“We’ll figure it out later,” Ripley says. “Either way, you’re not paying.”
James fiddles with his newly crooked glasses as they pull out of the museum’s parking lot. If he hadn’t cupped her jaw and kissed the corner of her mouth when J.D.’s all-caps scream-fest of a text got them up at a quarter to six, she’d be a lot more worried about last night.
The real world kind of blows. It’s where James is leaning against his headrest, eyes closed like he’d rather not talk. It’s where she has to pretend she doesn’t want to talk about last night either.
“Well,” Ripley says. “We have four hours to kill until lunch. You want to walk around Drumheller?”
The town leans hard into the dinosaur thing. There are any number of cheerfully bloodthirsty statues scattered around town. Life-size pteranodons perch on low roofs like snipers. Cute, cartoonish polka-dot beasts occupy the park benches, their heads canted toward whoever’s snapping the selfie. There are dinosaur stores, dinosaur murals, even dinosaur street names.
James doesn’t open his eyes. “Would it be awful if I said I’d rather nap at the rental place until checkout time?”
“No, that’s fair.” It wasn’t easy to sleep last night. She’d only had enough cash for one of the blankets printed with cartoon fossils and the wordsBone Bed,so they’d curled up together, her back to James’s chest, both of them tugging at the edges of the fleece. This morning, he’d tenderly folded it like it was an heirloom instead of a crappy souvenir that would pill after one trip through the washer.
Ripley enters the address of the Airbnb in her navigation app. “Do you mind if I call Cara on the way?”
He waves his hand likeBe my guest.
“Don’t worry about staying an extra day,” Cara says soothingly after Ripley explains what’s going on. “Everything’s fine here, Ripley. It’s still too wet to go into the canyon anyway, but from uptop, it doesn’t look too bad. I’m hoping we got some new fossils exposed.”
“So, no damage?”
“Not exactly,” Cara says, drawing out the words. “My cabin took a tree to one corner. It needs some new boards.”
“Those are easy to get.”
“And new joint hardware.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly,” Cara says. “Hopefully the manufacturer can put a rush on the order.”
Ripley frowns. “Have you been dealing with this all alone? You could have called me, Cara.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Oh,really,” Ripley says. “I’m guessing Griff left a nice dry vacation in Bozeman for a cold, wet dig site?”
“Shut up, Rip.”
“Make sure you document his overtime. I assume you moved into the spare bed in my cabin, but he can carry the rest of your furniture over so the mice don’t get into it.”
“Already sorted.”
“Good. Oh, and I was thinking of picking up some things on the way through Calgary. Like nail polish or whatever. Stuff that hasn’t been sitting on the shelf for a million years.” Cara doesn’t love the gummy, pre-aged polish in Hercules.
“Um, okay?” Cara says, like she’s not quite following.
“You and I could have a girls’ night. Since you’re staying in my cabin and all. Not manicures; those would chip off in one second. But pedicures, maybe? It could be…”Joyful.“Fun.”
From the other end of the line, there’s silence.
“Cara?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Ripley’s pretty sure her cautious tone meansNo, thanks.“You know what, don’t worry about it.”
“No, I want to. It sounds fun. But I’m, um, not in your cabin.”
