Chapter Text
This summer is one of the hottest you can remember in Oregon and you regret taking a vacation almost as soon as you get out of the city. While it may be cooler along the coast, it’s also humid and blindingly sunny as light reflects off the expanse of ocean. Even with the air conditioning on full blast in your car, the sun heats up your leather seats and black dashboard with a vengeance. Your sunglasses don’t do much to protect you from the mid-afternoon glare off the blacktop.
You’re sweating in the driver’s seat as you navigate the coastal interstate, squinting into the sun while you try not to miss the exit or, honestly, drive straight off a cliff. Yacht rock blares from your radio, The Eagles doing their part to set the summer tone.
Every summer you try your best to romanticize the relentless heat glaring off white cloud cover, but it’s difficult when you’re trapped in the suburbs of Portland. Cracked greying asphalt, thirsty trees, and skate parks absorb every scrap of UV light until it’s near impossible to step outside. You don’t even get blue skies in Portland, everything just turns white and hazy, so bright you can hardly look at it.
It’s good that you’re finally getting away for a vacation. You’ve been driving for too long to feel optimistic right now, but when you loaded your suitcase into your car this morning you were definitely looking forward to the blue ocean and brilliant skies of coastal Oregon. In your opinion, summer is best enjoyed when the sky is clear lapis lazuli blue, reflecting a cold pool or a beautiful beach.
You’re on your way to meet some friends in the mountains currently and you’re hoping that you’ll get a chance to relax and see some sun. There’s nothing better than getting cooled off in the water then sitting on a beach towel and reading a good book. It’s your favourite way to spend the summer and it happens far too rarely.
Right now all you’re looking for is a chance to rest. You woke up early to get packed this morning (Your friends always say you do everything at the very last minute, but you were so busy with your work that you didn’t have the chance to pack until the morning) but at the moment you’re more annoyed than you are tired. Summer is no fun if you’re stuck behind the wheel of a slowly overheating car.
Your phone rings and you glance away from the road momentarily to check the caller ID. It’s your friend Ashley, so you answer and put it on speakerphone.
“Hey, girl, when are you gonna make it to the lakehouse?” she demands. There’s laughter in the background; it’s obvious that the rest of your friends are already there.
“I’ll be there soon, I promise,” you say. “I just got a later start than you guys.”
“We know that, silly.”
Alright, so they are not only already at the lakehouse, they have also started drinking. Ashley only calls you weird nicknames when she’s tipsy. The party will be well in swing by the time you arrive. You’ll be the only sober person, the latecomer who missed hours worth of inside jokes and gets stuck with whatever bedroom no one else wanted.
The lakehouse belongs to Ashley’s fiance, so they clearly took the biggest room, and Donna brought her boyfriend too. There’s no chance that Leigh was courteous enough to leave you the nicer of whatever rooms were left; she doesn’t think about things that way, and she would want a big bed to stumble into when she inevitably spends the first night of vacation getting blackout drunk. You sigh, fighting the urge to just hang up on Ashley.
“You work too much,” Ashley continues, “If you’d just taken a day off like everyone else did, you could’ve got here yesterday.”
You briefly consider snapping at Ashley that you don’t have a job where you can just ‘take a day off’ at will like the rest of them. You rely on your meagre salary and people rely on you. You barely scraped together enough money and vacation days to make it to the lakehouse, and now that you can hear the party raging behind Ashley, you don’t even want to be there.
“I will get there when I get there,” you sigh, wishing that you didn’t have friends that you had to speak to like children.
“Okay,” Ashley whines, “But can you do it sooner?”
Your head is killing you, aching from squinting into the sun, and you’re exhausted from your early morning. All your thoughts are still mired in the city, your mind dragged back to your work even as you drive farther and farther away. No part of you, not even a small one that still remembers the excitement of your college friend group, wants to arrive and immediately start partying.
“Actually, I’m really tired,” you say, scanning the reflective road signs for anywhere that you could pull off and rest for a bit. “I might stay the night somewhere and finish the drive tomorrow.”
“What?” Ashley exclaims. You can hear her, immediately turning and shouting this news to the rest of the group. A chorus of boos and whines answers her, loud enough that you can hear their voices even over the poor reception.
“No, come on, this is our lake getaway. You need to relax and just stop working so hard,” Ashley says. “Once you get here and see everyone, you won’t even feel tired anymore.”
There— Not even one of the official interstate signs listing accommodations, just a small handwritten one, like it was placed specifically for you to see. It reads “Bates Motel: White Pine Bay Exit. 5 Miles! Free WIFI!” in blocky Sharpie.
What’s that word? Serendipity. This must be the right place.
“Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow,” you say, and hang up on Ashley’s protest. What was the name again? Bait Motel or something. The sign said only five miles, and if you have any luck, the showers will be decently clean. You switch into the exit lane and start looking for White Pine Bay.
