Page 84 of Our Last Resort

A kind, middle-aged woman with a purple T-shirt and visible roots in her dyed blond hair informs me that the Staircase Inn does, in fact, have rooms available.

“This might sound weird,” I say, “but can I pay with my phone?”

The woman shakes her head no with a soft smile.

“But we take cash,” she says, and directs me to the nearest ATM.

As it turns out, Escalante, Utah, is equipped with at least one ATM that supports contactless technology. I take out three hundred bucks and return to the inn. My new friend takes two of my three bills and hands me a key.

“Second floor,” she tells me.

As I start climbing the small staircase, she calls out after me: “I’m Ronda, by the way. Without anh.If you need anything.”

“Thanks, Ronda.”

I don’t know what I would have done if the ATM hadn’t worked.

Actually, I do, and that’s what scares me. I would have begged, borrowed, possibly stolen. I would have asked strangers for a spot on their couch. I would have slept in the desert, outside.

Anything but the Ara. Anyone but Gabriel.

The Staircase Inn is not fancy, but it’s clean, with small bottles of bodywash in the bathroom and a welcome basket on one of the nightstands. Inside, bottled water and two granola bars.

I eat both, wash them down with water. Then I take off my clothes, shower, and lie down. I’m naked in a hotel bed; the sheets are wet; my hair drips against the pillow. I don’t care.

There’s no tension, no tossing and turning. No half dreams. No nightmares. In the Staircase Inn, away from Gabriel, I sleep for what feels like the first time in my life.

29The Only Town We Knew, Hudson Valley, And Then, the World

Fifteen Years Ago

We waited for someone to turn up behind the counter, then asked for two tickets for the next train.

“The four thirty-six to New York?” the man said. He was bald, with red cheeks and cold, cold blue eyes.

“Sure,” Gabriel said.

I handed over Émile’s money. From the pile, the man separated a single bill, then handed me two tickets and a pile of change.

“Platform one,” he said.

We sleepwalked down a flight of stairs.

The platform was windy. Cold gusts bit at my cheeks. It felt good, deserved. My hands went pleasantly numb.

I closed my eyes. Flames danced at the back of my eyelids.

I thought about it. Lying down on the nearby grass and surrendering. Waiting for sleep to find me and never let go.

Bile rose at the back of my throat. I ran to a trash can and missed it by a few seconds.

Gabriel stood next to me. He patted my back. When my stomach was done seizing, I opened my mouth, tried to find the words.

What have we done?

What the fuck were we thinking?

It seemed impossible that we could have erased Émile from the world. That he’d stopped existing at all.

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