Tay had said this kind of thing happened more often than people would think. That some of the people on these tours weren’t up for it.
Maybe that was why the atmosphere in the bus felt so heavy now, so much bigger than just Roger. Because Babs had already lived this story. No doubt, several others on the bus had as well.
My parents had never taken “the trip of a lifetime.” Had that been what this was supposed to be for my mom?
Had she signed up for this trip because she wanted something more, something she’d never had the chance to share with Dad?
HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE
A little more than an hour later, after we’d filed off the bus and into our hotel in Grand Junction, Tay handed out our keys with strict instructions.
“Hydrate, people. We’re still in the desert. Rest up. Dinner vouchers are good for room service or the bistro downstairs. Feel free to check out the pool. Otherwise, take it easy.”
I nodded, took my key, and, after a slow elevator ride, dragged my suitcase down the long hallway. I limped awkwardly as the leather strap on my broken sandal flapped uselessly on the carpet.
The door had already clicked shut behind me by the time I realized I’d forgotten to buy a few bottles of water.
Sighing, I grabbed a glass from the bathroom counter, rinsed and wiped it out with the hand towel—because I wasn’t stupid, and yes, I’d seen that Dateline episode—then filled it from the sink.
I took a few sips of the lukewarm water, but it didn’t settle the way I’d hoped.
For how thirsty I’d been earlier, it was strangely unsatisfying—too sloshy, sitting wrong in my stomach.
I paused, the glass still in my hand, and stared across the room.
I should open my suitcase.
It would be nice to change into something soft and clean, maybe after a quick shower. But I was also kind of hungry, and although I would really prefer to get the dust and sweat and sunscreen off of me, I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to wash myself just yet.
I had a granola bar packed away somewhere in my bag, if it hadn’t crumbled into granola dust by now.
Or I could order room service.
The idea floated in—fries, maybe? Something starchy? A club sandwich with extra mayo?
But I couldn’t focus long enough to decide.
Everything sounded wrong. Or too much. Or not enough.
I bent to undo the strap on the sandal that still worked, easily slipped out of the broken one, and then ignored my blister in order to just plop down on top of the white comforter.
I exhaled, letting the weight of my body sink into the mattress.
Perfect.
Noah had been right about the water, the sunscreen and the hat and my shoes—all of it. Why couldn’t I have just acted like a normal person? I was too tired to come up with an answer.
Whatever…
It was going to have to wait.
Everything could wait.
I drifted through a haze of exhaustion, my mind slipping in and out of half-formed thoughts.
Then—
Flashes of red rock. The sound of sirens.
