There are a few reasons why the three women catch my eye.
First, they have the right gear and they brought their own, which means at least one of them knows what they’re doing.
Second, they seem sohappy. Like, actually, genuinely happy and delighted to be with each other. They’re laughing and talking like they’re getting away with or from something. “Should we sign our real names in the guest log?” the one with the long blond braid asks.
“No,” says the one with the orange Patagonia baseball cap. “That defeats the whole purpose.”
“Wait,” says the most serious-looking one. She glances at me. “Do we actually have to sign in here?”
“No,” I say. “You don’t.” The leather-bound guest log is largely for show, so people feel like they’re having an authentic wilderness-adjacent experience. They can ooh and aah over how far other guests have come to be here. Sometimes they take pictures of their own signatures to post on social media.
They all seem pleased with my answer. “Let’s not sign, then,” Patagonia Hat says.
I think about reminding them that theyshouldsign the logs at the trailheads when they hike, but that info’s on the park website and what they do in Eden isn’t my responsibility.
The last reason that I have my eye on that group, the biggest reason, is that the one in the hat is famous. An actress. She’s friendly, super low-key. That’s what makes the other guests milling around miss who she is. They might glance over and think she’s pretty and that she looks a tiny bit familiar, but the fact that she’s not trying to hide makes it seem impossible that she could be who they think she is. Plus, this resort isn’t Amangiri or anything. We’re fancy, but no Kardashians or Biebers have ever stayed here. Can you imagine one of them having to light their own fires?
But I still know right away who she is, even though her credit card and driver’s license have a different name than the one she’s famous for.
Well hello, I think.Soyou’remy ticket out of here.
2
CARO
“IS THIS HOW YOUpictured it?” Caro asks the other two. Her voice is almost reverential.
“Yes,” Ash says. “No.”
Caro’s heart is full. The three of them are standing on a plateau, red dirt at their feet, an enormous evening-blue sky above. Earlier they were talking and laughing, breathless and giddy to be together in person, in the flesh, but now they’ve quieted.
The landscape stretches out before them like a living thing, likemanyliving things. The colors and the view shift, according to the weather and the light. The mesas turn red, pink, purple, orange, white. The sky changes—it can be vast, calm, empty, swept with clouds. It’s blue, gray, black as obsidian, spotted with diamond-bright stars. Sage, rabbit brush, cactus, and ephedra grow green, gray, silver. Only those who didn’t know the desert could ever call it barren. It’s ripe with life, particular with geography both large-scale and minute. The others are staring in wonder.
Caro grew up less than an hour away from here, in the desert town of St. John. Although she now lives several hours away, she visits home often. It always comes back to her quickly: the desert, the way it feels. How dry the air is here, how beautiful the bones.
“What about all ofus?” Hope turns away from the view to smile at theother two. She’s wearing a faded orange hat and sunglasses that offer the right amount of concealment without being obvious. Ash smiles back, her freckled nose wrinkling, looking younger than the mom of three teenage girls has any right to look.What dotheysee when they look at me?Caro wonders.
“Gorgeous,” Ash says, with the sincerity Caro has come to know so well, even at a distance, even through a screen. “You’re both so gorgeous. I love you two so much!” She throws her arms around Caro and Hope, herding them into a group hug. “I cannotbelievethis is happening!”
“Thanks for suggesting that we come here, Caro,” Hope says as they draw apart. She pulls off her sunglasses and Caro is faced with the full effect of her Hope Hanover green eyes. “It’s perfect.”
“I don’t know that I can take the credit,” Caro says. “It was your idea to come to southern Utah.”
“But you found this resort,” Hope reminds her.
“It’s so beautiful out here, I can’t believe it’s real,” Ash says. “It’s so different from Oregon.”
“Film directors love this part of the country,” Hope says. “It’s cheap to shoot here, and the landscape is ridiculous.” She takes a deep breath, and everyone else follows suit, Caro included. It’s a pleasure to inhale the clean air of this place, the smells of pines and sage and rivers carving their way through rock. Hope glances at Caro. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, I’m sure.”
“Hollywood does like to film Westerns here,” Caro agrees. “And use Utah as Mars or Generic Desert Planet.”
“I get that,” Ash says. “It’s so… otherworldly.”
“But it’sourworld.” Hope’s voice is warm, and so is her arm around Caro’s shoulders. “How lucky are we?”
3
HOPE
