Page 39 of Every Beautiful Mile

His face looks as tired as mine.

“It was hot, Finn.”

I squeeze his knee, hoping it says everything I need to say.

Marin yawns as the sun dips almost completely under the horizon line.

“How about we get going and make those burgers we got ingredients for?”

I don’t need to ask twice—they both nod before standing and immediately start toward the Avion.

As I start to follow them, I stop, turning to Ned.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“Now? We figure out a way to live without them. But it won’t be the same for us. I’m an old man. I’ll spend my days happily dancing in the cracks she left behind, but you’re young. You won’t ever have another Colorado River, of course, but I have a feeling there’s more than one kind of river that runs through us in our lifetimes, anyway. Every river can’t make the Grand Canyon, but that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Margie was my second wife. She came through and smoothed out the edges from my first wife, who I lost twenty years ago. They carved me differently. The way they loved, and I loved them—it’s all part of it. You’ll see.”

He smiles sagely, like he knows something I don’t, before giving me a small salute and turning back to the amazing view.

The kitschy tourist traps that line the entrance road out of the park slowly give way to the now dark, empty desert roads—like all that beauty is trying to stay a secret.

I drop my head back to the headrest and let out a breath the wind steals as it blows through the windows. I smile and turn up the music as I chase the last drops of daylight down the highway.

***

“This is the best burger I’ve ever eaten,” Finn says between bites.

I laugh, because of course it is, even without the Maine ingredients.

“He’s right, Mom,” Marin says before taking another bite. “What is this?”

I clear my throat, shifting behind the dinette. “A guy I emailed for grandpa about the restaurant sent it to me.” Then, “Not about the restaurant, just a recipe, you know?”

Marin’s eyes narrow. “Of course it’s a recipe, what kind of comment is that? Either way it’s good.”

I smile. Right.

That night in bed, without overthinking it too much, I grab my phone and send Ethan the review.

Ethan,

I hate it when a recipe says ‘salt to taste.’ What the hell does that even mean? Are you supposed to taste it raw? How am I supposed to know how much salt will make an entire pound of beef taste good? I think it’s something people put in recipes because they are either lazy or want to make sure nobody else’s food turns out as good as theirs. Or maybe it’s because their recipe isn’t actually good, but they can always fall back on ‘you must have used too much/little salt’ when there’s a complaint.

But.

Somehow, I got it right because my kids said they were the best burgers they’ve ever had.

Go figure.

And if you didn’t like the daiquiri, I would have been done. It’s a personality flaw at that point and one I just can’t get over.

Penelope

It’s only after I push send I realize I didn’t ask a single question about the restaurant.

Sixteen

At 107 degrees, Death Valley is every bit what I imagine hell to feel like.

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