Page 6

Palm Springs

Friday, November 4, 2022

The Prius died in the middle of the Mojave Desert—it was a real desert, the kind I thought only existed in movies, like the old John Wayne westerns I used to watch with Burl when I was a girl.

The temperature hovered above 105 degrees—I could actually see the heat. But even with the abrupt end of air-conditioning, I couldn’t really feel it at first, in the same way that, after taking the polar-bear plunge into Lake Mendota on a subzero January morning with my friends, I didn’t truly sense the cold until the shock wore off.

Grant tried one last time to turn over the engine. Nothing. Exasperated, he slapped the dashboard and said, “Well, I guess every car turns into a shit can eventually.”

This startled me. It was unlike Grant to curse—he thought swearing was lazy and verbally reckless, and he worried that if he swore in conversation, he’d start to swear in front of impressionable young undergrads.

Smoke hovered over the hood. “It probably needs a small repair,” I said. In our relationship, it was my role to be hopeful, and his role to see the world as it was.

“Nah, it’s dead. Put a fork in it.”

I stared at our surroundings. This was what rural Wisconsin would look like after the apocalypse. Aside from a single pink flip-flop by the side of the road and some tire skims, there were few signs of human habitation. What looked like the rocky tips of stubbly ancient mountaintops emerged from the endless sea of sagebrush and sand. A few reptilian-looking Joshua trees grew miraculously out of a bed of rocks and dirt.

When Grant called for emergency road service, they said it would be over an hour for the tow truck to arrive. Reception was bad, and our phone batteries were low because the cigarette-lighter charger had stopped working years ago, just one of many broken things in our lives, like the missing closet doorknob and the busted ice maker.

Grant, shaking his head in disbelief, said, “You really let our AAA membership expire?”

“Octavia said they funded conservative political candidates.”

“Did you guys even bother to check if this was true?”

I hadn’t.

“You’re always complaining about cancel culture, and look at you. A cut-from-the-cloth Madison liberal.”

“At least I don’t spend all my time going on and on about the problem of ‘other minds.’ That’s all you and James talked about in Omaha. You acted like I wasn’t even there at dinner while you had your little ‘salon.’”

“It’s impossible to act like you aren’t there,” Grant said. “You made sure of that when you sent back not one but two glasses of wine.”

“The first glass had a chip on the rim. Did you want me to cut my lip? And the second glass was watered down.”

“Nobody watered down your wine. That’s the most paranoid thing you’ve ever said.”

“Unlike you, I’ve worked in the service industry. I know what goes on behind the bar.”

We weren’t really fighting, and we weren’t truly mad at each other, but our banter always had a dangerous edge, especially lately. Our relationship felt like a Jenga tower that was built out of both love and resentment. One small insult, one uncomfortable truth spoken aloud, and we could precariously wobble and come crashing down.

“You know what your problem is?” he asked.

“Oh, I have a problem?”

“You rely too much on luck. Luck is a perverse form of optimism.”

“Don’t turn this on me. You’re the one who didn’t want to stop for gas.” Grant had said we’d be fine, not knowing that we were about to encounter almost a hundred miles without a place to charge or refuel. We had no idea there were still such long stretches without civilization in the United States. I’d hit the scan button on the radio and the dial just slid across the screen. If we hadn’t coasted downhill almost the entire time, we would have gotten into trouble in the middle of Utah instead of here, which, I reasoned, would have been worse, because it was dark in Utah, and at least, in the middle of the day, we could be seen.

Suddenly I was overcome, unable to tell if the heat was getting to me or if I was having a hot flash—or both. I tore off my T-shirt and sat in my bra, drenched. My “personal summers,” as Octavia called them, had become normal for Grant, who was used to my sudden disrobing. It was amazing how comfortable we’d become with each other. In our early days, I’d spend forever in the shower primping and preening for Grant. Now I sat next to him shirtless, unselfconscious about the extra flesh on my stomach rolling over my waistband, drenched in sweat. I couldn’t imagine ever achieving this level of comfort with another man, and I treasured it. He’d bought me a mini-fan to plug into my phone—a joke gift, but one that I appreciated. I turned it on at that moment, not caring if it drained what little remained of my battery.

“Just going out on a limb here, Kimmy, but if hot flashes are a problem for you, why would you want to live in this heat?”

“It won’t be this hot for long. Basil said it even gets cold in Palm Springs.”

“But isn’t cold what you’re trying to escape? Don’t you think this is a sign we should turn back?”

“Nice try. Besides, you don’t believe in signs.”

“Do I believe the universe is sentient? No. Of course I do not. Unlike you, I don’t ‘manifest.’”

I laughed despite myself.

