The Last Grand Adventure by Rebecca Behrens

Author:Rebecca Behrens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

TEN

Santa Fe

It wasn’t much longer before the road stopped being so solitary. We coasted down the hills into Santa Fe. I pulled out my camera and a few times called from the backseat for Margo to stop the Rolling Stone, so I could take more pictures.

“Do you know what time your bus rolls out?” Margo asked.

“Late,” Pidge replied. “We’re in no rush.”

“Then you should do some sightseeing before you go. I could take you around, so you don’t have to lug those suitcases. There’s a market in the plaza on Saturdays, and it’s outta sight.”

“We’d really appreciate that,” I blurted, before Pidge could answer. I didn’t want her to turn Margo down, which she might do out of a sense of us being an inconvenience. I liked Margo—and I also wanted to check out the town. What if I never got back to Santa Fe? Like Margo had said, you had to experience things while you had the chance. My mother would agree. Meelie, too, probably.

The buildings in Santa Fe were like nothing I’d seen before—rounded adobe in white, tan, and desert red. They reminded me of something in between a sandcastle and the Mission-style houses you see in California. Some had blue-painted porches or planters of vibrant flowers. Margo had said that a lot of artists lived here, and I understood why. Santa Fe felt like a painting come to life. Pidge’s manufactured community was called Sun City, but it felt kind of empty and cold. This was a real city of sunshine, vibrant and warm.

I hadn’t been to that many real places. Sure, I knew my neighborhood in Burbank, and other places around Los Angeles, but I had seen little of the world yet aside from the pictures tacked on my bedroom wall. It seemed wrong that I’d walked through New Orleans Square in Disneyland but had never seen New Orleans; that before this trip, my only point of reference for the desert and the Wild West had been Frontierland. By the end of this trip, I’d have made it all the way to the middle of the country. I felt a burst of pride. I had Earhart eyes and now I was using them to see.

We drove to the downtown plaza, where an open-air market was still going on, despite it being near sundown. Farmers, artists, and vendors were selling their food and wares, and flute music drifted through the air. Margo stopped the Rolling Stone and we got out to stretch our legs. We’d parked next to a stand selling food, and before I even knew what I smelled, my mouth watered and my stomach begged with a growl. I walked closer to see what was tantalizing me. Some kind of puffy bread, served piping hot on plates. Pidge sidled up to me and took a deep breath. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Yes!” I practically shouted.

“What is this?” Pidge asked the woman dishing it up.

“Frybread. Dough we fry in oil—a Navajo recipe.”

“It smells delicious. Could we have two pieces?”

The woman nodded and pushed two paper plates toward us.

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