Blue neon greets you as the sun starts to dip below the horizon. The sign declares the low tan building and gravel parking lot to be the Bates Motel, and you’re in luck. There are vacancies. You turn on your blinker and pull right into the lot. As soon as you climb out of your car, you’re hit with a wave of heat. The air is thick with humidity and salt, palpable with every thick breath you draw. You glance around the deserted parking lot. The motel is a one-story building, shaped like a letter L, with fresh tan paint but chipped and weathered wooden poles holding up the awning. It looks like it’s been given a recent facelift, but has still seen better days.
All of that goes out the window, though, when you glance at a sign outside the office and read the sentence “Pool access included with room.” There’s a pool here? That’s all you need, and if the parking lot is anything to go by, you’ll practically have it all to yourself.
Golden late evening sunlight gleams off your car and pours into the tiny motel office, illuminating every mote of dust glittering in the air. The office is empty; there’s no one behind the desk. You glance around at the postcards displayed along the wall, the brochures stacked beside the door, and the peg board where more than two thirds of the room keys are waiting to be given out. You reach out and tap the little bell on the counter. A small, tinny sound rings out through the hazy hush of the office. After a moment, hurried footsteps answer the bell. A lanky teenager with a pale, doughy face and matted bangs appears in the doorway. He pastes on a polite smile the second he sees you, but it doesn’t do much to transform the grim set of his face.
“Hello, welcome to the Bates Motel,” he says, “How may I help you?”
“I’d like a room for the night, please,” you say.
“Absolutely. Any preference? As you can see, we— We’re not very booked, at the moment. Don’t get a lot of travellers coming this way anymore.”
The teenager gestures awkwardly to the board without meeting your eyes. His expression suggests that he’s confused by the words coming out of his mouth and, honestly, so are you.
“I’d like to be close to the pool, if that’s possible,” you say. “Your pool is open, right?”
“Yes!” You don’t think you’re imagining the way that his eyes light up at the mention. “Yes, it’s open, and it’s very new. Mother— My mother, she owns this motel, a–and she just had the pool added very recently. It’s a beautiful addition.”
“So is your mom…Mrs. Bates?” you guess, hoping that you won’t get it wrong.
“Yep,” he happily confirms, suddenly seeming far more cheerful. “Just follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”
As he leads you out of the office and down the row of teal doors, he glances over his shoulder. “By the way, I’m Norman Bates. I’m the manager so you can just let me know if there’s anything, anything at all that you need.”
“Sure, I’ll do that. Thank you.”
He seems a bit young to be the manager of a motel. He can’t be more than seventeen. But maybe since his mother owns it, she figured it would simply be easier to keep the business in the family and use her son for help while he was still living at home. You glance around at the huge Victorian house looming on the hill and the miles of highway stretching in either direction. It seems like a lonely place to grow up, but to someone coming from the city, the quiet cliffs and slight marshy scent in the air is nothing short of paradise.
The room is panelled in dark wood and hung with inoffensive watercolour landscapes of the surrounding marshes. You wonder if they were done by a local artist. After checking the sheets for stains and the bathroom for any egregious mess, you deem the room clean enough for a single night and settle your suitcase onto the bed.
You’re sticky with sweat, you have a pounding headache throbbing at your temples, and you’re so warm from your car ride that heat seems to be radiating beneath your skin. You could take a cold shower, but all you really want to do is plunge into cool, chlorinated water and swim where you can see the ocean over the cliffs.
Because you were planning to swim at a lake with only your oldest friends around, you packed your most fashionable swimsuit, a scarlet bikini. It’s nothing more than pool-worthy lingerie, covered in sparkly pink lace and so tight that the top is basically a push-up bra. You’re slightly embarrassed to be wearing it at a motel where any stranger could see. Something about that teen boy at the front desk made you uncomfortable and you don’t like the thought of him looking at you in this bathing suit. But he’ll be in the office, and you’ll be at the pool, where there will likely be no one else around.
Oh, why the hell not? You’ve already made a spontaneous decision, what’s one more? You open your suitcase and pull out your bathing suit.
Once you get your suit on and don a coverup, you lock your room and go in search of the pool. It feels a little glamorous, a little risky, walking around the motel grounds in a filmy robe and huge sunglasses like some kind of forgotten starlet.
Shading your eyes against the sun creeping around your glasses, you make your way around the side of the motel. It’s settled right on a sloping cliffside, where the interstate gradually winds down the mountain into a network of little ocean coves and bays. When you walk around the back, you can almost make out the ocean between the thick clusters of trees. The pastel sky is painted softer than a melting swirl of artificial ice cream in the summer, streaked with creamsicle orange and powder pink. You gaze up at the sunset, feeling the soft warmth of the breeze on your face. Your heart settles. For a moment you feel… quiet. Peaceful.
