I could see his sadness and conflict. It was the first time he’d mentioned his dad since we started this trip. This new reality had changed perspective for everyone. Priorities had crumbled and shifted. How could they not? And Tuck had that deep thread of honor that wove through him.

“Florida’s gotta be okay, right?” I said. “So much sunshine…and all that fishing…”

“There’s no way to know. That’s been the hardest part. Even behind bars, we were never this cut off.”

I stared up at the twinkling stars, the sky so infinite above us. Yes, it was true we were cut off in so many ways, but in others, the world had expanded. There was so much to adjust to and relearn. I couldn’t even wrap my head around it all.

“Let’s get somewhere safe and then we’ll see what’s what.”

“That’s the plan,” he said and then he gathered me in his arms. An uncertain plan, but a plan nonetheless. I lay my head on his shoulder as a star shot across the sky, brilliant and beautiful and gone too soon.

Day Fifteen

We crossed into California the next evening, a little earlier than we’d estimated, and camped near a reservation that was completely still and silent, no evidence of people living there at all, though we didn’t enter the area.

We drove through Joshua Tree at daybreak, the sun a glittery yellow diamond rising behind the hills, pearly rays fanning over the desert. And it was so beautiful I nearly wept.

We drove around the city of Palm Springs, foot traffic now heavy even on the outskirts where many of the neighborhoods were primarily Airbnb’s. I looked over my shoulder at a group of women carrying suitcases who looked both shocked and scared, and wondered if they’d been here on vacation and then hunkered down as long as they possibly could before packing their bags and hitting the road. So many stories. So much fear and tragedy.

We drove on, heading toward home. It felt so close now, and so very far away. That feeling intensified when we saw the fire. “Holy shit,” Tuck said, slowing down.