Page 32 of A Thousand Little Goodbyes

“It’s a rock,” Chrissie announced.

“Abigrock,” Scarlett corrected her.

“A big,famousrock,” was River’s contribution.

Chrissie shielded her eyes against the glare of the setting sun as she stared up at—yes—a rock. Devils Tower had been touted in all the guides as a glory of nature, a geological phenomenon they’d have been foolish to miss, but she didn’t see it.

“Sorry, guys, but I can’t believe we pushed through a whole day of driving just to look at a rock pillar. Scarlett is so exhausted she can barely keep her head up, I smell like corn chips and stale coffee, and River, well…”

But here she stalled. River had spent most of the day in the deep and innocent sleep that only an eighteen-year-old stripped of all her worries could manage. No matter how rough the roads or how hard the wind had tried to blow them off course, she’d spent the entire drive curled up like a Labrador in the back seat, her gentle snores barely louder than the rumbling of the tires.

“River needs something to eat, or she’s gonna die,” River announced with a grin. “Sorry, Scarlett. I know this was on your bucket list, but my stomach’s been growling since Casper.”

As far as Chrissie was concerned, that settled it.

“Iknewwe brought you along for a reason,” she said as she slung an arm around the girl’s shoulders and started leading her back to the car. River’s shoulders were too thin for her liking, but she was tryingveryhard not to make the girl feel like she’d just fallen into the hands of a neurotic mother hen—an insult Kat had flung at her head so many times that she suspected it was the truth. “We passed a cute log cabin bed-and-breakfast on the way in. I didn’t see a vacancy sign, but I bet if we beg hard enough, they’ll find a closet where we can stay.”

Scarlett opened her mouth as if to argue, but she was starting to look like something Rufio had yakked up on the carpet—a thing he was prone to whenever he overate, which was every chance he got.

“Okay, fine,” Scarlett said. “If you two want to thumb your nose at the majesty of nature, who am I to disagree?”

Even as Scarlett followed them to the car, she cast a longing look back at the butte. Since she wasn’t normally one to be moved over the glories of the natural world—she was too much of a city girl at heart—Chrissie found this odd, but not odd enough to suggest they stay.

With Scarlett, the truth would eventually make its way out. Not because she was a person who did the right thing, and not because the guilt would eat her alive, but because she wasn’t someone who could keep her feelings inside.

With Scarlett, what you saw was what you got—even if sometimes, just sometimes, it was the last thing in the world you wanted.

* * *

Chrissie knew she was in trouble the moment they set foot inside thebed-and-breakfast.

“Oh, my stars. It’s you. It’s really you.Bothof you.”

Chrissie wasn’t a well-traveled person, so she’d always assumed that the state of Wyoming was one step removed from the Wild West. She’d read somewhere that there were only two escalators in the entire state, since any and all public buildings were either too old to have one or didn’t bother with a second floor. She wasn’t proud to admit it, but she’d always assumed this place was a backwater, a nowhere land, a place where the internet was a four-letter word.

Apparently, she’d been wrong.

“We’ve watched your video at least half a dozen times.” The woman gushing at them from the living room, a soaring log-paneled room hung with a chandelier made of half a dozen moose skulls, turned and shouted at someone in the distance. “Harold, get out here. It’s those piano girls.”

“What?” came an irascible male voice.

“The. Piano. Girls. The ones who played that song that was banned at church—you know, the one we all thought was holy but that Pastor Tim says is actually abouts-e-x.”

Scarlett looked so delighted at this description—and by the woman, who was about ninety-five years old and was dressed in a red flannel nightgown layered over honest-to-goodness long underwear—that she clapped her hands.

“I don’t believe this,” Scarlett said. “You’ve actually seen the video?”

“We showed it on the big screen this morning,” the woman said, puffing up her chest so much that her flannel ruffles fluttered. She pointed at a remarkably modern theater system in one corner of the living room. “Everyone was delighted. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tickle the ivories for us? We have a player piano in the dining room, but the only scroll we have is ‘Ain’t Misbehavin,’ so it doesn’t get much use. I’ll throw in a 10 percent discount on the rooms.”

If Chrissie had been asked her opinion, she’d have turned around and found somewhere else to sleep—up to and including the back seat of the rental car. But Scarlett was swaying on her feet, and River’s expression wasn’t one of alarm so much as a kind of childish delight.

“I guess I really am famous now,” River said in a voice that held a hint of wonder.

“Fine. Twenty percent is as high as I can go, but you have to let us take your picture for our wall. The only other famous person we had stay here was the mayor’s wife back in—oh, it must have been aught-nine or so.” With another shout, she added, “Harold, was it oh-nine or oh-eight that we had the mayor’s wife putting up in the Muskrat Suite?”

Chrissie was very careful not to catch Scarlett’s eye for fear of bursting into laughter.

“That’s generous of you, but we’re happy to pay the full price,” Chrissie said.