A way that you would never feel on vacation with your friends, unless you snuck out in the middle of the night to gaze alone at the stars. You can’t explain why, but you’re washed with a wave of immense gratitude that you took this night for yourself before joining your college friends’ neverending party life.
Then you round the corner and see the pool, spread out before you in a glorious, glassy expanse of aqua. It butts right against the marshes, separated from the scraggly grass and soft mud puddles only by a chainlink fence, but true to Norman’s report, the pool itself is spotless. Fresh white paint is bright beneath the chlorinated water. Rows of green and blue deck chairs in shiny plastic line the concrete. Some might call it a poor imitation of the nearby tidal inlets, but to you, it’s a little slice of paradise.
You’re so captivated by the brand new pool (so different from most motel pools with chipping paint and soggy leaves) and excited by the prospect of swimming that it takes you a moment to notice the woman lying on the deck. When you do see her, though, the rest of the pool fades into the background.
A vibrant splash of royal blue terrycloth spreads beneath her figure. She’s wearing a simple black one piece that is nevertheless excruciatingly elegant, but with her perfectly coiled blonde curls, you would be shocked if she had stepped foot in the water. She’s laid out with her eyes closed, blissful in the dwindling sun.
Is she another guest? A beauty queen, perhaps, travelling for a pageant? Or a 1960s pin-up girl who somehow stumbled into a time machine? Something about her captivates you, drawing your gaze back to her body again and again, even when you try to look away.
As you walk closer to the pool, moving quietly towards her like you’re in a dream, she opens her eyes. Startled, you stop short before realizing that it actually looks far more suspicious for you to just stand, immobile, watching her.
Still, you aren’t prepared for her to yelp and scramble to her feet, drawing the towel tight around her. She brushes her hair out of her face— It’s longer than you realised, curling in angelic ringlets over her sunkissed shoulders.
“Oh my gosh,” she exclaims, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize we had guests. I’ll get out of your way.”
“What…? No, it’s fine,” you say, confused by her apologies. “It’s a great pool, we can both use it.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” The woman’s face glows with satisfaction, a brilliant smile breaking across her lips. “All I really wanted for this motel was a pool,” she continues, “I thought it would be just perfect if we had a pool. I’m so glad you like it.”
“Wait, is this your motel?” you demand, finally putting the pieces together. She looks back at you, like she assumed that you knew the answer already.
“Well, yes.”
So this must be the mother of the teenage boy that greeted you at the office. What did he say his name was? Norman. Norman Bates. Is this Mrs. Bates? Her crystal blue eyes have none of Norman’s vacant stare. She looks like she belongs in an evening gown walking a red carpet instead of operating a cheap motel off the highway.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bates,” you say, holding out your hand. She shakes it with a firm grip, her soft palm warmed by the sun.
“How do you know my name?” she replies with an amused, if slightly suspicious, smile.
“Oh, well, it’s named after you. The motel,” you explain hesitantly, suddenly afraid that you have overstepped somehow. “And I met your son in the office.”
“Oh, Norman, of course.”
“I just thought you were a guest at first.”
“Huh. Really?”
“Now I know better, of course.”
“What’s your name, honey?” she asks. You flush slightly at the pet name, though she seems like the motherly type who uses sweet names for everyone they meet. It just affects you, despite your best efforts, being treated like that by such a beautiful woman.
“I’m Y/N Y/LN.”
“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Norma Bates, though you know that last part already.”
“Is your son named after you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. For a second you thought she was saying her son’s name, but then you put the pieces together. It’s odd, but not any stranger than fathers giving their sons the exact same name passed down through generations. You only wonder if it gets confusing, having such similar names.
“He is,” Norma beams, “He’s such a darling boy, isn’t he? Though I am surprised he didn’t let me know that we had a guest…”
“Oh, I just got here in the last hour,” you explain awkwardly, hoping that you didn’t make any trouble for her or Norman. After all, she was clearly sunning on the deck, expecting that she would have the pool to herself. You hate to think that you interrupted her private time to relax.
“And you came out to the pool first thing?” she asks.
“I love to swim,” you explain with a laugh. “I needed to cool down after my drive and it just seemed perfect.”
“Well, I won’t keep you from it.”
Norma draws her robe around her shoulders and hoists the towel in the crook of her elbow, hiding back towards the house. She’s almost left the pool deck when you remember to stop gazing at her tanned, freckled back and the sway of her hips.
“Norma,” you call with a strangely dry mouth, “Wait.”
She turns back around. “What is it? Do you need anything?”
“No, I just— You can stay. At the pool. I wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh.” Norma’s bright eyes widen in pleasant surprise, obvious even from across the pool. She surveys you with a new scrutiny, as though she’s searching for the catch. You try to look friendly and welcoming, like someone Norma might want to spend time with.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? You’re a paying guest, and well, I’d hate to intrude.”
