Off-Map Hearts, page 8
“It’s very okay. I just worried you’d be chilly.”
“I’m not a hothouse flower. And it’s like seventy degrees.” Graden’s frown pulled to one side and showed his dimple. “Not like we have to linger.”
“Fair enough.” Cole tugged Graden to the chair in the full sun, sat him in it, and plopped the tacos on the table. “Just a sec.”
He ran to the car and rummaged in his pack, ran back, and shoved his wool cap on Graden’s head.
“Oh, thanks.” Graden adjusted the hat and smiled wryly. “And here I thought you were going to put on a long-sleeved T-shirt or an extremely light jacket. Why do you even have this?”
“It looks adorable,” Cole said without thought. He rolled his lips in, bit down on them, and sighed.
His hat did, low over Graden’s eyes with messy tufts of hair poking past here and there, the burnt orange color bright against Graden’s pretty pale complexion.
Graden’s eyebrow arched into its most particular sardonic shape, and something ticked behind those gray eyes.
“On me,” Cole clarified. “That and it’s good for when it rains. Or snows.”
Graden’s speculative expression softened. “Like at the kilns.”
“Like at the kilns.”
They smiled at each other with the memory and Cole’s mouth tingled. His jaw ached, and his hands itched.
He grunted, tore his attention away from everything tantalizing about Graden, and dumped his tacos on the table.
“Yeesh, here.” Graden tore paper towels from the roll and flattened two in front of Cole and one in front of himself, and then he folded the empty bags and tucked the tacos into the makeshift trough.
“Oh-la-la,” Cole teased, but he took the other paper towels Graden handed him and started to eat. He wolfed down two tacos and then remembered to breathe—and that he wasn’t in the car alone. “So. What do you do in your leisure time?”
“I don’t know. Run. Binge shows with Viv. Go to the Met, the MOMA.”
“Not the natural history museum? Shocked, I say,” Cole teased. He wiped sauce from his chin with a finger and unwrapped another taco. “But what else? This can’t be the first vacation you’ve had in years—can it?”
“Maybe.” Graden delicately ate a slice of avocado he’d picked from his taco. “My leisure time is perfectly leisurely. And what do you do for work?”
Cole was momentarily stunned, and then he laughed. “Wow. I’m trying for a little conversation and you go for the jugular.”
“Sorry. That was mean.” Graden’s gaze dropped. “And not about you. This is my first vacation in years, and I think it’s starting to sink in what a foolish waste that’s been. All that dedication to work and extra hours… for what?”
“Hey, hey. No.” Cole snagged Graden’s wrist. “Cold,” he muttered at the contact and reached for Graden’s other hand to hold both between his. “I get what you’re saying and that you’re feeling—justifiably—extra unappreciated right now, but I don’t think you’re a fool. Whatever you got out of work, even if that’s favorite museum memberships covered, that’s nothing to beat yourself up over.”
“Isn’t it? I don’t know.” Graden eased one hand free and slapped the atlas onto the table. “I wanted to see if there was something else we could slot into our drive today, but look.” He flipped to Arizona and circled a green patch with a finger. “Look at how close we are to Saguaro National Park, and these mountains, and this town where they used to film old westerns where you can take tours. But how far it is because we only have so many days and can’t just add more because there’s something else almost in reach. And that’s just this page—this small area of one state. I’ve barely made a dent and want to see so much more.”
“They’re not going anywhere. You’ll have to come back, that’s all.”
“Easier said.” Graden huffed. “I’m trying to point out a metaphor here, which I think you know. This”—he dragged his fingertip along the interstate that bisected Arizona—“is me. And this”—he gestured to the whole rest of the state—“is you. And I didn’t know that until getting stranded at the airport. No—until waking up in the Mojave.”
Graden shifted toward Cole and slipped his hand in the envelope of Cole’s again. Warmth fluttered in his belly.
“Most of us don’t even realize we’re not doing what we want and have to be jolted out of that,” Cole reasoned.
