Page 150 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
It was also incredibly comical in its boring normalcy—a small bit of someone’s life stuffed into a Ziploc.
“We’re halfway around now,” Dove said. I looked back to where we’d come from—the observatory and entrance were faroff in the distance. No tourists were near us. “Seems like as good a place as any.”
She looked at me once, and I gave her a small smile—making sure, once again, to stand out of the line of fire. Never again would I eat the dead.
Dove unsealed the bag and shook just as the wind danced past us again, and Margaret was carried away once more. And just like every other time I’d witnessed Dove scattering her grandmother along the road—taking her on one last adventure—that loosening feeling in my chest returned.
I let out a relieved breath.
“God,” Dove said, clearing her throat and wiping her eyes as she stuffed the empty bag into her back pocket. “Uncle Ben would totally shit if he knew what I was doing. I just love the fact that he has the dust of Margaret’s last vacuum in his cabinet. It’s ironic.”
I snorted and ran a hand through my hair, taking her offered hand and continuing to walk, her words still ringing in my ears.
Impact shapes everything.
As my eyes wandered over the scarred earth—into the pit of some old and violent moment on this ground—I felt a little heavier and a little lighter at the same time.
We drove straight through Flagstaff.
The only thing any of us had been mildly interested in was the observatory, but after a quick search of the prices—and comparing them to the entry fee for Bearizona Wildlife Park—we had to say no and go for the park, since it was on Liv’s plan.
This wasn’tourtrip, I reminded myself.
Dove looked a little disappointed, and I made a quiet note to myself that when we drove back home, I’d take her there. We would do everything we’d missed on the way.
The roof was down again, and I had just finished a sandwich and my tablets, a bottle of water resting between my legs as I drove—wind in my hair, sun beating down.
I glanced at Liv through the rearview mirror, taking in her folded arms, her gaze fixed on something far away and unreachable.
“I spy with my little eye,” Dove drawled, breaking the silence, “something beginning with… R.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Rocks?” I said, deadpan. “We’re in the desert.”
“Nope.”
“Rust?”
“Nope,” Dove said, grinning, her Converse-clad feet propped up on the dash.
“Road signs?” I asked as we passed one that told us a toilet was up ahead. “Rest stops?”
“No and no,” she said.
“Regret?” I snapped, getting annoyed that I couldn’t guess.
Dove laughed. “Okay, dramatic. No, it was ‘rearview mirror,’ actually.”
I stared incredulously at the road ahead. “Are you—are you joking? That issospecific. As if I was ever going to guess that.”
The sun continued to bear down on us as we drove, I Spy fading into quiet conversation—or just music. Dehd and their music had once again become a constant soundtrack in the background.
Now, Dove sat in the passenger seat with her head tilted back against the chair, eyes closed. I wasn’t sure if she was asleep, but her hand had somehow found its way onto my leg and rested there as I drove.
I did my best to ignore the searing heat of the skin-on-skin contact.
I gripped the wheel.
