“We can’t—” Ash begins.
“Let’s try,” Hope says. “Maybe doing this kind of last-minute is how we actually get it done. Every time we’ve tried to plan something in advance, it’s always fallen through.” She’s right. The first time, Ash’s youngest daughter was rushed to the hospital for an appendectomy the day before they were set to meet up in LA. Another time, Hope had to cancel at the last minute because of work. A third time, Caro had to go and take care of her father, who’s been struggling with Alzheimer’s.
“We might as welldiscussit,” Ash says, almost in a whisper.
“Might as well,” Caro agrees.
Later, they can’t remember who or what tipped the balance. They sorted it all out, thought about the ways theycould, hypothetically, move heaven and earth, and they realized that they could manage a few days in June. They would walk away. They would vanish.
Later, the ones who were left asked the same thing over and over again—who decided?
All of us, they had to agree.
It was all of us.
DAY ONE
Tuesday
On the chalkboard outside the Sonnet resort main office
MOVIE.................................
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 1969, PG, directed by George Roy Hill
FILM FACT.................................
Much of the movie was filmed near Eden National Park, where the outlaw Butch Cassidy once lived and operated. Although infamous for his criminal career, he never killed anyone and was considered a Western hero by the locals.
1
PAGE
THE KIND OF RICHpeople I hate the most are the ones who say theyaren’trich.
Ohreally?I want to ask them.Do you have enough food for the whole week sitting in your cupboard all the time? Do you pay your utilities without even thinking about it? Do you have more than one pair of shoes? Did you lift the sleeve of that $70 sweatshirt in the gift shop to check the price tag andnotrule it out immediately? Then you have more money than most people. More money than me, that’s for damn sure.
Sometimes it’s hard for me to make eye contact with the guests when I’m giving them theWelcome to Sonnetspiel, the one where I talk up the amenities of the resort and the natural beauty of the nearby national park. I tell them about our restaurant, our food truck, the gourmet s’more kits on offer, the gift shop, the drive-in movie theater where you can sit in vintage cars eating popcorn and watching classic movies after a long day of hiking. You know, like all the otherun-rich people in the world.
Yes, yes,they say as they nod,we’ve seen pictures online, the drive-in issocharming, we aresodelighted to be here, oh, that’s wonderful that you have a farm-to-table menu, we expect nothing less, even though we also want authenticity (but not thewrongtype of authenticity). Oh really, sometimes the hot water runs out during the busy times of day? Um, okay. No, no, that’s quite all right, yes, yes. Wedounderstand we are right at the edge of a national park. But the thread count on the sheets? Could you tell us about that? Wonderful. Oh, we’reveryoutdoorsy, can’t wait to get out on those hikes / go canyoneering / see the stars / bathe in nature.
You should see their faces when I tell them there’s a wood-burning stove in each of their tents and that that’s what they’ll need to use if they get cold at night. At first, they wear expressions of total shock, because they didn’t think glamping would bequitethat close to actual camping and they didn’t read the website description all the way through. Or, if they did, they thought the wood-burning stoves were for charm, not the primary source of heat.
Most guests rally, though, and pretend like they know how to light a fire. This cracks me up and pisses me off at the same time. I watch them leave for their tents, knowing we’ll get front desk calls later. The guests will say that their stoves “don’t work.” They’ll never admit that it’s for sure and one hundred percent user error. One of the staff will take care of it. If it’s my shift, it might be me. I’m great at lighting fires. I’ve been doing it all my life.
It only really gets to me if they don’t say thanks or don’t bother keeping their personal lives out of the way for the few minutes it takes me to get the fire going. I don’t need to hear your argument or how much you love each other or how horny you are right now. I’m a person. You don’t have to talk to me the whole time, but don’t act like I’m not here when I am.
I also hate it when they refer to the park asEdensNational Park. I’ve been corrected by guests when I say it right. I have to grit my teeth when I respond.Actually, I say,there’s nos.
Really?they ask.Are you sure?
Oh, I’m sure.
And now and then they like to point out that I’m spelling my name “wrong.” “Did they forget to put theion your nametag?” they’ll ask. Or, “What an unusual spelling!” That second one’s more subtle, but the subtext is still crystal clear:We are smarter than you. We know more than you do. We can tell you therightway to spell your name.
Anyway. Rich people.
I have my eye on that group of women right from the moment they duck inside the main tent. You don’thaveto duck—the ceilings are high and the door is tall and wide—but people seem to have that tendency with tents, even when they’re enormous and multi-peaked, like this one. The main tent houses a restaurant, a reception area, a gift-and-snack shop, restrooms, and a sporting-goods outfitter. One of the women puts her hand up to touch the side of the tent, which is also something a lot of people do. From a distance, it looks smooth, like ceramic or porcelain, maybe, but up close you can tell that it’s made of extremely sturdy fabric. The floors are weathered wood, and we have electricity and running water. Of course. And Wi-Fi.
