for Travis and Phyllis. As she walked to her car, she stared at a post card featuring her next destination—the Crown Point Vista House.
By the time she reached the observatory, the sun was melting into the western skyline, casting half of the octagonal Vista House in bright orange light. The two-story building was beautiful, with stained glass windows and a domed roof, but the panoramic view of the gorge was better. Across the river, the Cascade Range rose into orange-vanilla clouds, and the water below couldn’t decide if it wanted to reflect the sunburst on the horizon or the inky blue twilight flowing from the east.
Layla snapped more pictures, knowing her mediocre camera would never do the view justice. Then she climbed into her car once more, pleased by her impeccable timing. She and Travis couldn’t have planned her trip across Oregon better.
By the time she refueled and entered Portland, the skies were bereft of sunlight, a medley of dark blues and purples, and she was a nervous wreck as she followed her memorized directions. She did her best to maintain the speed limit, yet other cars flew by like she was riding her brakes. She almost missed her exit to Morrison Bridge—one of eleven spanning the Willamette River—and had to cut someone off.
“Whoops.”
She winced and glanced in the rearview mirror. The driver was undoubtedly pissed, but everyone drove bumper to bumper and zipped across lanes of traffic, so Layla easily forgave herself the goof.
After crossing the river, it was a straight shot to her downtown hotel, and she breathed easy for the first time since entering the city, but when she circled the block to find the parking garage, she found it full.
“Now what?” she mumbled, circling the block again.
Crowds of pedestrians, zooming bicycles, and colorful streetcars simultaneously intrigued and disoriented her, and it had started misting, turning everything into a grayish blur that glaringly reflected the city lights.
Layla drove to the next block, then the next. Then she followed the one-way streets back around, finding another full parking garage.
“What’s wrong with you people?” she grumbled. “Don’t you know it’s a weeknight?” Apparently they didn’t care, because there wasn’t one parking spot within three blocks of her hotel.
She expanded her search, steadily moving further away from where she wanted to be. By the time she found a parking garage willing to take her, she’d lost count of how many blocks she’d gone.
She couldn’t scramble out of her seat fast enough once she cut the engine. The damn car felt like a spaceship manned by foreigners who didn’t believe in two-way streets.
She opened her trunk, laying eyes on the large suitcase she’d packed for the hotel, and her shoulders sagged. “No way,” she decided, stuffing one day’s worth of clothes in her backpack.
After slipping on a hoody, she slung the pack over her shoulder and marched into the rain, which was colder than she thought it would be.
Five Portland blocks felt like ten Gander Creek blocks, and her fingers were going numb, but she was sure the hotel was around the next corner. When she took a left and looked up, finding a clothing store where her hotel should be, her heart sank and she spun around, clueless where she went wrong.
“Oh no,” she breathed, eyes stinging. “Oh shit.” She suddenly felt tiny and weak—a foolish fish swimming in a sea of sharks.
She dazedly noticed she was holding up foot traffic and moved beneath the boutique’s awning, blinking back tears as she dug her cell phone from her pocket. She could have asked one of the pedestrians for directions, but she was on the verge of bawling and didn’t want to do it to a stranger, so she dialed Travis’ number with fumbling fingers.
“Hello,” he answered, and Layla nearly sobbed his name.
“Travis.”
“Hey, sugar. What’s wrong?”
“I’m lost.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. I
By the time she reached the observatory, the sun was melting into the western skyline, casting half of the octagonal Vista House in bright orange light. The two-story building was beautiful, with stained glass windows and a domed roof, but the panoramic view of the gorge was better. Across the river, the Cascade Range rose into orange-vanilla clouds, and the water below couldn’t decide if it wanted to reflect the sunburst on the horizon or the inky blue twilight flowing from the east.
Layla snapped more pictures, knowing her mediocre camera would never do the view justice. Then she climbed into her car once more, pleased by her impeccable timing. She and Travis couldn’t have planned her trip across Oregon better.
By the time she refueled and entered Portland, the skies were bereft of sunlight, a medley of dark blues and purples, and she was a nervous wreck as she followed her memorized directions. She did her best to maintain the speed limit, yet other cars flew by like she was riding her brakes. She almost missed her exit to Morrison Bridge—one of eleven spanning the Willamette River—and had to cut someone off.
“Whoops.”
She winced and glanced in the rearview mirror. The driver was undoubtedly pissed, but everyone drove bumper to bumper and zipped across lanes of traffic, so Layla easily forgave herself the goof.
After crossing the river, it was a straight shot to her downtown hotel, and she breathed easy for the first time since entering the city, but when she circled the block to find the parking garage, she found it full.
“Now what?” she mumbled, circling the block again.
Crowds of pedestrians, zooming bicycles, and colorful streetcars simultaneously intrigued and disoriented her, and it had started misting, turning everything into a grayish blur that glaringly reflected the city lights.
Layla drove to the next block, then the next. Then she followed the one-way streets back around, finding another full parking garage.
“What’s wrong with you people?” she grumbled. “Don’t you know it’s a weeknight?” Apparently they didn’t care, because there wasn’t one parking spot within three blocks of her hotel.
She expanded her search, steadily moving further away from where she wanted to be. By the time she found a parking garage willing to take her, she’d lost count of how many blocks she’d gone.
She couldn’t scramble out of her seat fast enough once she cut the engine. The damn car felt like a spaceship manned by foreigners who didn’t believe in two-way streets.
She opened her trunk, laying eyes on the large suitcase she’d packed for the hotel, and her shoulders sagged. “No way,” she decided, stuffing one day’s worth of clothes in her backpack.
After slipping on a hoody, she slung the pack over her shoulder and marched into the rain, which was colder than she thought it would be.
Five Portland blocks felt like ten Gander Creek blocks, and her fingers were going numb, but she was sure the hotel was around the next corner. When she took a left and looked up, finding a clothing store where her hotel should be, her heart sank and she spun around, clueless where she went wrong.
“Oh no,” she breathed, eyes stinging. “Oh shit.” She suddenly felt tiny and weak—a foolish fish swimming in a sea of sharks.
She dazedly noticed she was holding up foot traffic and moved beneath the boutique’s awning, blinking back tears as she dug her cell phone from her pocket. She could have asked one of the pedestrians for directions, but she was on the verge of bawling and didn’t want to do it to a stranger, so she dialed Travis’ number with fumbling fingers.
“Hello,” he answered, and Layla nearly sobbed his name.
“Travis.”
“Hey, sugar. What’s wrong?”
“I’m lost.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. That’s the point. I
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