Five minutes passed, ten. Already my lips were chapped and my skin felt dry. I said, “I wish we’d stopped in Zion. It’s supposed to be amazing.”

“Kim, think about it: What are you going to do in a national park? You just had surgery on your foot two months ago. You can’t take a baby step without wincing in agony.”

“Oh, now you care.”

We’d had this argument several times and it always went like this: Grant would again say that we should get married; I would exclaim that it hadn’t even occurred to him that I would need help after my operation, so how could I trust him to take care of me in our old age—which to me was the only reason to make our partnership “official” at this stage of the game. He then would remind me that I was the one who always refused help, and I’d told him he could go to Sasha’s. I had a ton of friends, he would add; Octavia had been due to stop by, and then she walked through the door precisely when I needed her. But that wasn’t the point, and I couldn’t say what the point was because it was too big and too painful to utter out loud: needing Grant terrified me.

“Can you please let it go?” Grant said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve said it a thousand times over. Congratulations, you’ve once again achieved next-level moral accountability.”

“We could have at least stopped in Vegas. I told you I wanted to see it. I feel like I’m the only person in the world who’s never been there.” I almost added, I’ve never been anywhere, but I knew he’d say, Really? Look who’s stranded in the Mojave Desert.

In truth, I doubted I’d even like Vegas, the epicenter of all the excess I despised. When we passed it on the freeway, Caesars Palace and the High Roller Ferris wheel emerged from out of nowhere, completely inorganic. “Vegas seems like a place everyone should go at least once.”

“According to whom?” He loved saying whom. And thus. “It isn’t where any culture was created. It’s where it’s regurgitated and dies. Honestly, would you ever really want to see a magic show? Or watch some pop star from the nineties try to make a comeback?”

I actually did, and I wished he did, too. I wanted him to see concerts in an arena without complaining about going deaf or to buy surprise plane tickets to Paris for our anniversary. Sometimes I even wished that he’d watch football or go to poker nights like other guys. I wished he could just be lighthearted and normal, but instead he played chess and solitaire on his phone. He only liked to gather in small groups. When you grow up at a camp, there’s always something to do outside, and I liked to get out of the house and stay active, accepting every invitation with friends to do outdoorsy stuff while he stayed back. Grant accused me of being an “ing-er” because when I was in good shape, I was always kayaking, biking, walking, rollerblading, skiing, or birding. I suspected that he enjoyed my recent incapacitation. He’d always dreamed of being with someone who wanted to sit with him at the table and read The New York Times all morning. Early in our relationship, he told me that he thought we had great crossword-puzzle energy together. I didn’t see that as a red flag at the time.

“The sight of all those old people sucking on cigarettes in a trance in front of slot machines is a sickness unto death.”

“You’re a snob.”

Grant shrugged and wiped the sweat off his brow with his T-shirt. “In the age of FBoy Island, we need arbiters of taste now more than ever.”

“It’s just that we might never come this way again.”

He gestured at the barren landscape. A bead of sweat dropped from his chin onto his chest. “And that would be just fine.”

I was gripped by a persistent, vague fear that felt suddenly more pressing since Grant had lost his job: Where would we go together in our old age? Without work, what would we do ?

“Vegas is the third ring of hell,” he continued, “and you shouldn’t make me feel like a bad guy just because I have zero desire to go back.”

I sat up straighter. “Go back? You never told me you’ve been to Vegas.”

He seemed suddenly cagey. “Years ago.”

“Why were you there? A bachelor party?”

He paused. “I went with Sasha.”

It suddenly hit me. “You got married there?” I thought I’d known everything about his relationship with his ex. “Is that why you’re in such a bad mood?”

“I’m not in a bad mood.” His knuckles were white from clenching the steering wheel, and we weren’t going anywhere.

I leaned in, curious. “So did you, like, have an Elvis impersonator and everything?”

Grant cracked a smile that was not directed at me, but at his own memory, which made me feel left out and alone. “Yeah, actually. We were in the Chapel of Crystals, the whole cheesy deal. Sasha always had to make a statement.”

“That’s for sure.”

“She thought it would be funny, like the joining of two souls was one big laugh riot. And then, plot twist! It was me who didn’t take our marriage seriously.”

I was surprised that Grant had gone along with getting married in such a kitschy place, and surprised that Sasha had ever exhibited a sense of humor. How on earth had she convinced him to tie the knot in Vegas when I couldn’t even get him to go to a comedy club with me? Did she have special powers, or a stronger hold on Grant, or was he different before I’d met him? Had Sasha brought out a side of his personality that Grant kept hidden?