“You realized it, though, didn’t you? One summer in Maine and you were galvanized and living that ever since.” Graden’s hands spasmed. “I envy that.”
Cole read a hopscotch of places on the map he recognized and past spots without names he’d been to. He’d left after college and hadn’t stopped, hadn’t considered if he should look back.
“Well. You’re not wrong that I’ve never settled into tangible accomplishment. And that’s not just going by my father’s estimation.” Saying that hit and then weighed heavier than Cole expected.
Graden clearly picked up on it and relaxed as he nodded in sympathy.
“Maybe we both need a jolt.”
“Maybe so.”
Cole kept hold of Graden’s hands and stared longer than he should, a mix of trying to let an elusive revelation he sensed was near coalesce and enjoying how good it felt simply holding them.
“You’re starting to think like me.” Cole lifted his chin at the atlas. “The mind wanting always to see just past the horizon going, What’s one more day, a couple more hours, a couple hundred more miles, when all of that is at the other end?”
Graden gave him a withering look. “Perish the thought.”
“Cherish? That’s nice. How nice.”
“Perish.”
“Paris? Awesome city—not my favorite ever, but we can add that to our trip. Why not? We’ll pass several international airports. Those lacking imagination would dismiss it as out of the way, but thankfully I am not among them.”
“No. Per-ish,” Graden enunciated.
“Oh, sorry. Are you saying perish? As in go bad, die, expire? Nah, we have my workhorse ability to drive uncomplaining for hours, an atlas, and Mavis and your plan.” Cole tightened his hands. “We’re so good.”
The last part didn’t sound or play quippy like the rest of their exchange.
Graden leaned in and then leaned in a little more, and Cole held his breath.
“We have to be in Tonto by three thirty at the latest. They don’t let anyone start the climb to the cliff dwelling after four.”
“Sure, right.” Cole released Graden and a controlled exhale and straightened. “I’m almost done.”
“I am done. These were delicious, but whew, I’m stuffed.” Graden shoved his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.
Cole grabbed on to the mundane equilibrium of their meal. “Meaning you’re not gonna finish that?” He made eyes at Graden’s remaining two and a half tacos.
“Help yourself.”
He shamelessly did.
Five minutes later and they’d cleared their trash, thanked the cooks, and were underway.
Casa Mesa didn’t take long to get to and didn’t take long to see. Worthwhile, but a single point of interest with a small museum and gift shop—and a stamp to collect. Cole trailed behind Graden, taking pictures while Graden read facts and history from the phone app.
The short film, he’d grudgingly admitted, had been informative.
“Find a magnet?” he asked at Graden’s shoulder.
Graden held up two. “The tall desert vibes one or the sunset drama clouds one?”
“Definitely the sunset drama.”
“Cool.” Graden crouched in front of the T-shirt bin. “I’m building a wardrobe here. And convenient since otherwise I’d be in the car and tromping around in dress shirts. Also.” He got a pair of southwest-desert-themed socks.
“We could make a run to a store.”
“How not spontaneous of you.” Graden tutted. “Besides, this supports the parks.” He set his pile on the small table at the register.
Cole reached around Graden and jiggled a different pair of socks. “In that case—you’re morally obligated to get these.”
“Oh my God.” Graden’s eyes widened at the full moon and howling wolf motif socks.
“Those are popular.” The ranger working the register laughed as she folded the T-shirt. “The ones you chose are my favorite here.”
Graden accepted the socks and tossed them on the pile. “An imperative is an imperative.”
“Did you guys enjoy your visit?”
“Very much, thank you.” Graden had a miniature pottery piece in his hand, squat and narrow-mouthed, in desert colors patterned with stylized stars.
“Local indigenous artisans make those. They’re also very popular.” She paused. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s good.”
Graden wanted the lovely little pot, but a practical voice scolded it was too expensive and frivolous and where would he put it once home again—miniature though it was—and to be content with magnets. He set it back on the shelf with a sigh, paid, and then they were on the road again. Cole followed Mavis’s direct route but kept the pace easy, and it was slower going anyway as they climbed into and curved around the mountains. Cactus mingled with sage and bunchgrass, and buttes and rock formations and enormous sky provided the backdrop.
