THEY MAKE THEIR WAYtoward the food truck, passing firepits and groups gathering to play horseshoes and Ping-Pong in the resort’s super-chill and ultra-hip recreation area. The drive-in movie theater stops them momentarily in their tracks. It’sadorable—a big screen set up in front of rows of cherry-red and cotton-candy-pink and powder-blue ’57 Chevys and vintage Mustangs. A staff member is handing out red-and-white-striped bags of popcorn.
“Should we?” Ash asks, catching Hope’s eye. “I mean, it’s Robert Redford and Paul Newman. In their prime.” The two men race across the screen on horseback, practically gilded with 1960s sunset light.
“Another night,” Hope says. “I promise. Tonight, we have to get ready for the hike.” To kick off their trip, they’re hiking through a famous slot canyon called the Underground. They’ll start early the next morning and camp in two different places in the canyon before hiking out. The Underground is gorgeous—a pristine turquoise creek running through high red rock walls, green trees growing, impossibly, here and there. It’s in the backcountry, with no cell phone coverage. They will truly be unreachable.
Hope can’t wait to get started.
“And I’mstarving,” Caro says. Caro is always starving. It’s one of Hope’s favorite things about her. When they’re online, Caro is forever snacking onsomething or wandering off to the kitchen and returning with a plate of food. She never sits entirely still, either, and almost every time she shows up on-screen, she’s either in her scrubs, fresh off a shift at work, or still wearing athletic clothes after having some outdoorsy adventure with her husband, Dan.
The food truck is painted pink, mint green, and white, clearly intended as a pastelized riff on the National Parks logo. Hope saw it on the website when Caro sent along the link. The other two had balked at the price of the resort Hope had originally chosen and refused to let her foot the bill. So they’d had to find somewhere else that would work. Hope swears she’s not a diva, but when you’re in any way famous, you’ve got to be conscious of certain things, like privacy and security.
She has to admit that she loves that Ash and Caro wouldn’t let her pay their way. It’s sweet. So many of Hope’s other friends aren’t even putting up the most desultory of protests anymore. But what Hope’s book club friends don’t know yet is that she’s taking care of their costs anyway.
It’s the least Hope can do, given what she’s got planned.
The food truck is a perfect spot for staging photos or reels to post on social media, if you’re interested in that sort of thing, which Hope is not, not for this trip anyway. Lights glow overhead, and families and groups gather at the tables. Delicious smells waft from the truck and mingle with the clean-scented desert air. They’ve all been taking deep breaths since they arrived, and Ash draws in another one next to Hope.
“I swear my lungs have been sayingthank youever since we got here,” Hope says, thinking of the smog in LA that everything—even the light—has to filter through.
A twentysomething kid with dark hair cut into one of those ironic haircuts that make people look like confused roosters is taking orders at the food truck. His name tag reads Gareth, which is a name Hope has never been completely sure how to pronounce. Underneath his name it saysLas Vegas. Hope likes those name tags—it’s fun to know where people are from, plus it always reminds her of Disneyland, a place she’s inordinately fond of.
“Any questions about the menu?” Gareth asks. They’re all craning their necks, taking in the options.
“What’s your favorite?” Caro asks.
“The nachos areinsane,” Gareth says. “Ty’s the best cook. He makes it all fresh. There’s guacamole, salsa, shredded pork…”
The cook waves at them. He’s broad-shouldered and wearing a baseball cap that almost brushes the ceiling because he’s so tall. Hope begins to crush on him immediately. Why not? She and her most recent boyfriend, the actor Colin Edgware, broke up four months ago, largely because Colin was always exactly like you’d imagine a Colin Edgware would be, and she’s been feeling like she might be ready for another foray into romance. A guy named Ty who can cook might be the perfect antidote to a Colin who can only method act.
“What about the shakes?” Ash asks. “Are they also amazing?”
“They are,” Ty calls out. He has, Hope decides, a voice that matches his looks. Pleasing. “Burgers, too. And the cheese fries.”
“Seriously, don’t hold back,” Caro says. “It’s all MREs and smushed sandwiches and granola bars and fruit for the next two days.”
Since Caro’s the most local of the three, she’s figured out all the logistics for their hike into the Underground. She sent Hope and Ash links to all the gear they needed to get—the right socks and boots, hiking backpacks, dry bags to goinsideof the backpacks, moleskin for any blisters that might crop up, nature-safe sunscreen; the list was endless.
“That’s true,” Hope says. “All the food you told us to buy looks kind of like if birdseed and organic Play-Doh had a baby.”
“It’ll keep you nice and satiated,” Caro says. “And regular.”
“Oh great,” Hope says, laughing.
Ash is plying Gareth with more questions. “We saw that you guys were playingButch Cassidy and the Sundance Kidtonight. What else are you showing this weekend?”
“I’m not sure,” Gareth says. “But they’ll be posted on the chalkboard in the reception area and on our website each morning.” He puffs out hischest and his voice rises, as if he’s leading a tour instead of standing inside a food truck. “Every movie we show at Sonnet has been filmed nearby.”
“Were any of them filmedinthe park?” Hope asks.
Gareth shakes his head. “Commercial filming isn’t allowed in Edens National Park,” he says. Caro, who the others know cannotbearto hear the park’s name mispronounced with the additionals, mutters something under her breath and Hope has to stifle her laughter. “But,” Gareth continues, still using his tour guide voice, “movies have been filmed in many of its surrounding areas.”
“So cool,” Ash says brightly. She reaches for one of the postcards sitting in a small tray on the ledge of the food truck. They’re winsomely designed, colorful. Some are photos of the resort itself—the drive-in theater, the food truck, the main tent lit up at night with the plateau as backdrop. Others bear famous wilderness quotes, or iconic Eden National Park landmarks—a certain spot in the Underground, the astonishing monolith and precarious path of Seraph’s Perch, an aerial shot of the red road winding through the park. They’re all marked with the Sonnet logo. “How much are these?”
“They’re complimentary,” Gareth says. “We have them in the gift shop, too. And if you drop them off at reception, we’ll stamp and mail them for you free of charge.”
“That’s great marketing.” Hope loves it when a place is on top of its game. Each of the women take several cards from the tray. “No mailing them until the last day,” Hope reminds her friends in a low voice, and they nod.
“What name should I put on the order?” Gareth asks Hope.