“No, no, it’s really fine,” you insist, “Please stay.”
“Okay. Alright, then. I will.”
Norma settles her towel and book back onto her deck chair and, after a moment of hesitation, you put your things down on the chair beside her. You aren’t sure exactly what, aside from her beauty, is drawing you to her. You’re just curious about her, this woman marooned at the side of the highway with only her son and a constantly changing stream of motel guests for company. How did she get here? How does she spend her days? You want to ask her every question, just to keep her talking, just to figure her out.
While Norma lays out her towel, you untie the belt of your coverup, but pause. Maybe you didn’t think this all the way through. Your swimsuit is pretty revealing, nothing like Norma’s demure black onepiece. Will she think worse of you when she sees it? Will she judge you?
You leave the robe hanging around your shoulders and plop down onto the seat beside Norma, tilting your head and looking at her until she returns your gaze.
“How long have you owned this place?” you ask.
“Just a few years. I bought it on foreclosure and moved all the way from Arizona to clean the place up. We needed a fresh start and I thought… Well, I thought at the time that this was the way to do it.”
There’s wistfulness in her words, belying a deeper sadness. Or are you reading too much into it? “Did it work out how you thought it would?” you prod.
Norma shakes her head, barking an ironic laugh. “No. Not even slightly.”
“I’m sorry. That’s rough.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We’re making it work. It isn’t easy, but at least I have Norman, and we’re making it work.”
“I think that’s really brave,” you say. “I mean, I can’t imagine just packing up and moving that suddenly.”
“Have you lived here all your life?” Norma asks.
“Yeah, is it obvious?” you laugh. Norma laughs with you, and it’s a beautiful sound, bright and free. Hearing it makes you smile more in response. Her amusement is infectious.
“No, no, I’ve just… moved around a lot,” she says, maintaining a light tone despite her vague words. “I don’t really know what it’s like, staying in a place long enough to put down roots.”
“It isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be, honestly,” you tell her. “I mean, I still see the friend group I met in college, just because we all live too close to avoid them. I’m supposed to be on vacation with them right now, actually.”
“Why aren’t you?” Norma frowns. You’re beginning to enjoy how expressive she is, her entire face shifting for a simple question or reaction. She does nothing by the half— Not joy, or confusion, or disappointment. It’s refreshing to see, coming from a culture of people who pretend that everything is casual and nonchalant no matter the topic.
“I’m on my way to meet them,” you explain. “I just stopped for the night because…” You haven’t admitted this to anyone, afraid that you’ll sound like a bad friend, but Norma knows none of these people. You can tell her your side of the story without worrying about her judgment. “I don’t really like spending time with them anymore. Just because we got along in college doesn’t mean we’re still those same people, you know? Except I feel like they are the same and I’m the only one who has changed.”
“People don’t change, sweetheart,” Norma sighs after a moment. “It might seem like they do, and they might tell you that they have or they’re trying, but they never really do.”
“Well…I think I’ve changed,” you say, mildly petulant. You didn’t go through college and all the stress of applying for this job, this crucial first job, just to be the same person you were at eighteen.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” Norma hastens to clarify. “I’m sure you’re different. But people don’t ever change who they are. Not at their heart. If they’re a good person, they’ll stay good, no matter what. But if they’re not, they’ll always go back to their bad ways.”
“Do you really think that?”
Norma’s cool gaze grows distant. Her voice sharpens with sudden ire. “I know it. Don’t question me on this, alright? Just don’t.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s alright, dear.” Norma’s shift back to charming and pleasant is quick as mercury. She slides on a soft smile and leans closer, fully engaged in the conversation. It almost seems like she was testing you, just seeing how you would respond to her sudden irritation. It almost seems like she’s pleased that you listened to her so well and agreed immediately.
“You want to believe the best of people, don’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“That’s okay. You’re still young. Don’t lose that optimism, you won’t ever get it back.”
She tilts her head, considering you with a single-minded stare. You flush, faced with her complete concentration. Does she talk to all her guests like this? It feels like she’s known you forever, she’s watching you like she can see your childhood memories from every scraped knee to embarrassing destructions of innocence.
Something about the maternal, caring gaze in her eyes makes you feel like you’ve been thrown backwards into a wall of time. You might as well be a child, sitting across from your mom at the pool and asking questions about a world you’ve never entered; Norma speaks like she knows so much more than you do. Longing rises inside you, quick and bitter like bile, to have grown up with her advice.
You barely know her son, but you’re suddenly jealous of him.
“I’ll try my best,” you promise in a quiet voice. “But… I don’t know if optimism is the kind of thing you lose. Not really.”
“It depends on how you’re raised,” Norma says vaguely with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, where are you from?”
