Page 17 of The Lovers
“Thanks for that,” I say, glancing over her shoulder in the direction Healer Arynne scurried off to.
We give each other another loaded look. I hate every second of it. Every twinge of feeling in the dark, deep crevices I’m desperate to keep out of the light. The messy places inside me that no one needs to ever see. This is not the Julia Kelley I am supposed to be.
My walkie-talkie scratches with an incoming signal.
“Bride and groom have landed,” Zoe’s voice screeches through the speaker.
Duty calls.
Chapter Seven
Kit
We both shoot out into the late afternoon heat, going our separate ways. Was it this warm earlier? I’m suddenly sweating, and I’m not deluded enough to think the damp film over my skin has anything to do with the desert heat. That credit goes to the sudden reappearance of Julia Kelley in the narrative of my life.
Not exactly a meet-cute, Universe. Since, despite my goal to be the ingenue of my own life, this is not a romantic comedy.
This is not on the Ideal Rom-Com Life Path.
I have to focus on something that isn’t the way she’s grown out her hair, or how her ass looked in those fitted high-waist jeans, or the fact that she still wears that single gold chain with the tiny red heart around her neck that dips into her clavicle just like it did when we were eighteen.
I decide to fix my attention on the tiny printed instructions typed out on the back of this piece of seed paper.
Take the path toward the sculpture of the moon
I flick my eyes up, searching. This sidewalk leads back toward the main building, which I am guessing is normally the starting point for these directions. So I wind over that way until I see a fork in the path. One path leads toward an arm of the main property, while the other trails away. I decide the latter is probably a better bet since an Airstream trailer wouldn’t be located right up against the main facility.
Sure enough, as I pass a crop of giant organ pipe cacti, their spiky, slim bodies stretching up toward the sun, I see it. A cement moon, set in a sandy bed, like it’s in space.
Veer west
Left. Thank you, nearly setting sun. I follow that path until I reach a courtyard that acts like a walking roundabout.
Take the path toward the fences
I guess that means I go in the direction of the hills, since upon arrival I noticed the perimeter of the property faced the crop of hills on the right. I know I’m correct when I see a collection of trailers spaced out with little adobe fences separating them.
Mine is number 555, and damn, Millie Morgan really leaves no detail to chance. Or this could be the Universe signaling to me that I am on the brink of a massive shift.
Julia’s sharp aqua eyes flash in my mind like a siren.
Nope, this message is part of Millie’s mission to make my digs as Instagram-worthy as possible. That’s it.
The gate to my Airstream trailer is made of copper, great for keeping energy clear and channeling connection to the spiritualworld. Also, downright photogenic. I film my opening of the gate, my light-pink-painted toenails peeking from my sandals as I walk the gravel path toward the trailer. Pan up, up, and capture the whole shiny silver bullet against the hills. Joshua trees create visual interest, their craggy, crooked arms twisting toward the sky. Desert sands, shaded by cloud cover slowly edging across the azure sky, roll out in front of me for miles.
I’ll prep videos for social media and a vlog for YouTube, all to publish after I’m far away from Celestial Sands. These videos always get oodles of hits, and often get me offers of free weekend getaways from similar properties in exchange for a few posts.
I drop my phone to my side, surveying the space, focusing on the details and not my building internal dilemma overshe who won’t be named.
The Airstream trailer is small and round, set at the far right corner of this rectangular fenced-off space. Outside is a soaking tub positioned close against the metal fencing that makes up the back perimeter and offers privacy from the other units. I walk over to see it’s got a shelf fixed with some spa amenities, plus this gorgeous industrial-designed copper faucet to fill the tub. It’s not for bathing but for stargazing.
Good thing I brought a bikini.
There’s also an outdoor shower with a rain head, an outdoor bed set on an elevated platform, and lounge chairs facing the hills for optimal sunset views.
I step inside the Airstream and glance in either direction. It has been fully refurbished in a deliberate vintage boho style. Creams, dusty pinks, soft grays, and muted purples. On one end are the bedroom and bath tucked together like a puzzle, on the other a tiny living/dining nook with a bench sofa and a bar. The kitchen is agalley that runs down either side of the trailer’s center, with pastel pink cabinets, rich green glass tile backsplash, and soft maple butcher block counters. There’s even a cute teal fridge tucked up beneath the countertop at the end of the kitchen.
There are hanging air plants strung up in crochet, bouquets of dried flowers and herbs, mismatched wineglasses set out on an exposed beam above the sink, leading me to think there is a bottle of something chilling inside that fridge.
