Page 26 of Anywhere with You

Was I dense? That was the question I went to sleep and woke up with, Cara breathing deeply beside me under every blanket we could find.

I mean, I was undeniably dense. Cara and I had been through the demolition of two marriages this year. We were stuck in a crappy motel several states away from home. And while I liked Cara…oh, I liked Cara. I liked her outrageously. I liked her like food and breathing.

The feeling came over me like going underwater. I thought I was just dipping my toe, but no, I was submerged.

I cared about her in a way that came with a whopping dose of attraction, so obvious that I didn’t know how I’d managed to hide it from her. Maybe I hadn’t.

I vividly remembered every time she’d touched me, in the cave dwellings, in the elevator, at the Grand Canyon, even taking the keys from her hand at the garage, as though without my knowing, my own memory had highlighted those moments for later study.

I watched her long, dark eyelashes, the way her hair had stuck to her face in dark curls and had gotten flattened against the pillow, the way her incredible lips parted in sleep. My whole body ached to move closer to hers.

“Can I kiss you now ?” I whispered.

Her eyes didn’t open, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I haven’t brushed my teeth. Believe me, you do not want to.”

We opted for diner leftovers for breakfast, then had an hour to kill before the auto repair shop opened.

It was nice, in a way, not to spend the whole morning driving. I stretched every muscle in my body, peed as often as I wanted to, and lounged around with my guitar.

I played a parody of “Pocketful of Sunshine,” slowing it down and playing it mournfully. Cara loved it and recorded a clip for our Mesmio. I promised to screw up some of her other favorite songs, for the sake of social media.

And I watched her move around the room, fix her hair, play on her phone, stretch out on the bed. I watched her walk and bend and turn. I watched her arms and her ass and her breasts and the lovely curve of her cheek.

“Stop,” she said.

“Totally not my fault,” I said, grinning and trying to tear my eyes away from her body.

My phone rang before we left the hotel. “Just a second,” I told Cara, returning to the room. “It’s my parents.”

“Honey! Your dadi ma learned how to use Mesmio so she could watch your videos,” Dad said as soon as I answered the phone.

“Really?” I asked. “Grandma Singh is so awesome.” She was also approaching one hundred years old. She shared a birthday with Eartha Kitt.

“Yes!” Dad said. He was full of exclamations. “She says that you are beautiful and that she is so glad that you’re enjoying your trip, but that she likes watching cooking Mesmio reels more.”

I laughed and turned to Cara, wishing that I’d put the call on speakerphone.

She waited in the doorway, looking at me with a slight smile in her eyes.

And…a slight heat? It might have been wishful thinking.

“That’s wonderful,” I said to Dad. “Tell her I’ll try to learn how to cook so my videos are more interesting. ”

Cara laughed, too, nodding in agreement.

“I will,” Dad said. “I told her that she should be the one making videos. Those white yoga girls would love to learn real Indian cooking.”

“Dad!”

“What? I married one. Do you think your mother would be offended by being called a white yoga girl?”

“No, but she’s gotten used to you. For everyone else, let’s err on the safe side of not calling people that. How about Indian cuisine enthusiasts ?”

He blew a raspberry. “You sound like your mother. You look like her, too. Where are my genes, hmm?”

“I look like you, too, Dad. We have exactly the same hair.”

“And you went and dyed it purple so you could be cooler than me. Thanks a lot.”

“I have extra dye if you’re interested.”

He snorted a laugh. “Let’s do it. Don’t tell your mother. I want it to be a surprise.”

“It’s a deal. How’s Badger?”

“I don’t know. He likes your mother more than me. I even fed him bacon under the table this morning, and he still likes her more.”

“Don’t feed him bacon. It’s not good for him.”

“It’s not good for me either, but YOLO, you know?”

Cara was still waiting patiently, listening to me talk, but I was eager, too, to find out what the mechanic had to say about her car. I wouldn’t mention anything to my parents until I had more news. Hey, I broke down several states away isn’t what parents want to hear from their children.

Dad was still on the line, trying to turn YOLO into a yodel.

“And on that note, I’ll talk to you later,” I said.

“Wait,” he said, “say hi to Dadi Ma on your next video. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

“I absolutely will. Thanks, Dad.”

I hung up, and Cara and I walked to the repair shop. I thought about calling the music store again while we walked, but I didn’t want to check in too often. Besides, Florence had said everything was finer than frog hair split four ways , which I assumed was a good thing.

Doug had been restringing guitars, his favorite task. He’d been at the store every time I called. I knew I could cover payroll this month and next, but past that…I tried to put it out of my mind. I’d decided to talk to them when I got home. There was no point dwelling on it until then.

When we got to the auto repair shop, Mechanic Bill recognized me and met us just inside. He wore grimy yellow coveralls, the same as yesterday, as far as I could tell.

“It’s the battery,” he said without preamble, “and we don’t have a replacement in stock.”

“Oh no.” Cara closed her eyes. “How long?”

He looked us both in the eye and didn’t sugarcoat it. “A week, minimum. Supply chain issues.”

Cara shook her head and kept shaking it.

“Ah,” I said to Bill, moving a little in front of Cara to give her a moment to process, “How do you feel about being on Mesmio?”

