Free Disposition of Remains by Laura T. Emery Page A

car-less transient. I had no cell phone, nor did I want one after hearing about the nightmare of GPS tracking. And I did enjoy Wilbur’s company; he was great at making me forget my troubles. Since I had abandoned my rigidly planned life and he had led one so gloriously opposite, I wanted to discover what it was that Wilbur thought I should see. Still, I hesitated as I contemplated whether it was wise to climb back into Wilbur’s car. 
    “Where exactly are we going?”
    “You’ll see. Trust me; it’ll be worth it,” Wilbur assured me, flashing that crazy smile that was increasingly impossible for me to resist. Before I could talk myself out of it, I hopped in his car and strapped myself in, primed for whatever adventure Wilbur had in store for me.
    On the way to our mystery location, Wilbur took me on about an hour’s drive to Hoover Dam. We spent several moments gazing out over this national treasure, and then embarked upon a tour inside. He knew a curator there named Charlie who took us to see a number of areas that have been inaccessible to tourists since the 9/11 attacks. I felt a thrill, being with a man who “knew people.” As we descended into the bowels of the facility, Charlie told us about the one hundred twelve people who had died building the dam. Legend has it that there are a large number of bodies encased in the walls themselves.
    It was so incredible to see to the ingenious way that man had curbed the power of nature, although it made me feel insignificant and useless that I had done almost nothing with my short life. Then I thought about whether man should control nature at all. Perhaps, I thought, humankind should stop trying to control everyone and everything, just as I was refusing to control the course of my illness.
    The Dam was much more beautiful than I had imagined some structure designed to channel water could be. Our tour involved more than a mile of walking—a virtual marathon for a woman in my condition. I was worn out once again. I dragged myself back to Wilbur’s car and we departed. I decided to not ask questions and just go along for the ride.
    The mammoth canyon walls blocked by the dam gave birth to Lake Mead. Wilbur was in the midst of describing the spring break drinking and boating activities of the area when I drifted off into a deep sleep. When I awakened several hours later, we were in the woods. The smell of pine permeated the air as we drove past a sign for Tusayan, Arizona—a place I had never heard of.
    Wilbur pulled into the parking lot of what looked to be a modern hotel. It was nighttime, and as much as I’d found myself enjoying the great outdoors, a soft bed sounded very appealing. Wilbur graciously paid for two rooms at The Lodge at Tusayan.
    Wilbur insisted upon treating me to dinner at the hotel’s café. Though the conversation had flowed easily earlier in our journey, I suddenly found it awkward sitting at the table alone with him. The silence proved to be a reminder that I was venturing out alone with a man I barely knew. The original offense I had taken to his good looks was beginning to fade and it came to my attention that I might actually like him. I had literally run away from my husband and all of my responsibilities. If I had believed in Hell, I was definitely headed there.

CHAPTER 8
     
    “You want me to do what?”
    “Get in, relax, and enjoy the ride.”
    “Who’s gonna fly it?”
    “I am.”
    “Why do you have a helicopter?”
    “It’s part of my travel company.”
    “Of course,” I allowed, because that would be one of the only logical reasons to have a helicopter lying around.
    I had a horrible fear of heights, and a worse fear of any sort of flying contraption—especially one designed to tear itself apart from the inside out. Motion sickness was an unpleasant factor as well. But I told myself, don’t be yourself. Live. Just go with it. What’s the worst that could happen? If the helicopter crashed, I would die while truly living