* * * *
“That’s right, one foot and then the other,” Gwen said, her arm wrapped around Tate’s waist. “It’s called walking. The newest thing for getting from here into the motel.”
“Don’t get schmar wi me, young lady. I’m ol…old enough to be your fa-ther.” Tate put one hand on the roof of the car, trying to stop the dizziness.
Gwen snorted. “You’re not even close.” She rubbed his back with her free hand. “Come on, you can do it.”
“But does…do I wan to?”
“Doesn’t matter. You have to. I’m not leaving you out here in the condition you’re in.”
“Need some help?”
Tate looked blearily at Van. “Get losht.”
“No can do. I give it half a minute before you fall flat on your face, and I doubt Gwen’s strong enough to pick you up.”
“So I shleep here. Shlept…worse places.”