He looped into the overlooks and paused long enough for them to get pictures and appreciate the view, but he tried not to linger. Cole could tell Graden’s attention was split, trying to enjoy the drive but with eyes on their arrival time.
They got to the monument at ten till four.
“We’ll be fine,” Cole said as he parked. “And by the looks of it, we’re the only ones here, so there’s no crowd to fight getting in.”
Graden didn’t agree or argue. He didn’t say anything. He grabbed his phone and shot off across the parking lot, agitation clear in every step.
Cole didn’t waste a moment catching up to trot alongside.
“Hey, welcome,” the ranger greeted. A clock behind her workstation read 3:52. “You gentlemen are lucky. Just in time, and the temps warmed up nicely today.”
Graden drummed the counter. “Do we just go up, then? Will you be closed when we get back?”
She smiled. “Here’s my advice. Hustle up the trail and wait to admire everything and take pictures once you’re up there. Head back to get here about twenty to the hour. We’re open until five, which works out to fit in our short film if you want and have a look at the interpretative stations.”
“Oh, we’ll want. See?” Cole let his hands rest on Graden’s shoulders. “We’re fine. Ranger Beth knows what’s what.” He wandered, found the passport cancellation station, and held up the stamper. A few other things caught his eye and he snagged them—buying them now shouldn’t take so long they’d miss seeing the ruins.
As he watched Graden carefully stamp the appropriate page, he frowned, wondering why he’d never noticed them or gotten a passport before.
Beth laughed. “I get a lot of… guests just like the two of you, and I’m happy to help them meet in the middle and make the best of their time here.”
Cole grinned and pried his wallet from a pocket.
“Nope, I got this.” Graden handed Beth two cards.
“Wonderful. This membership is good and covers both your fees and”—she paused and held up an ID—“this is definitely you. Now get moving and enjoy it.”
“Thanks. See you in a bit.” Graden hurried toward the signs indicating the exit to the trail, grabbing the park pamphlet as he went, shedding palpable relief and determination.
Cole winked at Beth. “This too, please.”
Beth rang him up.
“I’ll just put that in my bag, no need for another,” Cole said and held out a hand.
“That’s great, thanks. Always appreciate the support and saving a bag.” She dropped the few things he’d picked out into his hand and craned to peer out the window at the pathway to the ruins. “Better hurry,” she chuckled.
Cole shoved his purchases in his pack and ran after Graden. “Lemme see the membership card. Please.” Cole took it and read the front and back. “That’s cool. I never thought to get one.”
“Quelle surprise. I used it at Joshua Tree too, but you were already outside. My bestie Ranger Heath sold me on it.” Graden flashed a saucy expression at Cole and then started climbing even faster.
Cole grumbled but didn’t shout a rejoinder, instead concentrating on controlling his breath and keeping in step. The trail wasn’t long but it was steep, each switchback angling them tighter to the ancient dwelling built into a natural curved hollow in the rock far above.
Once at the top, Cole slowed down. He walked to the farthest point of the flat terrace and stood, hands on hips, to take in the view. The spot and narrow valley were beautiful and sere, red and ochre rock and sand, drab green plants and the tiniest dots of color from blooming wildflowers, and the sentinels of more saguaro.
He turned to show them to Graden, to say even if they couldn’t make it to Saguaro Park, here were some—several—gorgeous and only theirs.
Graden, of course, was deep in conversation and flipping through binders of information with the ranger working up here.
“Hi, welcome.” The ranger waved at Cole. “Want to read about the history of the archaeological work done here?”
Cole made a noncommittal noise.
“Ranger Jorge asked where we came from—and when I said Joshua Tree, that led to me saying I wished we’d had time for Saguaro, and guess what?”
