Page 63 of Anywhere with You
“What do you think? Is it worth a ruined vacation in the redwoods?” I asked, slipping a little as I eased myself deeper into the water.
“No,” she said, “but all of a sudden, I don’t mind as much.”
I took her lead and submerged myself up to my chin, letting the heat gently flow over me. When I stopped moving, I could see little fish darting between us.
“How can they swim in this without cooking?” I asked.
Cara watched them, grinning as they darted around us. “They’ve adapted,” she said. “There are even microorganisms in Yellowstone’s boiling springs.”
I stopped. “Wait, are they really boiling?”
“Not all the time, but yeah, sometimes. All that volcanic activity isn’t as far under the surface as you’d think.”
I looked around. I don’t know what I was checking for. Magma? Smoke? But everything around us was calm. There was only the faintest hint of steam over some of the pools.
For a time, we relaxed in silence, listening to the gentle sounds of the water, the wind rustling bushes and trees, the occasional skittery sound of what I chose to believe were lizards and definitely not snakes or javelinas or giant, hairy scorpions.
Cara’s eyes were closed. “I don’t know the last time I went somewhere I couldn’t even hear cars.”
I thought about that, about the people driving in and out of White Sands, even the distant noise of traffic at the Gila cliff dwellings. I snapped my fingers, “Got it. Walking in the pouring rain after your car broke down. Not a car around for miles until Mildred and Jeffrey came along.”
Cara nodded. “True, but not exactly a moment to relax and enjoy the nature sounds.”
“Hey. Tornadoes and coyote packs make nature sounds, too.”
“By that logic, the noise coming out of your mouth would qualify, and I guarantee you, it doesn’t.”
I laughed but shut up. I didn’t know if she was joking, but I was enjoying the quiet, too.
Soon, I got out of the water just long enough to grab the wine and water. I was shivering by the time I got back into the hot spring. I didn’t know if the water was that much warmer, or if the day was beginning to cool.
Cara and I passed the wine bottle back and forth. It had a Canada goose on the label, which made me smile, remembering my conversation with my dad about Canadian sweet potatoes in the brownies Mom made. I’d have to make sure to send him pictures of this place. I doubted either of my parents had bothered to download Mesmio.
But he needed to see this. Dad was every bit the comfort traveler. He and Mom had pictures in hammocks on sandy beaches, eating fancy chocolate, and taking trains through beautiful countryside. There were no photos from the tops of any mountains, none that involved trekking through rainforests or sweating more than was absolutely avoidable.
I half suspected that he’d only agreed to attend my college graduation because I’d raved about the foot massage place down the street.
We’d have plenty of opportunities to take pictures and make videos now, I supposed. Cara and I would have several long days of boredom at the vacation house, unless we were going to spend all day every day out here in the hot springs, a plan that sounded good until I noticed the pink tint on the top of Cara’s nose. Maybe there were some parasols tucked away in that well-stocked house.
I suddenly regretted not getting the inflatable life-size alien I’d seen in Roswell. It would’ve made a perfect addition to our hot springs videos.
By the time the wine bottle was empty, the sky had started to take on an orange glow.
“We should head back,” Cara said, but she didn’t move, her legs stretched out in front of her, the fish darting across her stomach, her bathing suit top thin and clinging.
Dear goodness.
I cleared my throat and tried to focus. The wine wasn’t helping. “We have the flashlights,” I said. “Let’s stay awhile.”
It was hard to comprehend how quickly the heat went out of the desert air when the sun began to set. It was like there was no atmosphere to hold it in. The sun was either baking you, or it was gone, and there was nothing, no source of heat but the water. Houston was hot all day and all night. During the worst of summer, it was never below ninety degrees, not even at midnight.
But Houston also had some serious light pollution. Above us now, like a city waking up in the predawn darkness, stars lit up the sky. First, there were a handful. Then, there were more than I had ever seen. And they kept appearing, making the dome of the world feel alive.
The sky next to the shitty motel had nothing on this masterpiece.
I watched them breathlessly, and when I realized Cara hadn’t noticed, I pointed overhead, showing her Orion and Cassiopeia, the only two constellations I could regularly find. Even the Big Dipper seemed too sparse in this mess of stars. I kept thinking I’d found it, only to find it again somewhere else.
“It’s remarkable that any of those stories are remembered,” I said. “So much time has passed, but also, I could find a million shapes up there. I’d find a new one each night, a new story.”
