We walked back over to the main parking lot, down by the Curry Dining Pavilion—what we’d always called the lodge. Although it was growing dark, there was still enough light to see to get around. Which was a good thing, because when it got dark at Yosemite, it got dark. There were no lights around anywhere, except by the lodge. Which made it easier to see the stars, but harder to find your cabin. As we walked down the paved path, I noticed Roger looking up, mouth hanging slightly open. I looked up as well, at the scenery that I could still make out. Even though it wasn’t my first time there, Yosemite was still stunning. There were mountains and huge, ancient trees everywhere, making you feel tiny. The air was clearer, and crisper, and had always made me want to take more deep breaths. It had always seemed to me to be a place apart, with none of the normal rules that applied elsewhere. For example, having to take your shampoo out of your car to stave off hungry wildlife.
We packed up all the snacks, and took my one suitcase and Roger’s two out of the car. Then we set off to find Cabin 9. I soon realized, when the paved path turned to gravel and wood chips, that there was a reason most people coming to Yosemite didn’t bring big rolling suitcases. Mine kept getting caught on the wood chips and flipping over, and refusing to roll. Not to mention the fact that the people walking by—the ones who’d prepared to be at Yosemite, carrying flashlights and wearing fleece vests—probably thought I looked ridiculous. But I finally got it up to the cabin, where Roger was standing outside, looking down at his phone.
“All set?” he asked, looking a little distracted.
“Yep,” I said, then inwardly cursed myself. The cabin, as advertised, was made of white canvas, with a green-painted door. A set of four steps and a railing, also painted green, led up to it. The bear locker was at the bottom of the steps. Roger and I went through our things and locked anything that bears might think was food—that is, everything—inside the metal box, making sure that it was latched closed. I looked at it a little dubiously. The cabins we used to stay in hadn’t had these, and I wasn’t confident that this little metal box could withstand hungry bears, especially when station wagons were no match for them. I also didn’t like the fact that it was so close to the cabin. Wasn’t that kind of like setting the appetizer right next to the main course?
Trying not to follow this line of thought to its conclusion, I took the small brass key they’d given me and opened the cabin door. I found the light switch just inside and turned it on. The cabin was very small, with the one bed taking up most of the room. The bed was metal, painted white, and unmade, with a set of sheets and two gray scratchy-looking blankets resting on top. Clearly these were not luxury accommodations. But the bed looked small. I doubted it was even queen-size.
“Rustic,” Roger said, looking around at the cabin, which was the same white canvas on the inside, with green-painted wooden beams crossing it. There was a chair in the corner, and a wooden dresser with a wood-framed mirror. And that was it. “But I’d expect nothing less,” he added, setting down his duffel bag and backpack and taking out his phone again.
I looked back at the bed, which seemed to be drawing all my attention. “Look,” I said haltingly, not exactly sure where I was going with this. “About the bed situation …” I didn’t want him to think that I’d wanted a cabin with only one bed. “I’m really sorry about it.”
“Why?” asked Roger. “Do you snore?” He smiled as he asked this, but I could see that he was blushing a little. “And it’s just for tonight.”
“Right,” I said. Since we hadn’t actually left the state of California, but had just moved up it—when we were supposed to be in New Mexico—I knew we were going to have to do a lot of driving tomorrow. But presumably, wherever we ended up, there would be two separate hotel rooms.
“My only thing is that I have to sleep on the right side,” he said. “My girlfriend—” He stopped and cleared his throat. After a moment, he continued, “Well, I mean my ex-girlfriend, she always had to sleep on the left. So I guess it’s just ingrained.”
“Oh,” I said, turning over what he’d just said. That right now he was single. But that there had been a girl in the picture, one who’d changed his sleeping habits. And that the way he said “girlfriend” sounded a lot like the way I said “parents.”
Even though I hadn’t realized I’d formed an opinion, I guess I’d just assumed that Roger had a girlfriend. He seemed too cute and too nice not to have one. And there was just something about him that made him seem taken. The fact that he wasn’t suddenly made me a little nervous.
“Well, the left is fine for me,” I said, hoping it would be. I had never stayed the night in Michael’s dorm room, so I hadn’t shared a bed with anyone since Julia, when we were in seventh grade and sleeping over at each other’s houses every weekend. I had no idea what it would be like to share a bed with a guy. Especially a cute, older, apparently single guy.
“Awesome,” Roger said, still sounding distracted. “So, I’m going to make a phone call.” He headed for the door.
“You can make one here,” I said, taking my own cell out of my pocket to check for bars and seeing I had a missed call from my mother. “There’s reception.”
“No, that’s okay,” he said, speaking quickly. “I’ll give you some time to get settled, and then I’ll meet you down by the lodge, okay?”
“Oh,” I said, realizing a moment too late that he obviously wanted privacy to make the call. “Sure.”
He was out of the cabin a second later, raising one hand to me in a wave and letting the door bang shut behind him. I waited a moment, then snapped off the lights and stepped out of the cabin, locking it behind me. Then I sat on the top step and looked around, shivering slightly. I’d forgotten how cool it could get, even in the summer. It was almost totally dark out, but the trees were casting their shadows on the ground because the moon was out—and it was incredibly bright and clear. I could see Half Dome, Yosemite’s most famous mountain, to my left, and it was all achingly familiar.
It was just me—and who I was with—that was completely different. “I’m back,” I said softly, “you glorious old pile of rocks. Did you miss me?”
“Hi, you’ve reached Pamela Curry. Please leave a message with your name and number, and I will return your call as soon as I am able. Thank you.”
Beep.
“Hi, Mom, it’s Amy. I guess I missed you. Darn. But things are fine. The drive was fine. And now we are at our hotel and checked in and everything. So everything is going according to plan! I’ll try to talk to you tomorrow. Tell Grandma hi for me.”
I stood on the steps outside the cabin and tried to make myself go inside. This had been going on for a while now. I knew that with every minute that passed, Roger was probably thinking I was having some sort of intestinal problem, since I’d left to walk to the bathrooms to get ready for bed about twenty minutes ago.
I thought I’d be okay with the whole sleeping-in-the-same-bed thing when the moment came. I really did. I’d met Roger at the lodge, where we’d had dinner and been talked at by two incredibly loquacious dentists from Palm Desert. Then we’d watched the evening entertainment, an informational video on Yosemite and Its History, and then we’d headed back to Cabin 9 to go to bed.