Our Mesmio reels with Mildred and Jeffrey had been fun, but I confess, it was the enormous number of views and followers that prompted me to ask. The burden of fame.

It turned out that our new friend Bill had an automotive repair Mesmio of his own.

“Do you want to stay or go back to the motel?” I asked Cara. “You can have some time on your own if you need.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Let’s start recording.”

Cara and I explained our spring break road trip to Bill and his followers. For ours, Bill told a funny anecdote about a car that wouldn’t start and turned out to have a whole litter of baby possums curled up on top of the engine block. He was considerably more loquacious on camera.

“They were cute as a fluffle of bunnies,” Bill said.

I didn’t try to hide my grin.

I wondered if anyone besides me could tell that Cara’s smile was fake.

I imagined that anyone who vividly remembered having vacation plans ruined by unexpected car repairs would probably realize. And sympathize. I didn’t know what to feel yet.

I’d told my parents about our Mesmio page, but I doubted they’d seen our reels. If they were watching, my plan not to tell them about our car trouble had been a little pointless.

Once Cara had agreed to the repair and our videos were finished, I walked with her back across the street for coffee and pie. The diner was a much nicer place to hang out than the motel, and there didn’t seem to be any other businesses besides a chain convenience store and a church.

We took the same wine-red booth as yesterday, both of us looking out the window and, likely, both wondering what on earth we were going to do now.

“Our trip,” Cara said slowly, “is over.”

“I know.” I grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

She dropped her head to the table, then immediately raised it, rubbing at her forehead. The table did look a little sticky. “It’s not like there’s an airport nearby, Honey,” she said combatively, as though I’d disagreed with her. “Or even a car rental place.”

I just kept nodding. “We’d probably spend the price of a plane ticket getting a rideshare or a taxi to the nearest airport, if it was even possible.”

“I don’t see what choice we have, really. We’re stuck.” She looked so morose, I wanted to cry. “I had just started to feel…like this was working, you know? I’ve spent the last decade following Lorenzo’s plans, not really making any of my own. Do you know what that’s like?”

I didn’t know if she was really asking me, so I waited until she looked up questioningly.

“Yes,” I said, then, “no. I always felt like I made all the plans with Bridget, and if I didn’t, then nothing would ever happen.

We’d just be sitting there on the couch until we died.

I was the one who couldn’t live that way, who demanded that we spend the weekend at a lake cabin or…

or, God, start a music shop. Bridget was good at work, and she was a huge help getting the store started.

But it was like, once she got home, she didn’t have the effort for it. For us.”

Cara was smiling slightly. “Yeah, I can see that in you. You’d always be like, Let’s sled down this sand dune and Let’s poke this javelina and see if it chases us .” Her voice was deep and nasal when she mimicked me, completely unlike my very normal voice, which was lovely and melodic.

“I did not,” I said, laughing.

“But you didn’t bully Bridget into any of those things, did you? Never mind, I know the answer to that. You’d push if she wanted to be persuaded or swept away, if she’d wanted to feel wanted, but if you had a plan to go somewhere, and she didn’t want to go, you’d have…”

“Gone anyway,” I said. “Usually. Hypothetically. I haven’t thought much about actual travel these last few years.

Everything has been about the store.” Still, I’d gone back to Bolivar Flats to walk those solitary beaches, alone.

I’d gone to restaurants Bridget hadn’t wanted to try.

I’d even taken a couples’ sushi-making class by myself because I wanted to learn how to make sushi, damn it.

I’d invited Florence along that time, but it never would’ve occurred to me to not go.

“You’d have gone anyway,” Cara agreed. “Gone alone. I’ve never done that, Honey. I think this is the first time in my life I’ve ever picked up a map and made a choice. And now it’s over. I am not ready for it to be over.”

“I am sorry,” I repeated. “I guess hanging out for a week in this little hamlet isn’t your idea of an adventure.”

She let out all her breath. “I mean, it’s not my living room. That’s better than nothing. What are you going to do, being stuck here?”

“The music store’s in good hands. It’s your job I’m worried about.”

Cara stared into the distance. “I have some time off. I only took a day or two this year.”

I didn’t comment on how resilient she must be to deal with the end of her marriage and still keep working. Resilient or stubborn. No, resilient and stubborn.

“One thing,” I said. “I adore our one-bed situation, for the record. But I desperately do not want to stay in that filthy motel another night.”

Cara sat up straighter, accepting my declaration as a challenge, and raised her hand to wave to Lane, who had their coffee decanter in one hand and two mugs in the other, like they’d foretold our arrival. “Lane, you wouldn’t happen to know of another hotel nearby?”

Lane shook their head, approaching our table. “That’s the only one. It’s…a bit of an antique.”

Cara’s posture lost some of its strength. “That’s a polite way of putting it. We seem to be stuck here for a while, and we’re not exactly enjoying our stay. Present company excluded, of course,” she hurried to add.

Lane’s smile twitched, and they started pouring our coffee. “Not a hotel for fifty miles at least. But my mom owns a vacation rental about twenty miles out.”

Cara looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“Um,” I said, imagining a shed with a cot and little else, “could we take a look?”