Page 48 of Anywhere with You

“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.Namasteserious. 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?”