“Portland,” you answer, barely phased by the whiplash change in subject. “That’s where I went to school, anyway, and I stayed because I got a job there.”
“That’s great,” Norma says, “I’ve only been to Portland once and I…didn’t stay long. It looked beautiful, though. Do you like it?”
“It’s okay. It’s really loud and it feels different living in a big city without going to college there,” you answer, surprised by the words coming out of your mouth. This isn’t your rote answer about how pretty Portland is in springtime, the practiced one where you never mention how unbearable it is in every other season.
“I can understand that,” Norma says. “Do you prefer the country over the city?”
“I think so. Yeah. What about you?”
“Oh, I definitely do.” Norma settles her chin into her chin, gazing over your shoulder into the thick copse of marshy grass and trees lining the fence. “It’s so peaceful out here. Sometimes I wish I lived even farther away from town, just so I didn’t have to deal with the people . But I love it here and my motel is great. I never really liked Arizona, anyway.”
Conversation with Norma is liable to give you whiplash; she connects topics that don’t make logical sense in your head. You’re left scrambling to keep up with her thoughts, and far from being annoying, it thrills you how she keeps you on your toes. Everyone at work calls you an adrenaline junkie and they might not be fully wrong. Talking to her gives you the same swoops in your stomach as a rollercoaster plunge and you never want to get used to it.
“Did you live in the city in Arizona?”
“Oh, not really. I mean, just the suburbs,” Norma says. “We still had to drive about twenty minutes to do anything or just to take my son to school. There were lots of reasons I didn’t like Arizona.”
“Like what?”
“Bad things happened there.”
Norma doesn’t elaborate. You don’t ask.
After a minute, she sits back and picks up her book. You drop the robe onto your deck chair and head for the pool, studiously resisting the urge to glance over your shoulder for Norma’s reaction to your swimsuit. It’s too bad, really. If you had looked over your shoulder, you would have been gratified by the subtle widening of her eyes and flushing of her cheeks as she took in your lithe form, the bikini leaving very little of your skin to the imagination. Almost as pointedly as you ignored Norma’s gaze, she slides her sunglasses on in a failed attempt to look casual.
Even without turning your head, you can feel the weight of her eyes clinging to your skin as you descend the ladder. Cool water envelops your ankles, your knees, and then your thighs. You pause, fingers circling the warm metal rungs of the ladder. Norma, hidden behind her sunglasses, doesn’t look away. A gentle shiver runs over your skin and down your spine. It has nothing to do with the water lapping at your legs.
Could Norma be as curious as you feel about her?
You would hate to presume, but she hasn’t stopped staring. Her eyes remain fixed on you— You’re certain that she is looking right at you, you can feel where her gaze sticks as she glances up and down your exposed midriff and the place where the teal water meets your thighs.
Uncurling your fingers, you release your grip and let your body fall into the water with a loud splash. After the sunset soaking your skin, the sudden chill of water surrounding your body is blissful. You dip beneath the water, then break the surface with a gasp. Your hair is drenched, water dripping off the tip of your nose, and your whole body is chilled. It’s beyond beautiful after the day you’ve had.
You tip back and lie on your back, staring up at the soft blue sky. Twilight is just beginning to tinge the edges purple, but golden remnants of sun streak the clouds. You can sense the changing light, though the trees block the horizon from view.
Small waves lap at your sides and head as the water supports your body. You drift gently across the empty pool, floating without destination or any attempt to control your direction. You can hear nothing except water in your ears and faint, distant sounds of oncoming night. The whir of cicadas and crickets hums beneath trilling birdcalls.
Diffuse warmth shines down on your body, but the water beneath you is cool as shadows begin to dim the surface of the pool. It’s a perfect balance, leaving you floating in a contented haze. Your eyes flutter open and shut as you listen to your breathing and the echoing sound of your heart. This is so different from the city, where you can barely get a moment of peace. You needed this more desperately than you realised…
As you lay in the water, your vague thoughts turn towards the woman you just met. Everything Norma says seems to hint at some dark past. You barely know her, but you’re burning to learn more and unravel every sentence she says to you. There’s something about the dramatic way that she speaks, at once caring and cryptic, that just draws you in.
She left Arizona because of bad things? You wonder what happened to her. She looks like a washed up, glamorous Hollywood star but the wistfulness in her eyes when she talked about how “people never change” suggests that she’s seen more than her fair share of hurt and violence. You have never met anyone as worldly and wise as Norma Bates.
You turn her advice over in your thoughts. People never change who they truly are at the core? You think she might be right. You’ve always tried to be a good person, but lately it seems like your friends have given up even trying, like they’re no longer obligated to better themselves just because they’re adults. It even seems like they judge you for trying so hard still, asking why you care so much about work when you could be making more money in less time without even considering why your work is important to you. Despite having just met Norma, you feel like she would be more understanding.
