Chapter 31 Page
PAGE
THE POLICE ARE GONE.
I tip my head back in the shower. I feel like I’m suffocating. I want it all off—my clothes, the feel of the day, everything that’s happened.
The handle to the shower door rattles right as I reach for the soap, and I jump.
Before I can say anything, someone calls out, “Sorry! Didn’t know this one was taken!
” The noise stops, and I put my hand over my heart, reminding myself to calm down.
Then I tilt my head back into the shower stream again.
The water swirls pinkish orange from the sand that, no matter what I do, always ends up in my clothes and hair. I rinse my hair under the shower again until the water runs clean.
I don’t bother with drying my hair. It’s warm enough out.
I stop by the food truck and get a burger and shake.
My brain is exhausted and I need calories.
I drink cup after cup of water at the hydration station near the food truck while I wait for my order to be ready.
When it is, the chef, Ty, opens the back door of the truck and delivers the meal to me himself instead of calling out my number.
“You okay?” he asks. His Sonnet cap is on backward, and his hair is bleached from the sun.
“Yeah.”
But I can tell he’s not convinced. “What happened?”
I aim for the perfect amount of concerned but competent.
“Nothing,” I say, picking up the tray. I’m not going to eat at one of the picnic tables—too public.
I need a break. “Except for, you know, the flash flood and the missing guests, and the ones who are still here panicking or needing to be entertained.” The music from the movie’s credits sings through the trees and along the paths to where we are.
The score is supposed to evoke being in space, but the loneliness of it feels right for the desert, too.
“That’s a lot to deal with,” Ty says. “And Colby’s gone. I hear he left you in charge.”
Who told him that? As if he can guess my question, Ty says, “It’s pretty much common knowledge.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, he did.”
“Not really fair to do that to someone so young,” Ty says, and I instantly bristle. I hate it when people say I’m young. They might know my age in years, but they have no idea how old I am on the inside.
“Thanks for this,” I say, and I start down the path, the gravel pebbly and distinct under my flip-flops.
“You know when he’ll be back?” Ty asks.
I pretend I don’t hear him and keep going. I notice that he’s added a fruit salad to my order, a rainbow of watermelon and grapes and pineapple and raspberries dusted with tajin, a lime wedge neatly placed on top.
When I come to the opened-up clearing of the theater, I pause.
The smells of popcorn and rain-drenched sage hang in the air, and the rows of classic cars spread out in front of me, emptying now that the film is over.
I need to think of more things for the guests to do.
Maybe we should show movies all day long.
People need distractions. Otherwise they panic, or they try and help.
I’m never certain which one is more dangerous.
Which car would Hope Hanover pick if she were here? That one, I’m pretty sure, the candy-apple-red Thunderbird near the far end of the first row.
I open the door and climb inside, setting my tray of food down on the seat next to me while I figure out what to do next. Breathe. I can’t leave Sonnet, I have to see this through, but I like the feeling of being in a car, of at least the possibility of motion…
After I finish eating, I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I am exhausted. I welcome it, though, because I don’t want to feel everything that is underneath.
A knock on my window. A face looms in front of me. Another. Adrenaline spikes through me until I realize it’s two of the guests. Ash and Caro.
Perfect, actually. Exactly who I needed to see.
“Skye told us where to find you,” Ash says. “We’re wondering if you’ve heard anything.”
“Nothing yet.” I’m disconcerted that Skye knew I was here.
I climb out of the Thunderbird so that I’m on even footing with the two women.
It’s late, and Hope Hanover’s friends both look absolutely wrecked.
Like they’re experiencing that horrible combination of needing to sleep and not being able to sleep because they’re in the hell of losing someone they care about.
“Have you heard anything about your friend yet?” The question is a courtesy, a way to make them feel like they’re the ones who would be in the know.
“No,” Ash says, but there’s a trace of something in her voice that makes me look at her more closely. No one’s heard from Hope. I’d know if they had. So why does Ash sound like she might be lying?
“I’ve been wondering,” I say. “Would either of you prefer a room change?”
“I’m sorry?” Caro asks.
“We’ve had a few people check out,” I say, “and with everything that’s happened, it seems like you might feel more—secure?
—in the Airstreams?” Ash’s shoulders drop in what looks to me like relief.
She’s definitely thought about this. “They lock, and they have private bathrooms, but if you want to stay where you are, I totally get it. The tents are nice.” I pause to let them take in the offer.
“Or maybe you’re planning to end your trip early?
” I make a sympathetic face. They’d better not be planning on ending the trip early.
“No,” Caro says instantly. She glances at Ash. “Not me, anyway. I’m not leaving until we find her.”
“Me either,” Ash says with the same conviction. “Are you serious about this? That would be great if we could move to the Airstreams.”
“How much more would it cost?” Caro asks.
“It’s complimentary,” I say, but that’s not exactly true.
There’s always a price, and this one is hidden.
“I can put you two next to each other. I can’t get you right by your friend’s Airstream—it’s on the end of the row, and the people on the other side haven’t checked out—but you’re close.
There’s no obligation, of course. Again, you’re welcome to stay where you are.
” I’m speaking so formally that it sounds odd to my ears, but they don’t seem to notice.
“Awesome.” Ash looks like she might cry. “This is so kind of you.”
“No problem,” I say. “Let’s go get the keys.”
The minute we enter the tent, Skye leaves the gift shop where she was working and joins us at the reception desk.
Skye’s loving the whole natural-disaster, people-are-missing vibe.
I’ve been keeping an eye on her LikeMe account to make sure she doesn’t post anything that could really screw things up.
She’s acting like she almost died in the flash flood, and her followers are eating it up.
They don’t know that she was sound asleep when it all happened and that she’s never been in the Underground.
“Do you need me to help with anything?” she asks, practically salivating.
Ash and Caro are as close as she can get to the drama.
“I think we’re good,” Caro says, and I like the way she seems to have taken Skye’s measure in a glance. “Thank you, though.”
“I can help move your luggage over now, if you want,” I tell Ash and Caro quietly. “There’s a golf cart parked out back.”
“Yes, please.” Ash is practically weeping with gratitude. If anyone’s going to talk about what happened when they talked to the police, I think it’s going to be her. I’ll drop her off last when I take them over and see what I can find out.
The two women climb onto the golf cart behind me and we set off on the path, the illuminated solar lights guiding our way. None of us say anything. They’re tired. Their bodies sway with the turns and jolts of the golf cart.
I keep myself upright. Don’t look down, I remind myself, when my mind threatens to go where it can’t right now. Stay here. Do what you need to do.