He hums, appraising me. “You truly do have a storyteller’s heart. I recognize it in you just as I knew it in myself. I hope you discover that, and use it to make art that touches people.” He elbows me, conspiratorial. “Even if it’s just you it touches.”
He lifts his chin toward Theo, turned toward the mountain range with his face in profile. The shape of him is lonely.
“I’m not sure I should interrupt,” I stall.
“You’re not interrupting. You’re recording a moment.” Our eyes meet and he smiles, a mixture of sadness and joy there. “Teddy’s been my loyal subject his entire life. It’s okay, I promise.”
I bring the viewfinder to my eye. It feels too intimate to catch Theo in my lens, to bring him closer to me with a quick adjustment to the zoom. The angles of his face are so close I could touch them. I want to spread the heat from the air and the sun onto his skin, down his neck, into his chest.
I want him closer, even though he’s safer at a distance.
With my heart flying, I press my finger on the shutter release. It’s my first picture of Theo. But I doubt it’ll be my last.
* * *
The memory of Theo’s face is still imprinted hours later as Las Vegas comes into view, a neon blanket over the night-black valley below.
“I wish it wasn’t so dark.” Paul tsks, squinting out the window. “I’ve got a letter here. I should’ve thought of it when we were in Death Valley.”
“We can do it now,” I blurt excitedly. My hand shoots out, landing on his knee.
With a chuckle, Paul reaches over to the cardigan lying on the other seat, pulling out the letter.
Theo glances over as I smooth it out on my lap. “How are you planning on reading that?”
“I’m going to turn on the light and read it out loud.”
“I won’t be able to see the road if you turn it on.”
This letter is getting read right now, come hell or high water. “That’s an old dad’s tale, you know. The car isn’t going to crash because you turn on a reading light.”
Even in the darkness, I can see his eyes roll.
“Here, I’ll do you a solid and use my phone’s flashlight. I’ll even turn it down so you can still concentrate.”
He sighs but doesn’t argue. A win.
“Paul, what’s the story with this one?” I ask.
“Oh, this one is quite self-explanatory. I can answer questions after, if you have any.”
“She will,” Theo says.
I toss him a glare, then clear my throat. “All right, here we go.”
The van is silent save for my voice as I start to read Gram’s words out loud.
November 17, 1956
Dear Paul,
Have you read F. Scott Fitzgerald? Probably not. Your nose is always stuck in a photography book.
There’s a quote that reminds me of us: “They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”
When you told me you loved me last week, the—
I whirl in my seat. “This is when you told her you loved her?”
Theo snorts. “You say that like you didn’t know it was coming.”
“Excuse me, this is a huge moment.”
He gives me a sardonic look. “We’re on a road trip that’s following the honeymoon they never had. Mentally prepare yourself for the rest, Shep.”
I shoot an aggrieved look at Paul, who simply grins, then return to the letter.
When you told me you loved me last week, the happiness I felt was almost too much to bear. It’s been just over two months since I met you, and you’ve quickly become the most important person in my life. Before that, it was my family, and now they have to share me with you, though they don’t know it yet.
Which brings me to my next emotion—the fear, again. It’s difficult to be in love and not share it with my family. But if I tell them about you, they’ll insist on meeting you and your parents. I worry about the outcome. They’ll talk about marriage and ask you too many questions. My father and brother might be horrible. They could ruin everything.
If it sounds too terrible （it would to me if I were you!）， then I won’t blame you for wanting to forget it all. We got ourselves briskly into this damn intimacy. We can get ourselves out, if necessary.
My heart hurts thinking about it. What should we do?
Love,
Kat
Theo’s eyes flicker over to me, dark and thoughtful. Then they focus back on the road ahead of us, his right hand resting casually over the top of the steering wheel. The audacity of this man for looking so hot while driving a minivan.
I turn to Paul. “Well, we know you decided to continue on.”
He nods. “I would’ve done anything for her.”
At my delighted sigh, Theo groans, but it’s indulgent.
“She called her parents soon after I read that letter. They weren’t enthusiastic,” Paul continues. “I spoke to them briefly, did the sir and ma’am song and dance, but their protective instincts were fierce. Kathleen was their baby girl, and I was a stranger whose intentions they didn’t trust. We made plans to have dinner right after finals in December. They were going to be in LA to bring Kat back to Glenlake for Christmas break.”
“Were you nervous after that call?” Theo asks.
“Not for myself. The thought of meeting Kat’s parents didn’t scare me. But I worried for her and her expectations. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was hoping it’d go more smoothly than we feared. She sometimes saw her family with rose-colored glasses.” He smiles. “She saw me with them, too. She thought the best of everyone she loved, and thought she could make it work through sheer force of will.”
“But she couldn’t,” I say.
“No,” he says sadly. “That comes with the next letter, though, unless you want to keep going now.”
I smooth my thumb over the paper, shaking my head as I imagine Gram’s hope—what it looked and felt like. How the fear probably mingled with it, making it more potent. Making it even more fragile.
“I want to wait.” I love hearing it all slowly, little crumbs laid out for me to follow. I wish I could follow them forever.
Images dance through my mind as we move toward the ever-nearing lights of Vegas. Theo’s knowing looks, the care he took with my knee, the kiss we nearly shared. Our moment earlier today when he shared the origin of his company’s name. That break in his voice, the gratitude in his eyes right before he walked away. For me.
They’re all tiny pebbles of intimacy under my feet, gathering so quickly they threaten to send me tumbling if I’m not careful. So much is riding on this trip: my tether to Gram, my relationship with Paul, my tenuous reentry into photography, and the story I’m telling on TikTok.
I need to be careful not to get too caught up in whatever this is—a distraction, a brisk intimacy. If I fall, it’ll be scarier than my actual tumble down that embankment the other day. It’ll be faster and will probably hurt twice as much.
Fifteen
I’m downstairs at the bar if you’re up.
I stare at Theo’s text, perched on the edge of my hotel bed. It’s nearly eleven, but I’m wired. I’ve been sitting here for an hour, uploading Yosemite photos in preparation for my next TikToks. I lingered on a video of Paul and Theo at a picnic table, looking like a split screen sixty years apart—they have the same smile, the same hunched motion in their laughter. Even their legs are positioned the same—left straight out, right bent, foot balanced on its toe.