You remain in the pool until twilight has well and truly fallen, lights beginning to flick on around the pool area and parking lot. When you climb out, you realize Norma is gone. At some point she must have gotten up and walked away without a word to you. Gathering your belongings and wrapping your towel tightly around your dripping body, you head back to your room, the key swinging against your leg. Room number one, easy enough to remember. Just before inserting the dull gold key into the lock, something makes you glance towards the house. Only a few lights are on— One downstairs, two upstairs that you can see. In the front room, outlined in a blush of golden lamplight, is an elegant silhouette. The curtains are parted slightly, revealing a glimpse of blonde curls and creamy skin.
Norma. It must be Norma. Aware that you shouldn’t be looking, you nevertheless stand on the sidewalk, captivated by some voyeuristic instinct. She looks softer now than she did when you met her, more like a real woman than some magazine illustration. With a shock of shame you realize she’s undressing, she’s halfway naked already. As quickly as you can, you look away, turning your key in the lock and hurrying into your room. You can’t help it, though, when the image of Norma’s black bra and face bare of makeup lingers in your mind.
You quickly go through the motions of showering to wash off the sweat and chlorine, and as you’re changing into pajamas, your phone rings. The caller ID announces that it’s your friend Leigh. With a long-suffering sigh, you toss your t-shirt on the bed and pick up the phone.
“Hiii oh my gosh hi,” Leigh squeals, “We’re so glad you picked up because, like, we thought you maybe wouldn’t but we’re really glad you did!”
“Hi.”
“Where are you staying? It sucks so much that you couldn’t get here tonight. Is it just awful out there in the boonies?”
“I think you’re more rural than me,” you correct her. “I’m by a town. White Pine Bay. The motel is actually pretty nice.”
“Not as nice as Brett’s family’s lake house,” Leigh informs you. “Hey, Ash, come say hi!”
Muffled chatter in the background swells over the thudding beat of whatever music is playing. Straining your ears, you can just hear Ashley’s reply.
“In a second,” she calls, “I can’t find Brett and I need another drink.”
So, Ashley isn’t going to say hi. Unsurprising. You’re shocked that Leigh called you at all, usually it seems like your friends forget you the second you aren’t there. More and more lately, they’ve been scheduling things without care for your plans and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you’re more resigned than anything else.
“Thanks for calling,” you say, when the background noise has stretched on for a few minutes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow! Love you, girl!”
“You too, Leelee.” The nickname is old, leftover from days in college when you thought you weren’t a real friend group if you didn’t call each other secret silly nicknames. Leigh’s is the only one that really stuck but it suits her, and manages to bring a slight smile to your face as you end the call.
You plug your phone in and then flick off the light, crawling into bed. Right before you fall into the depths of REM sleep, you remember that you need an early start tomorrow. Fumbling in the dark, then blinded by the screen, you manage to set an alarm for 5 am. A peaceful melody of crickets, cicadas, and ocean waves drifts through your hazy, half-asleep mind. Just before you succumb to your dreams, you wonder what it would be like if you never met your friends, if you could just stay… here.
Next morning, you step outside to a world of lavender haze shrouding the trees and parking lot. Cool humidity falls on your skin, pale sunlight warming the dew almost instantly. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step out to the parking lot. Heaving your bags out to the car, you cast a glance towards the towering grey shadow of the Victorian house. She's probably still asleep, but you like knowing where Norma is, just picturing her up there. Without understanding why, you’re certain that Norma will be someone that you remember. The secret twitches of her lips right before she smiles, the fierce empathy in her voice, the odd mingle of brash politeness with which she approaches the world. You’ll remember how she said that things here didn’t work out the way she thought they would, and whenever you think of her in the future, you’ll wish her better.
Once your bags are loaded, you stretch in the parking lot and then slide into your car. On to the lake house, for which you feel only slightly more excited after a night of shockingly good sleep. Offering Norma the tribute of a final glance towards her home, you turn the key in the ignition and wait for the roar of the engine.
Nothing happens.
You turn it again, pushing it further this time.
Nothing happens.
Oh, no.
You turn the key again and again, faster each time, pleading under your breath for the car to start. Finally you’re forced to slump back into your seat with a mumbled curse. So much for an early start. The unfortunate side effects of your attempt to be prepared is that it’s far too early for anyone else to be awake, including car repairmen.
Gazing out at the foggy road and lush green underbrush beyond it, you dial Ashley, intending to tell her that you’ll be even later than she thinks. She doesn’t pick up. Of course she doesn’t.
It takes two more hours for you to feel comfortable walking up to the office. You hope that Norman won’t be working so early. Something about his stiffly polite speech and wandering, awkward eyes makes you less inclined to interact with him again.