Feeling the familiar need to assert my dominance in his life, I kissed Grant on his scratchy cheek. He hadn’t shaved since we’d left Madison, and he swore he wouldn’t use a razor until we returned home.

“Well, now you have me,” I said.

He looked at me as though he were just realizing I was in the car with him. “You, who dragged me to the middle of nowhere so we could die of heatstroke.”

“Life is funny like that.”

Five minutes went by. Ten. Had Grant worn a tuxedo? What did she wear? Was there photographic evidence? Why hadn’t he ever told me?

It made me feel shut out of his life, but then again, I’d never gone into great detail about Basil and me getting married, either. Vandyke had been pushing hard for Basil to move back to Los Angeles to work in the family business since he was having a hard time breaking into musical theater in Chicago. He felt crushing anxiety about the prospect of returning home. Meanwhile, Burl’s health was precarious, and I got it in my mind that having a wedding to live for might keep him going.

To Melody’s horror, we tied the knot in the Camp Jamboree dining hall. Everyone thought we were too young to get married, and there we were, celebrating our big day at the place we’d spent our childhood. But the camp was where we’d met, where we felt safest. Burl officiated because there’s no better person than a camp director to stand in front of a crowd of people and make them feel special, as if they’re part of something bigger than themselves.

At the reception, he led the crowd in boisterous and loud renditions of “Do Your Ears Hang Low” and “Father Abraham Had Seven Sons.” That was the last time I could remember him being himself. After the wedding his health took a dramatic turn, and he died two months later.

Polly had seemed apprehensive about the wedding. “I love Basil, but you don’t need to marry him just to make Burl happy,” she’d said. What she didn’t say, not until Basil left me, was that she’d known he was gay the whole time.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

She’d looked at me with a mixture of pity and shock. “Because I thought you’d figured it out. Everyone else did.”

“So,” Grant said, changing the subject, “James told me he might be able to arrange for a visiting professorship next year. One of his colleagues is going on leave, a continentalist.” In Grant’s world, there were two types of philosophy scholars: continental and analytical.

“You really want to move to Nebraska?”

“It’s not like it’s on my bucket list, but you know how it is, you go where the jobs are. And Creighton is a great school, very prestigious, and it’s in a real city. You’d like it.”

Omaha? As much as I wanted Grant to get back in the swing of things, I couldn’t get excited about moving there because I felt it should be my turn to choose where we lived. My mind had been racing with possibilities. I used to dream of renting a loft in Manhattan or Chicago, although a big city filled with concrete and noise didn’t appeal to me the way it used to. Maybe the ocean would be nice. I considered the beaches of the Carolinas, but I’d grown spoiled and comfortable living in a relatively safe liberal bubble. In Madison, we were surrounded by lovely lakes, greenery, abundant parking, and neighborly strangers who said hello. I’d perhaps become too spoiled, too comfortable. Madison was the kind of town that could make you forget the world was big.

“You’d seriously want to move all the way to Omaha just for a visiting professorship?”

“It’s not like everyone is punching holes in my professional dance card, you know. Why aren’t you happy for me? You keep saying you want me to find a job and here it is, gainful employment.”

“I am happy.” I tried my best to sound excited. “I just, I don’t know, you caught me off guard. I guess I was thinking maybe we were ready for a change change.”

“Isn’t that what this is?”

“We don’t know anyone there except James.”

“Well, you don’t know anyone in Palm Springs except Melody, and that’s not stopping you.”

“This is just for one winter.”

“And Omaha would be one year, maybe two if I’m lucky.”

“I’m sure it’s great there, but what about me? What about my job? Nebraska is not what I want.”

“You could quit your job. If we sell the house in Madison we can live like royalty in Omaha. Start fresh. Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting?”

What did I want? I was very conscious that I was now the same age my mother had been when she’d had her stroke. We’d already gotten AARP cards in the mail. Little things had suddenly become profound—like the time we bought a new bed, and when the salesperson mentioned the thirty-year warranty, I realized that it might be the very last bed we would ever own. I’d compromised in so many ways, big and small; now, I was less inclined to settle.

“This job isn’t a sure thing, anyway,” Grant continued. “I’d still need to interview. They haven’t even posted the position in The Chronicle, but when they do, I plan to apply. If it works out, will you give it a second thought?”

That’s when I said something aloud that I wasn’t even fully aware I was thinking, a thought that was too hot to touch. “Well, maybe I’m giving us a second thought.”

I could see the words hit Grant like a body blow. For once, he was speechless. I was immediately afraid of what I’d done, like inspecting the damage after an accident. I’d always had the feeling that one moment, one sentence, could take us to the point of no return. Maybe this was it.

I reached for his shoulder, but he flinched at my touch.

