the door seems to increase his irritation with whoever stands on the other side. The fourth causes him to leave me in the living room and go to the door.

“What’s with all the shouting?” says the somewhat shaky, small voice of an elderly lady. “My grandchildren are trying to sleep."

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ll keep it down.”

“Thank you.”

By the time Ross returns, I’ve already finished my coffee. His conversation with our new friend was short, but I’m such a coffee addict that it doesn’t take me long to finish a cup.

“Did you want to call your mom again?”

“Um…”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” Ross says as if reading my mind. “I’m sure she would understand. I’m very sorry about all of this.”

“The coffee’s good.”

☆⍟☆

I’m convinced that coffee has become a part of me and now has no effect on my body. I’m half asleep, having to be brought to bed by Ross, who seems as if he could stay up for a few days.

Once I’m in bed, the lights are turned off and the door is closed. Then I have a thought. Ross could secretly be working for the Mafia! This thought gives me all the energy I need to find some moveable furniture, slide them across the floor and leave them behind the door. My last ounce of energy is spent getting myself back in bed.