Page 60 of Anywhere with You
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, “but this is the middle of nowhere. Why is it usually booked?”
Lane gave me a confused look. “Because of the hot springs, of course.”
NowIwas about to cry.
“You’re an angel, Lane,” I said, taking the key and the takeout containers of pie from their hands. “A hero. A saint. You saved our vacation.”
“Please let your mom know how grateful we are,” Cara said. “We can pay her. And we’ll make sure it’s sparkling clean before we leave.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lane said, grinning. “My cousin doesthe housekeeping, and he’s an absolute tool. Feel free to invite friends, throw a party, spill some wine. He’ll never get it out of the carpet. Ready to go back to town and get your bags?”
We were. Lane had driven us over in what they called their classic VW Bug, not seeming to understand the difference betweenclassicanddecrepit. There were so many dents and spots of peeled paint that I could honestly tell what the last four colors had been. But I didn’t complain, and neither did Cara, even though the road back to town was dirt and gravel and the VW had WWII-era shocks.
At the motel, we tossed clothes and shampoos and makeup into suitcases and bags, not caring whose was what, so long as none of it touched the contaminated carpet.
There may have been some spontaneous squeals of happiness, but I’d never swear to it.
I kept looking over at Cara, so overwhelmingly pleased to see her happy that I momentarily forgot that I was happy for other reasons, too—for a beautiful guesthouse, for hot springs, and more than anything else in my life, to not have to spend another second in this motel.
We waddled to the lobby with our load of bags. Cara passed the keys across the desk to the manager with carefully concealed glee.
“I hope you enjoyed your stay,” the manager said.
“Mmph,” she managed through closed lips.
I was openly laughing.
Lane helped us wedge our luggage into one side of the back seat and, when it was clear that wasn’t going to be enough, stacked on top of my feet and lap. I could rest my chin on my guitar case.
“You look squished, Honey. Do you want to switch me? I can—” Cara started.
“There is a hot spring,” I whispered. “Get in the car fast, and we might have time to see it before dark.”
Cara got in fast.
Lane gave us walking directions to the hot spring as they drove to the house. They said, “You can’t miss it,” so many times that I started to get nervous.
They’d already given us the tour of the house, so as soon as we arrived and they’d helped us unload everything into the living room, they left to get back to the diner.
“I know you guys are stuck here without a car. If you want food,just call the diner and I’ll drop it by. I live right over there.” They gestured vaguely, getting back into their rickety car.
We effused thanks.
“If I ever have a child,” Cara said, as we waved from the front door, “I’m naming them Lane.”
“At first, I thought you said you were going to have one with Lane,” I said, “which would not happen. They’re way out of your league.”
“Gee, thanks. I’d be more likely to adopt Lane. They’re probably young enough to be my kid.”
“No way. You’re what, twenty-one?”
Cara shoved me gently. “I’m thirty-six, and I hate that you can say that and it feels like a compliment.”
“I know it. Society is screwed up. Thirties are way better than twenties.”
“In every possible way. Can you imagine us at forty? Fifty? We’ll be unstoppable.”
We stopped talking right inside the front door, staring down at our pile of luggage.
