“And over here we have the cabaret theater. Built later, in 1949, it has seating for fifty.” She tries the door but it’s locked. She never had the key to this one. “You’d have had to stoop through the entryway. That was a big principle for him, compression and release. Also, he was short.” She winks, he smiles. Her heart is thumping in her chest.

The wavering of the reflecting pond sends out blue light from around the corner. Jason surges ahead, eager to see it. “And the main house,” she says, anticipating the moment it will fill his field of vision. The Prow—that’s what Wright called the grand entrance, its angular pool and regal stairs. She can see Jason’s whole body lift at the sight. “The elevated first floor, just past that pool, was the Garden Room, where Wright received guests. His private library and bedroom were upstairs.”

That’s the last building; past it is a long, low wall separating the house from the terraced slope of hill. She steps toward the ledge, imagining the labor it took to quarry and cut these stones, to transport and arrange them just so. Jason follows, and they settle down atop the wall, their legs swinging over the edge. “When Frank Lloyd Wright built this compound, he planned the sightlines so that he couldn’t see anything but the open valley. No lights, no power lines, no development save for the road coming up to the house. Originally, he didn’t even want electricity up here.”

“So much for that,” Jason says and he hiccups, the tinge of alcohol coming back into his voice. He surveys the city blinking below them. Tami does, too. Somewhere, not too far from the base of the hill, is Ronnie’s latest development, Paradise East. She tries to spot it, knowing the particular orange of construction lights is different from the white of streetlights, the yellow of cars, the blue of screens. Jason’s hand, its callused fingers, finds the small of her back and she forgets all about Ronnie.

“Growth,” she says. “Even the best architect couldn’t stop that.”

Jason is watching her; she can feel his eyes on her face. Is he going to kiss her? But instead he says, “Do you like it here?”

“Taliesin is my favorite place in the state,” she says quickly. “On the planet, maybe.”

“No, Scottsdale. Arizona, I mean. Restarting here.”

Suddenly, she feels about an inch from bursting into tears, from telling him how hard it is to be poor in a place like this, the fancy houses and flashy cars, the rich bitches and mean men like Ronnie. But she tamps down the feeling, cursing herself for nearly letting it surface. That’s not why they’re here. This is about him, about her helping him. “I like the springs here. The weather, the blooming cactus. Spring training. This season gives me hope.”

He’s looking out at the twinkling horizon. “You got enough to share? I’m feeling pretty low.”