“What?” Cole asked, suppressing disappointment and the profound desire to topple Ranger Jorge from the railing he was perched on.
“These are saguaro!” Graden circled in place. He went to stand by Cole and shared a photocopy of a plant identification page. “Not only the ones with crooked arms but all these.”
“I could have told you that,” Cole said, not quite a snap but not quite friendly.
“Oh, well. I’d wondered if they were when we were driving. It seemed like it, and I checked your field guide, but I wasn’t confident.” Graden retreated. “Anyway. I’m glad to see some. Though I suppose we have all along.”
“Want to hear the ancient fable of how the saguaro came to be?” Ranger Jorge asked before Cole could reel the moment back in.
“Definitely,” Graden said heartily, turning away from Cole.
“I’m gonna wander and take some pictures,” Cole said to no response.
Photography centered him. It let him show how he saw the world and share it, let him frame what he wanted seen and shown, from huge panoramas to the smallest macro details.
The cliff dwelling had incredible textures and lines and shapes. He got shots of the ruins, wide and detail, poked into the various rooms, and then outward for the vistas past the cliff it clung to.
He stood on at the far end again and listened to Graden and Ranger Jorge’s lively chatter. As he made to join them and ask if Graden actually wanted to see the place before they ran out of movie time, Ranger Jorge led Graden around in a quick tour.
“You’re the last up here. Not many today—winter is often slow. Want to walk back down with me? I can radio ahead that you’re ready for the movie and Beth can cue it up.” Ranger Jorge stacked his binders and pamphlets. “We don’t run it on a loop when there’s so few visitors.”
“That would be great. I’m ready, are you ready?” Graden asked.
“Shame we’re missing the sunset.”
“There’s an external trail.” Ranger Jorge pointed toward the visitor center and then moved his hand to indicate directions. “Get to the near corner, turn right, and at the end of the building, a small path appears and that leads to the front comfort area and parking lot. We know you’re up here so it’s okay, but please begin your descent soon as the sun disappears. Don’t wait for it to get dark.”
Cole hesitated.
“You know me, I’m for the movie. But go on ahead and stay. I’m sure you’ll get spectacular pictures.” Graden smiled tightly and began walking down the trail.
Instead of hoofing it back to the top, Cole stood there listening to snippets of factoids and how the Salt River—see it there to our left, Ranger Jorge indicated—provided the desert rarity of year-round water.
Cole stood there until Graden disappeared inside.
He really wanted to be contrary and not take any pictures after all, but it would be a waste, and he might be stubborn as a mule, but he tried not to be an outright ass, so he got with it.
Scenes of the Salt River. A scuttling lizard. The vee of cirrus clouds meeting the vee of the valley, both painted cotton-candy colors as the sun began to melt.
Cole heeded the warning and was down before Graden emerged from the visitor center. He used the facilities, packed his gear, and waited in the car.
Graden climbed in not long after and didn’t bring up the movie or show him any magnets or shirts, so Cole didn’t ask.
Their drive to Flagstaff was silent but not their usual easy rapport. Cole should not be so annoyed but a decided grump had gotten under his skin. It itched and disturbed him and, well, it was always his wont to scratch.
He blamed the false, forced intimacy of the drive and the rapid but shallow bonding they’d done thanks to wildflowers and desert sunrises.
Usually the open road was his haven, and having nowhere in particular yet everywhere possible for a destination his solace. Cole didn’t show it—all that affability—but he was an introvert at heart. Solitary hikes and remote camping with only the sky for company were his ideal.
He should also admit he’d gotten his own way without compromise for years and was really not good at deferring or even bending to someone else’s needs anymore. So, it tracked he’d start chafing at the continual company and reminders this wasn’t his space alone to conquer.
They’d been each other’s sole company for days and had admitted and shared more than he usually did with friends because a long drive with a stranger made that seem possible, allowed. And it was getting to him.
“I’ve booked a room. Do you need me to look for a campsite or something?”
Ever the planner, the fixer, Cole thought, fondness and irritation swirling together.
