I refrain from pointing out that my relative financial stability has nothing to do with my family’s money, which I haven’t taken a quid of since school.
“Is there something cheaper?” I ask.
She scrolls through hotels. “Paradise Fun Guest House,” she says. “A hundred bucks a night before fees.”
“Sounds about right,” I say.
“There’s one room. We’ll have to share.”
I try to keep my face even. There is no point in conveying that I’d really rather sleep at the police station than in the same room as her. I can see by her expression she feels the same way.
“Is that okay with you?” I ask.
“Not really, but we don’t have a choice.”
“Right.”
She pulls out a card and books the hotel.
Hope
I have never been so miserable.
It is swelteringly hot, I have no possessions or access to communication, I’m going to get fired, and I am sharing this joyful experience with a man whose very presence fills me with a singular combination of humiliation and rage.
And it’s mutual.
Felix is being civil, but I can tell he dreads it every time he has to speak to me.
He offers to drop me at our hotel before he goes to the police station, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to split up. We sit in tense silence for ninety minutes until someone is free to take his report.
I spend the time catastrophizing about all the additional things that could go wrong. What if it takes forever to get an emergency passport? What if I can’t afford to change my plane ticket? What if Felix murders me in my sleep?
I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and my stomach starts audibly rumbling.
“We’ll get food after this,” Felix says.
“Yeah,” I say, annoyed that, on top of everything else, he can hear my intestinal noises.
We leave the station and grab takeaway sandwiches from a cheap conch shack and sit outside on a bench to eat them. They’re good, but I am acutely aware that it is my finances that are making this whole thing even worse than if the tables were turned, and I had the phone and he had the money.
I’m trying not to feel ashamed. I’ve worked hard my whole life, and I’m far more fortunate than many people. But after Felix’s accusations this morning, I dearly wish I did not have to reveal to him just how tight a budget I’m on.
It looks damning.
We decide to walk to our hotel to save cab fare, since it’s only twenty minutes away. This proves to be a bad decision when a big, fat raindrop plops on my forehead.
“Do you feel rain?” I ask Felix.
“Just a drop or two,” he says.
Within thirty seconds the drop or two turns into a tropical deluge. We’re still ten minutes from the hotel and now far enough away from the city center that there are no taxis.
We get so drenched so quickly that there’s no point stopping somewhere for shelter. Instead, we dash through the dark streets, dodging the spray of passing cars, until we reach Paradise Fun Guest House.
I was worried it might be scary or disgusting given the price point, but it’s in a tidy enough yellow stucco building, and the tiny lobby is clean.
A friendly woman welcomes us, clucking in sympathy at our bedraggled state. “Hope Lanover, yes?” she asks. “I’ve been waiting for you. Last guest of the night.”
