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Renée promised to show her the state of California. She drove like a truck driver in her Mercedes, straight down the middle of the freeways as fast as she could get away with. Delilah had expected they’d see a lot of museums, but they never went close to one except once, when they got lost and ended up in L.A. by the La Brea Tar Pits next to the Los Angeles County Museum. No operas, no concerts. And the international wonders – the giant sequoias and the coast at Big Sur – were never on the agenda. They did drive to Yosemite Valley one Saturday, parked near an old apple orchard by a campground. Delilah started to get out to look for the waterfalls. “Don’t,” Renée said, looking at her watch, “you’ll ruin it,” and they headed back to S.F. after five minutes.
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Ernest J. Finney