She was already at the desert hot springs motel, leaning against her gold car in the gravel parking lot, stamping out a half-used cigarette as I pulled up.
“I got a room for us,” she said.
“Two beds, huh?” I said.
We got into the springs. No one was there. We didn’t talk much. She kept trying other hot pools with different temperatures and salinities. I stayed in the hottest one.
We stayed one night. We talked about our good years. We had sadsex. We went back to the water. We didn’t have much left to say.
“Be well, dear one,” I said in the morning as I closed my car door, turning back to my move across the country.