Luckily, when you hesitantly push open the door, Norma is leaning on the desk. Her head is dropped in her hands, blonde curls forming a curtain in front of her face. Faint sobs tremble across her shoulders. All concerns about your car immediately escape your mind.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
Norma startles, jumping up and brushing invisible lint off her blouse. Despite the early hour she’s done up perfectly, reddened lips and bright eyes lined in black and shining with tears.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine. What can I help you with?”
“You don’t look fine. What’s wrong?”
“Seriously, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about it— This is unprofessional of me.”
“Hey, I can listen,” you try, concerned with how stridently she’s trying to brush you off. “What is wrong?”
Norma deflates all of a sudden with a huge sigh. With the backs of her hands, she brushes tears off her cheeks. Her mascara has barely budged but you can see the glistening tracks in the early morning light. “It’s my son,” she confesses, “We had a fight last night. More than a fight, actually. It’s an awful mess, and I went to apologize this morning, but… I can’t find him. He isn’t here.”
“Oh my god,” you exclaim, “I’m so sorry.”
“After everything I should’ve expected this,” Norma tells you despondently. “I haven’t been kind or fair to him and I guess… He thought he could make it on his own. But he can’t . He’s just a boy, and he doesn't know anything .”
“Have you called the police?” you ask.
The horror and shock that crosses Norma’s face takes you aback with its intensity. She wipes it away almost instantly, chin wobbling as she forces her expression back to neutral. “No. No,” she answers. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Why not?” you ask.
“It just wouldn’t be good. Not for anyone,” Norma answers firmly. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”
You became invested so quickly in Norma’s issues that you briefly forget why you came in. But then you remember the uneventful beginning of your morning.
“Oh. Right. Do you have the number for a local mechanic? My car won’t start and, well, I really need to get on the road.”
Norma blinks a few times, then glances around the office, seeming to search for something without a clear idea of what she’s expecting to find. She straightens the cuffs of her blouse, opens a couple drawers on the desk, then steps out front to peer at the brochures stacked beside you. If she knew what she was looking for you would help, but you settle for just watching her, trying to read all the clues of her emotional state from the slump of her shoulders.
“Sorry,” she finally says, “I’m so scatterbrained today and I know I had some kind of flyer, but I can’t remember where I put it. I’m just so worried about Norman…”
“That’s okay,” you’re quick to assure her. “Is there anything I could do to help?”
Norma looks at you like she’s only just realized that you’re standing in front of her. “Actually… I could drive you down to the auto shop, if you’d help look for Norman on the way?”
You're more than happy to help Norma search for her son, even with the sneaking suspicion that there is far more to the situation than you're aware of. After all, Norma said that she should have expected it, that she should have been kinder. It could just be teenage angst, but something tells you that whatever is happening between Norma and her son, it's too complicated for you to imagine.
Instead of asking any of the questions burning within your mind, you follow Norma back out to the parking lot. Her car is a mint green vintage Mercedes, sleek and gorgeous, shined to perfection. She swings open the driver's side door while you pause to stare.
"Your car is gorgeous."
"What?" Norma glances up, in the process of buckling her seatbelt. "Oh, thank you. I think it's one of the nicest things I own, actually."
You open the door, sliding onto the other end of the bench seat. The interior is all tan and cream leather, less well-kept than the outside, but beautiful nonetheless. The floorboards are littered with receipts and empty coffee cups, which you pointedly do not look at. You wouldn't ever want Norma to think you're judging her.
"It's wonderful."
Norma revs up the engine and pulls out of the parking lot without another word. Fair enough. She's probably worried sick about her son; she said as much to you in the office. You fold your hands in your lap, fidgeting with the drawstring on your sweatpants and wondering what you'll do if you can't get your car fixed on time.
Now that the initial panic has faded, you can't deny that you're somewhat relieved. The lake house would have been lovely, but the closer you got, the less you wanted to see your friends. The drama, the drinking, you can do without all of it. Maybe, just like the motel advertisement along the road, this is a sign.
"You've met Norman before, right?" Norma asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.
"Yeah, he checked me into my room."
"Then you would recognize him? If we find him in town or along the road?"
Why would Norma's son be walking along the road? You don't voice your question. He's a teenage boy, they do weird things. That's enough explanation for you. Anyway, Norma knows him better than you do.
"I think so," you nod, "I'm keeping my eye out, anyway."
"Thank you," Norma sighs. "I just can't believe he would do this to me. After everything we've been through, for him to leave …And now, of all the moments. It's like he's trying to scare me to death."
Tears are beginning to choke her voice and bubble up in her eyes. She squeezes her eyes closed, for maybe longer than she should while driving a car, and when she opens them again, a single tear drips down her flushed cheek.
"I'm sorry," she says once more. "I know this doesn't matter to you."
"No, that's fine," you're quick to reassure her. "I want to help, seriously. I don't mind listening."
