Good! You should be having some fun!
What did I tell you? Life is short
I’m glad you cleared things up with that boyfriend of yours
He seems good for you
My stomach clenches tighter than it already had from Mark Winterson’s driving.
“Your aunt doing all right?” he asks.
“She’s great.” I wave the phone vaguely before sliding it back into my purse. “She just has lots of opinions about where we should go.”
“I think I’ve got it covered,” he says with a condescending smirk.
Okay, Ruby. Focus.How do I steer the conversation in the direction of Erickson without being too obvious?
But Mark Winterson punches the gas, taking a curve too fast, and all I can think about is clinging to the sides of my seat.
We make it down to flat land, and the mood relaxes. On either side of us, the desert stretches out, baked brown earth and pale green scrubby brush, jagged shapes of the mountains hugging the horizon in either direction. It feels like we’re passing into another world together; for a long time, we let his audiobook do the talking, and neither of us speaks at all.
It’s the golden hour when we pass the World’s Tallest Thermometer glowing on the side of the road, the bright red that stands in for mercury hovering just under one hundred degrees.Avoid Overheating, an orange sign warns, signaling the start of the Baker Grade.Turn Off AC Next 16 Miles.
The sun sinks lower in the sky as Mark Winterson weaves—pushing 100 miles per hour, air conditioner blasting—around the older cars that are straining to climb the steep slope. Another sign whizzes past, sayingElevation 2000 Feet.
“Why aren’t these people moving!” He sighs, exasperated, adjusting his grip on the wheel as his gold watch catches the light.Elevation 3000 Feet,another sign says, so soon after the last one. We pass a truck with its hood popped open on the side of the road.
Every time I’d drive out to Vegas with Mom and her old station wagon would struggle up this incline, she’d pinch my arm and say, “Ruby, make sure you end up with a man who drives a car that can go ninety up the Baker Grade with the AC on.”Weirdly specific advice, but okay,I’d always think. But now the irony makes me feel faint.
After a while we pass into Nevada, coasting downhill again,and the lights of Las Vegas come into view. I remember how magical it seemed the first time I made this trip, sitting in back with Greg while Mom and Tita Wendy chatted up front. For the rest of that weekend, our moms switched off watching us by the hotel pool while the other one went to gamble.
I remember how refreshed Mom looked, lounging poolside, sipping a cocktail. How she said,Even if it’s just a fantasy, I love coming here because I get to feel rich.
As we cruise down the Strip, I glance at Mark Winterson, his profile lit by the glow of the neon lights. I’m not going to make it through this weekend unless I compartmentalize. Pretend he’s a nice guy and we could potentially have a nice time.
We check into our room (on the fifth floor, low enough that Mark Winterson can take the stairs) and do some exploring: wandering around the food court on the second level, strolling down the passageway that connects this hotel to the others on the strip.
On the way back, we pass through the casino floor with its blinking lights and electronic pinging sounds. The smell of cigarette smoke makes me nostalgic.
“Oooh, I love slot machines,” I say, clapping my hands together. “The twenty-five-cent ones.”
Mark Winterson laughs like I’m so quaint.
“They’re weirdly soothing!” I protest. “They’re almost, like…meditative. What was that thing your mom was talking about at dinner? Mindfulness?”
“I don’t think that’s what that means.” He chortles. “I hate games where it’s just random. Need it to be at least a little bit about skill.”
I guess that tracks, for someone who seems to believe he’s in control of his own destiny.
We head back to our room and get ready for dinner, neonsigns dancing outside the large window. I open my overnight bag and pull out a sundress, and Mark Winterson clears his throat.
“So I made reservations…” He trails off and gestures toward the dress. “That doesn’t quite fit the vibe, I think. But I brought something for you to wear.”
“Oh!”
He opens his big hard-shell suitcase and takes out a garment bag, and I can see a second one hiding underneath it.
“What’s that one?”
