We stopped at a dodgy convenience store down the street from the motel and picked up some snacks. It was slim pickings in there, and we made do with what seemed edible, which was limited to a bag of tortilla chips, a small lemon pie in a box, and two bottles of water. October suggested we get beer too, but I told her we weren’t going to want to mix alcohol with the mushrooms.

As we were turning into the motel, October looked over at me and said, “Time for you to decide if you’re going to buy the ticket and take the ride.”

I didn’t say anything as I pulled into a parking space next to the small office, where a “Vacancy” sign blinked in the window. I could see all the little cottages behind the main building, and a grove of redwoods behind that. October was right. It wasn’t luxurious. It was old and shabby and mundane. But there was something nostalgic about it. Something woefully charming.

She was waiting for my answer, and I thought of what Cal used to say when I tried to convince him to get high with me.

“Fine, fine,” I said, my bones tingling with both excitement and doom. “I’ll do it.”

Chapter 16

SIXTEEN.

The old lady who checked us in called the place a resort and told us it had been built in 1929 for city folks looking for a quiet retreat in the forest. She had a spiky gray buzz cut and saggy triceps that hung like raw crescent rolls as she walked us around the grounds. First she showed us the pool, littered with leaves and sticks that had rained down from the trees, and then she pointed out a gate at the back of the property. The gate, she said, led to a trail that meandered through a small redwood grove. She gave us our key, which dangled from a keychain shaped like Giant Tree, and told us our cottage was the only one that still had the original wainscoting.

Our cottage reminded me of the apartment where Cal and Terry had lived in Marin City, with its pine-green carpet and Walmart furniture. There was a double bed pushed up against the far wall in the living room, a smaller bedroom on the other side of the house, and a shared bathroom in between. Two pleather recliners sat across from the living room bed; a hexagonal dining table of wood veneer sat to the left of those. There were dark water stains on the ceiling tiles. The fluorescent lights were way too bright, even before we ate the mushrooms. The venetian blinds were covered in webs and dust. And they’d lied about the fireplace. There was no fireplace.

“I told you it wasn’t going to be fancy,” October laughed.