Page 41 of Every Beautiful Mile

The thing we learn about camping off the grid that night is that no electricity actually means no electricity. Or AC. Or fans. So, while it’s slightly cooler at night than during the day, it is also very still. Even with all the windows open, not a single breeze blows through to cool us that night. The air hangs heavy, and frustration is laced into every loud exhale as nobody sleeps.

When the sun rises, we aren’t rested.

Breakfast is curt.

I’m defeated.

Camping sucks.

The big rocks on the rolling hills around us offer none of the joyful reprieve they had last night. This morning, they are just another reminder of how far away we are from home.

What we need to do is painfully obvious. Turn around. We’ve seen almost half of the places Travis had written. As much as I hate to give up, I’m tired. We all are.

I sigh as I ask, “Should we go home?”

I’m already sweating as I work to roll the awning in.

Marin and Finn look up from where they eat their breakfast, perched on big rocks, quiet.

Their silence says yes. It stings, even though I don’t blame them. I agree.

“Never quit on your worst day,” Marin says matter-of-factly. “Dad told me that once. He said your worst day wasn’t the time to make big decisions because you won’t look at things from every angle or how you can improve your situation.” She lifts a shoulder.

Finn shakes his head. “Yeah, well, maybe this isn’t our worst day, so it’s a good day to quit to me. Marin, we could have the rest of our summer!” He doesn’t bother to hide the desperation in his voice. “Mom’s proven whatever point she was trying to prove by taking this trip, and now we are in the middle of the desert and miserable—it’s not even the end of June—it’s going to get even hotter! Aren’t you ready for a real bathroom that doesn’t have a doll-sized shower?!”

Mom’s proven whatever point she was trying to prove by taking this trip.

I wince at his words while I busy myself with packing up. The smell of hot dust clogs my throat. Or maybe that’s the pang of failure. Or both.

“Nope,” Marin replies, shaking her head. “We are so close to the Pacific Ocean, Finn. And there are other fun things to see. So it’s hot. And it sucks right now. But it’s stupid to turn back. Let’s give it another week. We’ll be at the ocean by then. People act crazy when they are hot and hungry, so let’s cool down and then decide.”

She takes another bite of her yogurt as if it’s settled.

Finn groans but doesn’t argue. Even if he doesn’t agree, she at least makes a valid point.

Which is why, five hours later, instead of being that much closer to Florida, we park the Avion under tall trees with a view of shimmering Lake Tahoe. From our chairs under our awning, the air is seventy-seven beautiful degrees. It smells like a dozen burning pine-scented candles, and the dewy freshness of the mountain breeze washes over me like a well-needed shower.

The next day will bring the start of a long drive to the Oregon coast, but for this one afternoon, everything is simple.

The turquoise-blue water hidden in the rugged California mountains is the distraction we need. We swim in the cold water and lay in the sand under the warm sun. For an afternoon, it feels like a vacation.

Relaxed and refreshed when I crawl into bed, my now nearly nightly routine of reading emails from Ethan and poorly stifling laughs comes with something else—sheer terror.

Penelope,

Guess we aren’t done yet, huh?

There’s a science to salt, one that I’m sure would bore you, but the only advice I can give on its usage is when you know, you know. It’s a secret until it isn’t. Salt’s just like that.

You know, if you ever find yourself in the White Mountains of Maine, I’d love to show you around, and I’d be happy to tell you all my secrets.

In the kitchen, of course.

Ethan

I read it a dozen times. Is he flirting?! I’m appalled at the thought yet somehow smiling. I do the only thing I can think of, I don’t respond.

Seventeen

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