"Thank you." She gives you a quick glance, but as soon as your gaze connects with her crystalline eyes, it feels like it's been much longer. You can tell from her expression that she's being genuine with her gratitude, that just your attention means more to her than you could really know.
"It sounds like you're really close with your son," you say, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Oh, I am. Well, we used to be. He's changed in these past few years. When he was younger, we were best friends. Completely inseparable; we did everything together. We were each other's world , you know? Now it's like I don't even know who he is."
"I'm really sorry."
"Thanks." Norma takes a hand off the wheel to wipe at her eyes, smearing makeup down her cheek. "I would never stop Norman from growing up. He needs to make his own way in the world. But at the same time, he's my son. He isn't like other boys. He can't protect himself all on his own, so I just— I need to find him."
You peer out the rain-speckled windshield, searching the muddy ditches alongside the highway for any sign of a boy with brown hair and pale, nervous eyes. Unfortunately, the road is completely clear. You haven't even spotted another car during the whole drive. You and Norma may as well be the only people in the world, if it weren't for the spectre of Norman's absence haunting the ride.
"I'm sure that we will find him," you try to console her. She doesn't respond to that, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road as she takes the exit into town. As Norma drives, you get your first real glimpse of White Pine Bay.
Waterlogged, but beautiful. Most of the buildings are browned brick or peeling wooden siding painted in a variety of pastel colours: tulip pink, sunny yellow, or a bright, coastal blue. Hand-made signs line the windows of local shops, advertising everything from knitting supplies to yoga classes. A few of the windows even display slightly faded rainbow pride flags, which always makes you feel at home in a new place. Planters adorn the sidewalk, frothing with vibrant flowers.
You like Portland, you really do. But this is quaint, adorable, and lived-in enough to feel personal. Instantly, a warm kinship unfurls in your heart for the people dressed in raincoats, the dogs hopping in puddles, the seagulls perched on stoplights, and the very stones of the town itself.
It kind of reminds you of home. If your hometown had actually cared to claim you, that is.
The auto repair shop is a low, white building pasted with worn advertisements. Cars in various stages of decay and disrepair are scattered across the parking lot, ironically at odds with Norma's well-kept vintage car. She eases into the lot and stops the car.
"Here you go, Y/N," she says, "Are you okay going in, or do you want me to wait with you?"
You pause, trapped between the polite answer and what you're really feeling. Auto repair shops make you nervous at the best of times; you never understand what they're saying and you're always afraid of getting scammed. But Norma is a stranger and it was kind enough of her to bring you here, you don't want to impose any further.
"You should look for your son if you need to," you finally say, "I'll be okay on my own."
"Are you sure?"
Before you can try to convince yourself, Norma continues "You seem nervous, hon. I'll come in with you, okay?"
"Thank you," you mutter, climbing out of the car. Bolstered by Norma's presence at your side, you hurry through the misty rain into the shop.
As per usual, you don't understand most of what the mechanics say to you. All the technical jargon flies straight over your head, and by the glazed look on Norma's face, you'd guess that she isn't faring much better. What you do manage to understand, however, is the repairman informing you that it will take longer than a day to tow and fix your car.
"I have to get somewhere," you say, the beginnings of real panic thudding through your chest like an ominous roll of thunder, "I'm in the middle of a trip."
"You could rent a car. But it'll take at least a day and a half to get this engine fixed by the sound of things."
"I can't rent a car. I don't have money for that, and my friends are expecting me, and they'll be so annoyed, oh God, I knew this wasn't going to work out—"
Norma steps in front of you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.
"Don't you see how stressed she is?" she demands, "This needs to be your first priority. I mean, isn't there anything you can do? What kind of car mechanic even are you, if you can't get a simple engine problem fixed?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he stutters. "But we'll get it fixed as soon as we can."
Despite Norma's best efforts, which are mainly a lot of yelling and more technical terms that you can't follow, he will only repeat those words. Eventually she heaves a huge sigh and storms out of the shop, leaving you to follow meekly in her wake.
"You really didn't have to do that," you tell her.
"He's just lazy," Norma spits, "Believe me, I never take my car to him if I can help it. You can't trust anyone in this town to just do their job —"
"It's okay," you insist. "I guess I'll just keep driving tomorrow."
Norma stops in the middle of the parking lot. Mist droplets land in her curls, adorning her head like a glittering crown of diamonds. She glances you briefly up and down, as if sizing you up. The intensity of her gaze brings an awkward flush to your freezing cheeks. Why is she looking at you like that? Why don't you want her to stop?
"You can stay another night at the motel," she says. "Free of charge, I mean. This isn't your fault."
"Oh my gosh, no, I can pay," you try to say, "You really don't need to—"
"Nonsense," Norma interrupts you. "Besides, I don't need to. I want to. You're staying with me."