9. Hope, my girl. What the fuck?
CHAPTER NINE
hope, my girl. what the fuck?
Forrest, my laptop bag and his backpack in hand, meets me near our arrival gate at Sky Harbor, and we watch the woman and her husband walk by, followed a short while later by the other man, seemingly now a stranger to the couple.
Forrest never did get any more of their story, but that’s ok, because on the rest of that flight, I wrote.
I don’t have a plan yet, but I have an idea.
And I have some characters, not based on anybody from that flight.
Just vague fictional wisps of something from a tidbit of a thought about the one who got away.
I don’t know if it even counts as writing.
And some of my “writing” was actually bad doodling.
It’s not much, but it’s a lot more than I’ve had in a long time.
More than that, I feel excited to keep poking my maybe-story and see where it takes me.
It could just be a placebo effect, but Arizona’s working its magic on my writing muse.
It’s right around nine when we touch down, and after waiting to get our bags and waiting some more to pick up our rental car, it’s nearly ten-thirty before we’re on the road.
Thankfully, driving here is like riding a bike. The perfect grid of major roads spaced precisely a mile apart in each direction couldn’t be less like Boston if it tried. Yes, the layout of Massachusetts roads is quaint and old and charming, but Arizona roads make sense. Novel idea.
Forrest’s head is on a swivel even though the sun set hours ago.
“What is it?” I ask.
“There’s just so much more here than I expected.
I’ve heard people say Arizona is a desert, and I guess I expected…
sand? I can see way out on the horizon, sure, but there are mountains out there, and just, more.
” Forrest nearly turns around in his seat to get a better view of the beautiful lizard design carved into the wall that separates the freeway from the neighborhood it cuts through.
“There’s definitely more here than sand. There’s so much history here that you can feel it—the good and the bad. And there’s a lot of beauty. It’s so much more than a dusty desert,” I say with a soft smile as we continue heading north into Scottsdale.
Forrest looks around, taking in whatever he can see until I pull into our hotel parking lot.
“Woah,” he breathes as he looks up at the sight before us.
We’ll be staying in a converted dorm near campus during the workshop week, so I went big on this one.
I have some rewards saved up from my tour stops over the past few years, and since my parents travel so much, they’ve also accrued a ton of hotel points and decided to gift those to me for this trip as an early birthday present to help make this resort stay possible.
The stucco building is decently-sized, but the real reason I picked this spot—besides being able to use the hotel points and their very favorable long-stay rate—is the towering shadow of Camelback Mountain behind it.
Sure, it also has a pool, gym, access to the neighboring golf course and all kinds of other resort amenities, but I don’t know how I could remain uninspired with a view like that.
I park and catch a perplexed expression on Forrest’s face when we’re unloading our bags.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s… cold,” he says, his tone matching his face. “Not like Massachusetts in February cold, but it’s still kind of uncomfortable.”
Even though he’s wearing the light sweater he had on during the flight, his shoulders give a small shiver.
“Yeah, that happens,” I say with a low chuckle. “Without the sun heating it up, the ground doesn’t hold heat very well, so it does get cold here sometimes at night.”
“While I’m already asking dumb things, what time is it? The car said eleven, but I thought Arizona was three hours back, and there’s no way the flight took that long,” Forrest continues as he sets my bag on its wheels.
“Daylight savings ended last week, and Arizona doesn’t change its clocks—well, most of it doesn’t. So, it’s two hours back from the East Coast until March,” I explain.
Forrest hms and nods his head slowly, like he’s downloading information directly into his brain.
“Well, ok then. I have a feeling I’m going to be learning a lot on this trip,” Forrest mutters, once again looking up at Camelback Mountain’s silhouette before his eyes drift to a row of aloe plants lining the sidewalk to the front door.
I wonder if he’s talking about this new place for him. Or me. Or my past. Or maybe all of it.
Hopefully all of it.
“Let me help,” I say before leading the way inside.
It’s an interesting change of pace for me to know more than Forrest. He’s always been a wealth of knowledge and was the first person I’d go to when I was having trouble in the classes we shared. I don’t remember him ever needing to ask me things like this before.
“I’m supposed to be here supporting you,” Forrest reminds me as he falls into step at my side.
“You’re my best friend. I think it’s ok if we lean on each other.” I quickly realize that’s the first time I’ve said his title out loud since he returned, and I worry I said something wrong when Forrest doesn’t answer. But when I glance at him, he’s looking at me with that half smile.
“I’d like that,” he agrees.
Ten minutes later, inside the spacious and stunning lobby, I fear our trip is about to take a turn for the worse.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m still having some trouble finding the reservation. Can you spell your last name again?” For the first time since we arrived, the woman working the front desk—ironically named Hope as I’m losing any I had—looks worried.
“It’s V-i-o-t-t-o-l-o. I called to add my friend earlier this week.
Maybe it’s somehow under his name now? Forrest Dane?
” It’s late, I’m tired, and I know the hotel is sold out, but I do my best to keep my unease at bay.
Everything was fine when I called a few days ago. They’ll find the reservation.
Hope stares so intently at her computer screen that I’m concerned for its wellbeing. Every click she makes without speaking feels like another stone dropping in my stomach.
Then her whole face brightens.
“Found you,” she exclaims. “I’m so sorry for the delay. It looks like you were upgraded to a suite earlier today—the Camelback Suite—so I was looking in the wrong place. It’s all set now.”
“Oh, wow! Thank you so much,” I say, twisting to throw an eager thumbs up to Forrest. Based on his drawn brow, I have a feeling he could hear our conversation from where he’s waiting with the bags.
“Two adults, three weeks, mountain view. Here are your keys and a map with a list of the resort amenities. Wi-Fi information is on a card beside the television in the room, but if you have any questions, feel free to call down to the front desk anytime,” Hope says, her perkiness back in full force now that our little crisis has been averted.
I thank my new hotel bestie again before collecting everything and heading to the elevators with Forrest.
“We got upgraded!” I whisper to him, a new pep in my step and eyes wide in spite of the late hour and the time change.
This kind of thing never happens to me. It feels like a good omen for this trip—and I choose to ignore the fact that I thought the kerfuffle at the front desk a moment ago was going to be a bad omen. Clearly, I was completely wrong then and am correct now.
When we get to our room, we’re greeted with champagne and fruit on the coffee table in the living room along with a notecard welcoming us.
I scurry past the kitchenette and across the living room right to the balcony, pulling open the door and imagining how Camelback will look on the other side of the glistening blue pool come sunrise.
The hotel’s guests seem to be sleeping based on how quiet the world feels, but there’s the soft sound of water flowing down a waterfall feature into the pool a couple stories below us. It’s perfect.
I can picture myself writing on this balcony. I can picture us having breakfast on this balcony. I can picture us together on this balcony.
As friends.
“Hey, Cam?” Forrest’s voice draws me back inside, an edge to his tone.
“Yeah?” I call back as I drag myself away from the balcony and join him standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “What is it?”
Forrest points into the other room. The one I’d blown right past.
Sitting right in the center of the far wall is one, singular, solitary bed.