Page 22 of Anywhere with You

Cara and I made our way back to an approved viewing platform in time for sunset. The orange and red hues of the rock walls could’ve been fire—they were so vibrant. People crowded around us, holding up phones and cameras, speaking a variety of languages.

I couldn’t help but pause my admiration of the view for a moment to appreciate how awesome it was that people all over the world were amazed by this natural wonder, too, a wonder that was relatively close to home, for me.

“I kind of wish that we’d planned to stay another day, maybe hike down at the bottom,” Cara said, standing on tiptoe to peer over the railing next to a toddler trying to do the same.

“You said we’re not on a bell schedule,” I said. “We can, if you want.”

A sudden cool wind hit us, and she took a step closer to me. The sun seemed to sink a little faster.

“I can’t decide,” she said.

I opened my mouth, then realized I was about to say that I didn’t care what we did, as long as I was with her, then stopped. It was the sort of thing that I would’ve said to Bridget, months ago, trying to be accommodating. Maybe I hadn’t yet gotten out of the habit.

I shook myself loose of the thoughts. “Let’s go on tonight, then if we decide to hike on the way back, we’ll have time to schedule a tour guide or whatever.”

“Afraid you’re going to get lost in the Grand Canyon?” she teased.

“I got lost driving next to the Grand Canyon. With our luck, we’d get in there, and no one but the javelinas and creepy old park rangers would find us.”

Cara laughed and bumped me with her arm.

We stood still, barely touching, until the sun was completely gone.

* * *

I woke in the morning to the feel of someone between my legs.

I ran my hands over her soft skin, lightly then harder, wanting her pressed up against every inch of my skin.

I’d imagined her kiss on my neck, but this was better, lips and tongue and teeth, my nerves strummed like guitar strings, leaving me vibrating.

My breathing was hard and fast, and my muscles tightened with anticipation. I felt my thighs clench, drawing that feeling, that someone, closer, tighter.

God, I’d been wanting…

Everything in me was spring-wound and ready to let go. I pressed my fingers into her soft curls. Palms—mine?—moved over my breasts, passing feather-like over my nipples.

For one indescribable moment, I felt her incredible lips against mine, and I arched, needing her, hungry for her. Touching her in all the ways she deserved to be touched, bringing her with me to the edge.

Finally.

In the next moment, I was fully awake, leaping out of bed in another strange hotel room, except there was a pillow between my legs, so I tripped and ended up on the floor, panting and bruised.

“Are you okay?” Cara peeked around the corner.

She was already dressed and had a mouthful of foaming toothpaste.

I stared at her foaming lips before trying to look away and getting my attention snagged by her headful of curls.

The feeling of them between my fingers was so fresh and real that my hand flexed in response.

I said something, probably words, as I got to my feet.

I went straight past her, pushed her out the bathroom door, and took a shower.

* * *

This would be the worst of our days on the road.

There were no aliens or sand dunes or rabid javelinas to break up the day, just road and desert.

I’d searched for some small tourist attraction, but the Stonehenge of broken cars—Carhenge, for those in the know—was in Nebraska, the world’s largest beagle-shaped bed and breakfast was in Idaho, and Spoonbridge was all the way in Minnesota.

Cara and I vowed to keep an eye out for interestingly shaped cacti.

We drove through the morning in relatively good cheer, though my mind played the dream of making love to her on a loop, like a reel that I couldn’t put down. And despite the awkwardness of fantasizing about her while she was sitting next to me, I didn’t want to let it go.

Late in the morning, Cara talked me into duet karaoke. We were particularly good at “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease , but our “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” was awful no matter which of us sang Kiki Dee’s part and no matter how many times we practiced.

We stopped in a small town for a late lunch, then headed out into the empty desert again.

We drove another hour, then four. If there was anything out here but road, desert, and Cara’s car, I couldn’t see any evidence.

Eventually, Cara sighed dramatically. “Can we just stop? I’ve got to get out of the car for a minute.”

Just as she spoke, a building appeared ahead, a convenience store with a single car in the parking lot.

I pointed to it. “What do you think about not peeing in the sand?”

“Yes, please.”

I parked at the fuel pump to refill the tank, then we trekked over the sand-speckled parking lot. It was grungy inside, even for a convenience store, and most of the overhead lights were out, but they had an antique popcorn machine in pristine condition.

