Chapter 6 - The Night on the Curb
The Pinecrest Motel was a far cry from the lakefront villa.
The walls were thin enough to hear the neighbors' television,
and the carpet smelled of stale cigarettes and disappointment.
Betsy sat on the edge of the saggy bed,
her designer suitcase looking absurd in the dim,
yellow light.
"We only have sixty dollars in cash,
Mom,"
Pamela said,
dumping her purse onto the bed.
"Sixty dollars!"
"That won't even cover the breakfast we had planned."
Betsy didn't answer.
She was staring at a photo on her phone—
a post from an hour ago.
It was Naomi’s account.
It showed the four of them on the private jet,
smiling and drinking fresh juice.
The caption read:
"Taking the people who built me to the place they deserve."
"No room for toxicity,
only for love."
The comments were filled with praise from Naomi’s colleagues and friends.
Betsy felt a surge of jealousy so sharp it made her stomach churn.
"She’s doing this to humiliate me,"
Betsy hissed.
"She’s trying to turn Lucas against his own flesh and blood."
"Mom,
I think Lucas was already turned,"
Pamela said,
her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"He saw you kick that suitcase."
"He saw the way Nancy looked when you called her a peasant."
"Even I thought it was...
a bit much."
Betsy turned on her daughter,
her eyes flashing.
"A bit much?
I was protecting our image!"
"And now our image is a motel with a buzzing neon sign and a broken heater,"
Pamela retorted.
They spent the night huddled under thin,
scratchy blankets,
listening to the wind howl through the cracks in the door.
Every time a car drove by,
Betsy hoped it was Lucas coming to rescue them.
But the only thing that arrived was the morning sun,
revealing the stains on the walls and the reality of their situation.
They had no way to get home.
No way to buy a plane ticket.
No way to call for help.
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The woman who had spent years kicking people down was finally at the bottom,
and there was no one left to pick up her suitcase.
