Page 39 of Anywhere with You
I half opened an eye, just enough to see the bedside clock. It was eight a.m., much later than I’d intended to sleep. I pulled the comforter over my head, but not before noticing that she was already fully dressed.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” Cara said, bouncing on the foot of my bed.
“Do you have a reverse hangover?” I asked, trying to kick her through the comforter and mostly failing.
There was an ominous pause, and then Cara was talking in a different tone. I poked my head out, and her phone was right in my face. I screamed and retreated.
“The rare and glorious Honey only emerges briefly before coffee can be obtained. Did you catch that sound? She may be warning others of her species that there is danger approaching, or she may be producing a mating call. Let’s see if we can determine which.”
My comforter disappeared, yanked away by a traitor.
I growled, coming to all fours and launching myself at Cara, who shrieked, laughed, and dropped her phone under the bed.
She was still laughing as she wiggled herself halfway under the bed to retrieve it.
“You make me act ridiculous,” Cara said.
“Me? Oh no. I’m not taking responsibility for your behavior.” I grabbed my phone and said, “Hey, Siri. Search how to tolerate happy people when you have a hangover.”
I dressed and repacked the little that I’d emptied from my suitcase, then called to check in with Florence while Cara finished arranging hercurls. She paused to raise her pant leg and put a new bandage on her scraped knee.
Her capri pants had lace on the back pockets and small, embroidered flowers. I realized I was staring with my phone in my hand and turned away quickly.
“Honey!” Florence answered, her voice full of cheer. “Those hand-painted ukuleles came in, and we’ve already sold three!”
“What?” I couldn’t remember the last time we’d sold three…of anything.
“Doug stood outside strumming one half the morning. Can’t carry a tune in a bucket with a lid on, but it worked.”
Doug definitely had a good ukulele vibe, chill and obviously talented, except for his singing voice. I could hear him faintly in the background, playing “Hakuna Matata.”
It wasn’t exactly on key, but it was fully enthusiastic. A few tiny voices joined in.
“I miss you guys,” I said.
“Stop it. You’re supposed to be having fun. Where are you? What was yesterday’s stop?”
I told her about the cliff dwellings, downgrading our javelina experience to a sighting, and ended with, “Today, we’ll be at the Grand Canyon, but not before dark if we don’t hurry.”
I made eye contact with Cara in the mirror.
“I’ll let you get to it,” said Florence.
We gathered everything and left the room. The plan was to load the car, grab a quick continental breakfast, and get on the road so we would have the whole afternoon for the Grand Canyon.
I paused only long enough to download a dozen Enrique Iglesias songs, which I planned to play when it was Cara’s turn to drive, so I could look at the lyrics and sing along.
I followed Cara into the elevator, a bag hanging from each shoulder, and pushed the button for the lobby.
The elevator doors closed.
And all the lights went out.
For a full minute, Cara and I stood there, staring at the elevator doors, expecting them to open, the lights to turn back on, or for something, anything, to happen.
Nothing did.
“It seems that we are stuck in an elevator,” I said, turning to where I knew Cara must be standing.