“Does it work?” Cara asked the cashier.

“You betcha. Want a bucket? You’ll have to wait a minute or five for the oil to heat.”

Cara glanced at me, her eyes wide with pleading.

“We’re not in a hurry,” I reminded her.

We browsed the store while the cashier bustled around the machine, opening the glass door and waiting until just the right moment to send the kernels clicking into the pot.

Cara held up a yellow resin keychain with a scorpion inside. “Souvenir?”

“No, thank you. The candy bar and the restroom hepatitis will be plenty for me today.”

The cashier called, “Order up!” and handed us two red-and-white striped paper containers overflowing with popcorn. Cara and I dropped at least ten pieces each before we made it back outside.

“Whose turn is it to drive?” I asked.

Cara stopped in front of the car. “Is it bad that I’d rather sleep on the ground than get back into that thing right now?”

“How far away do you think they had to go to get one of those scorpions?”

“Good point.”

“We can switch in another hour, if you don’t want to drive yet.”

“Thanks.” She got back into the car, on the passenger side.

I drove, but not far. We’d passed several dirt turnoffs with tire tracks, places where drivers could pull well off the road without worrying about getting stuck in the sand. I stopped at the next one.

“What are you doing?” Cara asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Looking for scorpions. Want to help?”

“Not even a little.” But she got out of the car, and when I climbed onto the roof, dangling my feet over the side, she climbed up, too, popcorn still in hand.

I could almost feel a breeze up there. Around us, I could see nothing but desert and the sinking sun and the distant mountains ahead of us, which maybe wasn’t the greatest reminder of how far left we had to go.

What had felt monotonous when I was behind the wheel was something completely different here, where I could lean back and feel the sun on my eyelids and the prickling of sand on my face when the wind picked up.

Cara leaned against me for a moment, her head on my shoulder. I tried not to savor the feeling, tried not to feel bereft as she sat straight and took a deep breath of the dry, hot air.

“Thank you,” she said and shoved another handful of popcorn into her mouth.

We sat in the quiet, listening to the wind and the occasional hawk cry, watching the sky come alive with color as the sun set.

* * *

At last, we reached our last day of driving before we’d settle into our cabin in the redwoods.

I didn’t know about Cara, but I was so ready to be there, to be out of the car for a few days, to have slow morning coffee under the trees instead of whatever we could grab on the road.

I wanted to use my legs on a more regular basis, and I didn’t want to see or hear or smell that orange car again until we had to drive home.

I called my parents from the car while Cara filled the gas tank.

“Hello, Dad,” I said cautiously. “You’re not still telling your religious jokes, are you?”

“No. Namaste serious. Okay, that was the last one.”

I laughed. “Thank goodness. How are you? How’s Mom?”

“Didn’t you talk to her like two days ago? What is this, caring-about-your-parents week?”

“I care about you all the time. I’m just not often so far away that I can’t help if I need to.”

Dad blew a raspberry into the phone. “We don’t need you, kiddo.”

“I know,” I said, and I mostly meant it. Usually, they only needed me for tech support, and not often even for that. They were still young and fit, for parents, but that didn’t mean that I was ignorant of the way they were aging.

“Hey, I learned a cool trick. I’ll show you when you visit, but the gist is, whenever your mother starts getting on my nerves, I turn on a cricket game, and she goes away within five minutes. I found one of those TV apps that’s twenty-four hour cricket, seven days a week cricket. It’s magic.”

“That’s a pretty cool trick,” I admitted. “Do you actually like cricket?”

“I like it a lot now that it gets me out of lectures about my blood pressure. How does she think yelling at me is going to help with my blood pressure, exactly?” He snorted a laugh.

“She’s a mystery.”

“She’s a…a beautiful woman. Majestic. And wise.”

“Hi, Mom,” I said, loud enough that I knew she’d be able to hear.

“Here,” Dad said. “Talk to your daughter. She’s screeching like someone stepped on her tail.”

There was a rustle of movement, then Mom’s voice. “Why are you torturing your poor father? Don’t you know that’s my job?”

Dad said, “Hah!” from the background.

Badger yipped in solidarity. My heart squeezed pathetically at the sound.

“Yes, she misses you, too,” Mom said, ostensibly to the dog. “Are you tired of driving yet?” she asked me.

“Very,” I said, watching Cara lean against the car with her hand on the pump. “But it’s been worth it.”