“Honey, I didn’t mean that,” I said. But didn’t I? The heat had loosened my tongue, but I’d been in turmoil for months. Lately, it felt as if my life had never really been my own. All of my adult decisions had revolved around Basil, Grant, or the girls.

“Is that what all of this is about, Kim? This trip? You aren’t just looking for a change of scenery, are you?”

I looked straight ahead as if I’d been accused of stealing the thing that was already in my pocket.

“You aren’t sure about us, really? You tell me this now, when we’re two thousand miles from home?”

“I’m just tired and hot. And, you know, it’s been hard lately. You don’t do hard.” A defensive edge crept into my voice. The sun was so bright that it seemed as if it were aggressively bent on revenge.

“I’m the one who keeps asking you to get married. Kim, I just had the cosmic tablecloth ripped out from under me. Besides, life is hard. We can weather the tough stuff together.”

“But we’re hardly ever together.”

“Well, we sure are now.”

This was true. Our car smelled like breath and sweat and the residue of our lives. I fought the urge to reach over with a napkin to wipe ketchup from the corner of his mouth that was left over from the Utah McDonald’s. Grant had researched the town we’d stopped in and learned that St. George was where Howard Hughes filmed the old movie The Conqueror, and almost the entire cast died of cancer from the fallout from nearby nuclear testing, including John Wayne, who was terribly cast as Genghis Khan. It seemed especially tragic that he’d ended up dying from making the worst movie he’d ever been in.

“Don’t make me keep auditioning for you, Kim,” Grant said. “You aren’t perfect, either. Part of commitment is allowing each other to screw up without having to apologize constantly.”

“I’m just thinking maybe we could be different.”

“After all these years together? How different could we be? I’m me, you’re you.”

“We don’t connect the way we used to. And it just seems like we could be happier.”

“Do you have any idea how fraught that concept is? We’re like Epicurus and Epictetus. You think happiness comes from enjoying the good things in life, from avoiding suffering. I think we should embrace our discomfort to learn from it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. Embracing discomfort has never been your thing. We see things so differently.”

“We don’t have a problem! We love each other, and we’re just working through life.” Grant pressed his hands against his temples. “You want to throw everything away? Throw us away? Our family?”

The heat was overwhelming; even the upholstery seemed to melt. Grant looked like a basketball player whose team had just lost on a last-second shot. He was shaken. He’d hurt me before, but had I ever realized the power I had to hurt him ?

“Is it because I don’t have a job? You think I’m a loser?”

“No! It’s not your fault the college closed.”

“I should have been an accountant, or a marine biologist. I should have opened a chain of coffee shops. I had the idea for Starbucks before it was even a thing. Remember when nobody knew what espresso was, when they thought you spelled it with an x ? Now look at me, I’m washed-up.”

“You’re feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. That’s what happens to normal people.”

A few minutes went by. Grant looked at me. “You’re pretty.” He sounded dorky and kind, which is what he was, and it got to me. “We’re fine, right?”

He was trying to get me to give him the answer he wanted, and I obliged: “Sure we are.”

“I love you so much, you know. I’m like a dog you give a little love to, and he loves you back a million times more.”

“And I love you. I just think we have issues.”

“We’ve been together almost thirty years. We should have issues.”

He stepped out of the car, shut the door, and walked along the shoulder, kicking a rock out of his way. He had a heart-shaped sweat stain on the back of his T-shirt.

I felt anxious for us, for everything we’d left behind and the uncertainty of what was ahead. Would we survive this repotting from Madison to Palm Springs? I stared into my phone for a distraction, pleased to see a glimmer of reception. I checked my email and saw two subject lines that made my stomach turn: one said UNFORTUNATE INCIDENT, sent by Maggie, Go Green’s marketing and PR person. I was already so disconnected from work that, at first, I wondered how she knew about our car breaking down. I groaned when I read the content.

No, no, no.

Stupid Vic and his stupid dick! He’d been caught late at night groping a legislative assistant at the Great Dane—not just any assistant, but a young woman who worked for “Toxic Todd” Griffin, the most conservative representative in the state, and Go Green’s biggest foe. Now Griffin was having a field day calling out our “woke” organization’s double standards. Maggie didn’t say as much, but the writing was on the wall: Vic would have to go. And if Vic went, so, too, I feared, would our funding, and, eventually, the entire organization. There’s a good reason businesses and nonprofits should never be built around a single personality.

I looked at the vast, cloudless sky. Maybe we would need that job in Omaha. Our lives suddenly felt like the time-out screen on a faulty Web page that read PLEASE START OVER. ALL CHANGES HAVE BEEN LOST.