It was easy enough to find the freeway and then follow the signs out of San Diego. Soon there were no signs to follow, no wrong turns to take. In eight hours I would be in Tucson. It wasn’t long enough. Perhaps I would stay a night in some small town along the way. If I could be sure that the Seeker would be ahead, waiting impatiently, rather than following behind, a stop would be a nice delay.
I found myself looking in the rearview mirror often, searching for a sign of pursuit. I was driving slower than anyone else, unwilling to reach my destination, and the other cars passed me without pause. There were no faces I recognized as they moved ahead. I shouldn’t have let the Seeker’s taunt bother me; she clearly didn’t have the temperament to go anywhere slowly. Still… I continued to watch for her.
I’d been west to the ocean, north and south up and down the pretty California coastline, but I’d never been east for any distance at all. Civilization fell behind me quickly, and I was soon surrounded by the blank hills and rocks that were the precursors to the empty desert wastelands.
It was very relaxing to be away from civilization, and this bothered me. I should not have found the loneliness so welcoming. Souls were sociable. We lived and worked and grew together in harmony. We were all the same: peaceful, friendly, honest. Why should I feel better away from my kind? Was it Melanie who made me this way?
I searched for her but found her remote, dreaming in the back of my head.
This was the best it had been since she’d started talking again.
The miles passed quickly. The dark, rough rocks and the dusty plains covered in scrub flew by with monotonous uniformity. I realized I was driving faster than I’d meant to. There wasn’t anything to keep my mind occupied here, so I found it hard to linger. Absently, I wondered why the desert was so much more colorful in Melanie’s memories, so much more compelling. I let my mind coast with hers, trying to see what it was that was special about this vacant place.
But she wasn’t seeing the sparse, dead land surrounding us. She was dreaming of another desert, canyoned and red, a magical place. She didn’t try to keep me out. In fact, she seemed almost unaware of my presence. I questioned again what her detachment meant. I sensed no thought of attack. It felt more like a preparation for the end.
She was living in a happier place in her memory, as if she were saying goodbye. It was a place she had never allowed me to see before.
There was a cabin, an ingenious dwelling tucked into a nook in the red sandstone, perilously close to the flash flood line. An unlikely place, far from any trail or path, built in what seemed a senseless location. A rough place, without any of the conveniences of modern technology. She remembered laughing at the sink one had to pump to pull water up from the ground.
“It beats pipes,” Jared says, the crease between his eyes deepening as his brows pull together. He seems worried by my laugh. Is he afraid I don’t like it? “Nothing to trace, no evidence that we’re here.”
“I love it,” I say quickly. “It’s like an old movie. It’s perfect.”
The smile that never truly leaves his face—he smiles even in his sleep—grows wide. “They don’t tell you the worst parts in the movies. C’mon, I’ll show you where the latrine is.”
I hear Jamie’s laughter echo through the narrow canyon as he runs ahead of us. His black hair bounces with his body. He bounces all the time now, this thin boy with the sun-darkened skin. I hadn’t realized how much weight those narrow shoulders were carrying. With Jared, he is positively buoyant. The anxious expression has faded, replaced by grins. We are both more resilient than I gave us credit for.
“Who built this place?”
“My father and older brothers. I helped, or rather hindered, a little. My dad loved to get away from everything. And he didn’t care much about convention. He never bothered to find out who the land actually belonged to or file permits or any of that pesky stuff.” Jared laughs, throwing his head back. The sun dances off the blond bits in his hair. “Officially, this place doesn’t exist. Convenient, isn’t it?” Without seeming to think about it, he reaches out and takes my hand.
My skin burns where it meets his. It feels better than good, but it sets off a strange aching in my chest.
He is forever touching me this way, always seeming to need to reassure himself that I am here. Does he realize what it does to me, the simple pressure of his warm palm next to mine? Does his pulse jump in his veins, too? Or is he just happy to not be alone anymore?
He swings our arms as we walk beneath a little stand of cottonwood trees, their green so vivid against the red that it plays tricks on my eyes, confusing my focus. He is happy here, happier than in other places. I feel happy, too. The feeling is still unfamiliar.
He hasn’t kissed me since that first night, when I screamed, finding the scar on his neck. Does he not want to kiss me again? Should I kiss him? What if he doesn’t like that?
He looks down at me and smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling into little webs. I wonder if he is as handsome as I think he is, or if it’s just that he’s the only person left in the whole world besides Jamie and me.
No, I don’t think that’s it. He really is beautiful.
“What are you thinking, Mel?” he asks. “You seem to be concentrating on something very important.” He laughs.
I shrug, and my stomach flutters. “It’s beautiful here.”
He looks around us. “Yes. But then, isn’t home always beautiful?”
“Home.” I repeat the word quietly. “Home.”