Page 44 of Tangled Up In You
They must have driven across the border into the twilight zone, because for once Fitz agreed to road games while they drove. They tried to find license plates from every single state and played Twenty Questions with items in the car. It was good that he’d become a willing companion because Ren honestly didn’t know how else they would have spent the hours on the road; even for someone who’d never been through this part of the country, the scenery wasn’t very stimulating. Hills to flat to hills to flat. By the time they reached their hotel in Rapid City, they were both ready to stretch their legs, and Ren was practically vibrating with excitement over the upcoming day trip.
Fitz’s relief was palpable when the man confirmed that the room had two beds, and Ren was glad to finally be able to pay for something. She covertly peeled a few twenties off her thick stack and slid them across to the man in exchange for two keys and a pamphlet.
Beside her, Fitz let out a small whimper, and Ren tracked his attention to where the glossy front page read WELCOME TO RAPID CITY, THE CITY OF PRESIDENTS! And just beneath it: Embark on our famous Scavenger Hunt to find all forty of the presidential bronze statues!
“Oh boy,” he mumbled, already laughing in defeat.
Ren shook the pamphlet in his wake as he turned to walk toward the elevators. “We have to do this.”
“No.”
“Fitz, you don’t understand. A scavenger hunt! For statues!”
He groaned, pushing the up button. “No, Sunshine.”
But even when he said it, he was fighting a smile. And no matter how hard he tried to smash it down, it lit his eyes up, sent those sweet lines crinkling the corners, and it was that struggle that set a tiny, vibrating firefly loose inside her chest. Fitz was having fun. With her.
“Do you know,” she said as they met at Max’s hood in the Mount Rushmore parking lot, “it took four hundred workers to finish this, and not a single one died?”
Fitz hummed, sliding on his sunglasses and peering up at the mountain, backlit by the overcast sky.
“And also,” she said, falling into step with him as he headed toward the entrance, “there’s a cave behind the sculptures called the Hall of Records, and it contains a vault with sixteen enamel panels with the Declaration of Independence carved into them?”
“You don’t say.”
“Also, the four presidents were chosen by the chief sculptor, and not the US government.” Another noncommittal hum. “And the original plan was to have the presidents shown from the waist up, but the project ran out of funding.”
Finally, he looked at her, smashing down that smile again. “Is that right?”
“It is.” They climbed a set of cement stairs, passed under the stone structure of the information center, and finally reached a long cement walkway lined with flagpoles. “This is the Avenue of Flags,” Ren whispered reverently.
“I guessed that,” he whispered back, “based on the huge letters right there that read ‘Avenue of Flags.’”
“Well,” she said, whispering again, “did you know that there are fifty-six flags here, one for every state and territory? Let’s find ours.”
With that, she took off, spotting the Idaho flag in the distance. It was blue, with the state seal in the center and a red-and-gold banner with the words STATE OF IDAHO just beneath it.
Fitz strolled closer, smiling when Ren hopped up onto the stone ledge beside the flagpole. “You want a picture?” He waved his phone, and it took her a beat to realize he meant a picture of her.
“Sure.” But Ren had so rarely had her photo taken, she felt immediately self-conscious. For Steve and Gloria, posing for photos was a sign of vanity. There had never been a camera on the homestead. Ren had seen cameras before, of course, in books and real life—Tammy took a picture of her once with a disposable Kodak, she’d taken a photo at the DMV, and Dr. Audran had used his Polaroid in class—but this felt different. This was a picture to create a memory, to capture the moment. She wanted to get it right.
Straightening, she crossed her arms. “No, wait, that looks angry.” She uncrossed them, but then they hung uselessly at her sides. Ren planted her fists on her hips, but that felt stupid. She dropped one arm, leaving one fist on her hip, and felt even more ridiculous. Finally, she gave up, admitting, “Fitz. I don’t know how to pose.”
“Just be you,” he said, and Ren let instinct take over. Fitz burst out laughing when she hugged the flagpole. “Okay, yes, that’s the right vibe.” Lifting the phone, he tapped the screen a few times. “Got it.”
“Let’s find yours now.” She looked down the long line of flags flapping in the chilly wind. “Your dad is the real estate mogul Robert Fitzsimmons, right? Isn’t he originally from New York?” Her jaw dropped in realization. “Fitz, were you born in New York?”
He squinted into the distance, his expression shuttering. “No, I was born and raised in Spokane.”
Reaching for Fitz’s arm, she tugged him down to the green Washington state flag. “Stand there.” She held out her hand for his phone. “Let me get your picture now.”
He unlocked it, setting it in her palm.
“Do something cute,” she told him from behind the phone.
Fitz scowled at this. “Cute?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant do something rough and masculine.”