Page 49 of Fighting For You

I wanted to take her on my motorcycle. Nora called it a death trap and told me she wouldn't come if I showed up on one, so I showed up in the truck.

Nora came out the front door before I could text her. She was in boots and a skirt that sat just above her knees, a black top with a neckline that I was going to have trouble not looking at for the next two hours, a sling bag across one shoulder. Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders, catching the light as she walked toward me. She looked like she'd thought about what to wear, and whatever she'd decided on was going to be a problem for me all day.

When she saw me she smiled, and the whole morning sharpened into focus.

She climbed into the passenger seat and set her bag between her feet. "Morning."

I backed out of the driveway and turned south.

"So what's in Oatman?"

"You'll see."

The drive to Oatman was just over two hours. South through the sprawl, past Searchlight, then east toward the river where the highway opens up and the desert flattens into nothing for miles.

Nora plugged her phone in and scrolled through her library while I drove, picking songs I didn't recognize, skipping halfway through some and letting others play twice. She sang along to a few of them, quietly, under her breath, like she'd forgotten I was there. I didn't say anything. I just drove and let her fill the truck with whatever she wanted.

I parked the truck along Route 66 at the edge of town. Nora looked through the windshield at the wooden boardwalks, the old storefronts, the mountains rising behind the rooftops.

"You could have seen all this from a motorcycle," I said.

She looked at me. "And you could have seen it from an ambulance."

I grinned. She was already climbing out.

The boardwalk smelled like cedar, sun-warmed pine. Dry dirt. The town was one street, Route 66 running straight through the middle of it, and everything on both sides looked like it hadn't been touched since the miners walked out. We found a vendor on the boardwalk selling frybread, warm and drizzled with honey and cinnamon, and the woman behind the counter handed it to us on a single paper plate. Nora tore off a piece and held it out to me. We ate it walking, passing the plate back and forth between us.

We didn't get five steps before a burro wandered out from between two buildings and headed straight for us.

I stepped between Nora and the animal before I thought about it. My hand went to the small of her back and I moved her behind me. It stopped a few feet away and looked at us with its ears forward.

Nora was laughing behind me. "Knox, it's a donkey."

"It's a burro. And it's bigger than it looks."

The burro lost interest and wandered back between the buildings. Nora watched it go, then fell into step beside me.

We walked the length of Main Street finishing the frybread. Nora stopped at every shop window and studied every faded photograph on every wall. I carried the plate and let her lead.

She spotted the photo booth tucked outside a shop at the far end of the boardwalk. Old curtain, wooden bench, the kind that prints a strip of four frames. She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside before I could object.

"Nora."

"Sit down."

The bench was built for one person. With both of us on it, my shoulders pressed against the walls on either side and her thigh was flush against mine. She fed two dollars into the slot and the screen started counting down.

The first flash caught me looking comically crammed into the booth while Nora beamed beside me. The second one, she pulled a face so ridiculous I laughed before I could stop it, a real laugh, and the flash caught that too. The third frame, I missed the camera entirely. I was looking at her. Her profile, the line of her jaw, her chin tilted up because she was happy. The flash went off and I was still looking. The fourth one, she turned toward me at the last second. Our faces were inches apart. Neither of us was smiling. Neither of us looked away.

Two strips dropped into the tray. Nora picked them up and held them side by side.

She laughed at the third frame. "You weren't even looking at the camera."

I took one of the strips from her, studied it, then slid it into my wallet.

"That's going in my turnout helmet."

Nora looked at me. Her cheeks went pink, and she smiled without saying anything.