Soon enough, we’re cruising through downtown Palm Springs on our way out of town. The music is cranked and I’m singing along, but Marlo’s just gazing through the windows, taking it all in. She does this a lot, much more of an observer than I ever was. While she loves to perform, these moments of quiet create a nice balance. Marlo doesn’t have to take up space the way I do. She’s perfectly happy to watch and learn and listen.
She’s taught me a lot.
We pass the giant statue of Marilyn Monroe on our left, then Club Flamingo a few blocks later. Reminders of that night are everywhere, and on most days I try not to dwell. Today, however, I let the memories marinate a bit.
The investigation was extensive, but ultimately so bizarre and confusing that the results were a wash. Nobody could make heads or tails of what actually happened that night, and I kept my part of the story as private as possible. At first, I considered trying to explain the uncanny, possibly interdimensional creature that was Eddie Michaels, but when no trace of a body was found and strange black helicopters started circling the canyon, I decided to keepthe juicy parts to myself. The few people who did mention a giant talking bug that “made them break into the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway” just ended up sounding nuts, and eventually faded out of the public eye.
Some kind of private subcontractor took over investigations, working with the FBI, but details were hard to come by. A few folks said it was Blackwater (or was it BlackRock?), while others claimed a division of Hex International had set up shop in the Coachella Valley but were keeping a low profile.
Officially, the events were finally determined to be a case of mass hysteria.
To be fair, there are brief moments when I question if the whole thing reallywasjust some vivid dream. This only lasts until I catch a glimpse of my new face in the mirror or I chip off some of the half a million dollars still parked in my bank account.
With the help of a few tech savvy fans, I traced the money back to an anonymous crypto wallet. Curiously, the only other purchases originating from this source were bulk orders of Eddie Michaels albums on their respective release dates, as well as a single, late-night marijuana delivery to Eddie’s sprawling Palm Springs estate.
I also managed to figure out wheremy owndelivery request came from on that fateful evening, the one that interrupted Noah and me during the last meal we’d ever share.
I tracked it to the Palm Springs medical examiner’s office, and for my money, the caller was Shelly Wiseman,a twenty-four-year-old woman who had the random misfortune of working late that night.
One witness caught her leaving in the middle of her shift. They asked where she was going.
“To light myself on fire,” Shelly said.
Some kids on dirt bikes found her two months later, a heap of old, charred bones in the middle of the desert.
When Marlo and I pass the turnoff that leads up to the gondola station, we fall into silence. There’s not much to see from all the way down here, the station itself tucked deep within the canyon, but that doesn’t change the way it feels to get this close.
“We should ride that again sometime,” Marlo announces.
My head whips over to her, unable to hide my shocked expression. “Really?”
She casually shrugs. “Why not? Can’t be scared forever.”
Her point is simple yet effective.
“I just figured …” I start, not entirely sure where I’m headed before trailing off. “Huh. Okay, yeah. Sure.”
“Didn’t really get to enjoy it last time,” Marlo continues. She cracks a smile, then starts full-on laughing. It’s a silly thing to say, and she knows it, but it’s also the truth.
I shake my head in amazement. “Kids are resilient.” I chuckle, more to myself than to her.
Marlo nods, settling back into her seat. “Like you.”
I somehow manage to quell a volcanic rumble of emotion, but just barely.
“There’s a giant taxidermy bear up at the peak,” I remind her. “Also like me.”
“What?”
“A mama bear,” I explain.
Marlo furrows her brow. “You’re not a bear.”
“What am I then?” I ask. “I don’t wanna be a shark anymore.”
My daughter’s expression remains deeply unimpressed as she stares at me like I’m a total dumbass.
“Mom,” she says. “You’re a person.”
