the lights fading away as we leave the Portland city limits. But the other part is anxious about what’s ahead: we’ve essentially been banished until the first season of Home Sweet Home airs.
The four of us are on our way to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, meaning the gloves can truly come off. With every mile we move farther from civilization. I’m not one hundred percent sure where we’re going, but I know one thing: nobody can hear the screams from this far away.
It’s absurd, really, that we’re still expected to chaperone this nonsense, but my assumption is that everyone is worried that, left to his own devices, Rusty would rather catch a cab home and leave Melissa behind than stay sequestered with his wife in the woods. Just as I’m about to quietly run this theory past Carey, a crash comes from the back of the bus, and Melissa storms out of the lounge, throwing herself on one of the couches toward the front of the cab. Breathing heavily, she closes her eyes and rubs her temples. They’re not even trying to pretend anymore.
“I swear to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she hisses. “That man—”
“TJ and Kelsey.” Carey calmly reminds her boss of the two most important reasons why Melissa can’t murder her husband. “Also, you’re building a house in Aspen that is going to be gorgeous. You can’t decorate it from a jail cell.”
Melissa takes a few deep breaths and then opens her eyes to smile gratefully at Carey. What the hell would Melissa do without her?
My phone lights up with a text sent to me, Carey, and Ted from Robyn. It reads simply:
Everything’s set.
Carey grimaces at me and types up exactly what Ted can do with his getaway, before erasing it all.
She slides her phone onto the bus bench between us, gives me a half smile, and leans her head back against the cushion. The metaphorical handcuffs have been clicked into place.
I grew up in the Southwest, and I’m familiar with Jackson, of course—obviously it’s where the Tripps are based—but I’ve never traveled the almost four hundred miles to Laramie. The size of the sky out here blows my mind. Half of the circle of my vision is a clear, startling blue. The other half is an explosion of green: hills, grass, plains that go on forever.
We drop off the tour bus in Laramie and, with as little fanfare as possible, we’re done. We say goodbye to Joe and encourage him to schedule a long vacation. He takes a final look at the Tripps and wishes us luck—their mutual silent treatment commenced as soon as we got on the bus, and we’re all tired of breathing such pressurized air.
Also ready to be rid of us, driver Gary ushers us from the bus into a sleek black sedan waiting nearby. I’m sure these two are about to get very, very drunk. I don’t know what happens to our bags, but the car is pulling away from the curb before I have any sense that things have been moved; it’s a Secret Service–level transfer. Ted apparently does not fuck around.
With Rusty in the front, and Carey situated between me and Melissa in the spacious back seat, we leave Laramie proper and drive about a half hour into what can best be described as the middle of nowhere, where houses become spaced farther and farther apart, the soft rolling hills so green it seems impossible that they’re real. I’m grateful for the silence, because the view is unbelievable. The Laramie River winds its way through the landscape, glittering in the late-afternoon sun like a trail of jewels.
Our driver turns down a series of increasingly rustic dirt roads before pulling up in front of a sprawling log cabin set only about forty feet back from a wide bend in the river. I peek down at my phone: no cell service. I doubt Wi-Fi is robust here, either. Good news, bad news: Melissa won’t be able to see reviews, tweets, or Instagram photos of her from her bad side, but we also won’t be able to easily check in with the outside world. We are a good half-hour drive from any stores, and—I note with some degree of trepidation—at least as far from any hospital.
Rusty climbs out and disappears around the back of the cabin, muttering something about needing some air, and I note that Carey and I both relax a bit when we only have one Tripp to manage at