“So what do we do now?” I ask.

She thinks for a moment. “Do we go back to Billings?”

My stomach twists. I’m hungry and I’m tired and the idea of driving another ten or so hours right now is too much to take.

“Maybe we stay at a hotel?”

As Aisha considers this, her phone rings.

“It’s Laurelei and Thomas,” she says, and I perk up.

“Hey,” Aisha answers, and she puts the phone on speaker. “We can both hear you,” she tells them.

“Oh hi,” Laurelei says. “I’m so sorry, guys. I’m furious right now about how the Clancys behaved. She just called me and told me. I’m mortified.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aisha says.

“Well, it feels a bit like it is. I had no idea. When I spoke to Lois a few hours ago, everything was fine. Then, I suppose, she spoke to her husband. She just called me, and she sounded very upset. I’m so sorry, Aisha. I mentioned that you are homosexual just in passing. I did not expect it would matter, especially because Lois seemed so kind. I wish I hadn’t said anything now.”

“I’m glad you did,” Aisha says. “I don’t want to stay with someone who hates people like me.”

“Well, me neither,” Laurelei says. “But I also don’t want you to spend the night on the street! I simply don’t know what to do. We don’t have any other contacts, and we don’t use credit cards. I could try to call a hotel and talk to someone….”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I have a card. We’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” says Aisha. “Don’t sweat it. We’re fine.”

“Well, there is something else. Carson, Lois still wants to see you and give you this thing of your grandfather’s. She can’t do it tomorrow, though. The first time she could get away from her husband is Tuesday morning, so she wants you to meet her at eight a.m. Tuesday in front of the Tabernacle in Temple Square.”

I laugh. “Um. So she turns us away, then wants us to wait two days to meet her? Could she figure out how to see us tomorrow, at least?”

“I know, I know,” Laurelei says. “I just don’t know how to advise you.”

I think about our options. We could figure out how to stay a couple of days in Salt Lake City. It’ll mean spending money, and it’ll mean taking some extra days away from Billings. I don’t know. Even though my mom will probably never, ever say no to me, my dad is sick and I should be with him.

But how could I forgive myself for giving up my search for my grandfather? I picture him in the photo where he’s holding my dad as a young kid. His face like mine. I remember one of his puns: “When two egoists meet, it’s an I for an I.” His jokes like mine. He’s my blood.

I turn to Aisha. “I want to keep going. I really want to know what this lady has for me.”

I don’t know if I expect her to argue, but she doesn’t. “Well then, I guess we’re staying in Salt Lake,” she says.

“I don’t know how to help, but if you can think of a way, we’ll do it,” Laurelei says. “I feel partially responsible. We both do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Aisha says. “We’ll be okay.”

We ask Laurelei to tell Lois Clancy we’ll see her on Tuesday. Laurelei wishes us well, and we say good-bye.

Aisha drives us to a nearby diner for a bite to eat. We’re both famished. While we’re waiting for our burgers and onion rings, she pulls up a site I’ve never seen before.

“After I was kicked out of the house, I couchsurfed a couple nights,” she says.

I crane my neck so I can see her screen. “I think you mentioned that.”

She explains that there’s this site called surfingsofas.com. People open their homes to complete strangers for God-knows-what reason — insanity, possibly. She found a family in Billings and she stayed with them for two days before she decided she was in their way and left.

“It’s worth a try. People review the folks they stay with, and vice versa.”

And then the craziest thing happens. I think, Sure. Why not? I’m doing all new stuff I’ve never done before. What’s one more new thing? “Let’s do it,” I say.

“Just no fucking Mormons. I’m over the fucking Mormons,” she says as she scrolls through people. “My soul is not getting saved in Salt Lake City. I have limits, you know.”

As I scarf down my burger, she finds two possible hosts who seem cool. She reads their profiles to me. One is a couple in their thirties who do organic farming, and the other is a lesbian couple in their twenties. I might as well just turn into a lesbian at this point, because that seems to be the direction things are going around here. She sends the requests, and then she dives into her cheeseburger while I tear into my onion rings and begin to steal hers. In between bites, we stare at her phone, hoping to hear the beep that would alert us to a message from surfingsofas.com.

“Did you know that the reason God burned down Sodom wasn’t because everyone was gay, but because of a lack of hospitality?” Aisha asks as she sips her soda.

“Um. I did not know that.”

“And of course the Clancys are religious. The husband’s a pastor. That’s very ‘love your neighbor,’ right?”

I realize getting turned away by the Clancys is bothering her more than I thought. More than that, she’s right. Whatever their reasons for not letting us stay with them, the Clancys knew we were two teenagers alone in Salt Lake City. They had to know that if they didn’t take us in, we’d have no place to be overnight. “Some people suck,” I say.

She stares down at the last remnants of her bun. “The last person to turn me away was Kayla,” she says, and I can tell from her tone that what she’s saying is painful. “It’s hard to find out someone you thought you might … love … doesn’t love you back. At least not enough to give you a roof over your head when you don’t have one.”

Instinctively I reach across the table and intertwine my pinky with hers. She curls hers around mine, and I have to close my eyes because all I can think is, I gave you a roof. Why can’t you feel that way about me? I’d do anything for you. I would never, ever let you sleep in the goddamn zoo.

After dinner, we drive the streets of Salt Lake City, which are completely impossible. N 200 W intersects with W 500 N, and you have to be just about a genius to know where you are in this town.

When the clock says nine thirty and there’s been no beep, Aisha pulls into a Big Lots parking lot and checks her email anyway.

“Nada on surfingsofas.com. Oh well.”

“Oh well.”

“I think it’s hotel time,” Aisha says, and I know she’s right, but I still wince. Right now my mom thinks we’re staying with friends. How the hell am I going to explain a hotel charge to her? She says yes to just about everything, but I’m beginning to wonder if we’re reaching the limit of “reasonable” expenses.

The cheapest hotel she can find online is a Days Inn for fifty-four dollars. That seems reasonable-ish, so we drive there. I’m feeling fried, so I know Aisha must be feeling even more so, since she’s driven the whole way. She invited me to drive part of it, but the truth is, I don’t even have a license yet. We who grew up with a crosstown bus don’t have a lot of incentive to pass a driving test.

At the Days Inn, the guy behind the counter doesn’t trust us from the start. He raises one eyebrow as we walk in, and his eyes dart back and forth like he thinks this is some sort of hookup. If only. He starts filling out a form anyway, and then he asks for our license and credit card.

I give my card to him, hoping we can do this without a license, or with Aisha’s. He runs it through the machine and waits, looking at the screen. Then he shakes his head and flips the card back to me. “Declined,” he says.

“What?” I say. “No. It can’t be.”

He frowns. “Declined.”

I look in my wallet. Thirty-six dollars. We don’t have any other way to pay. Should I ask Aisha what she has? I can’t. So we leave, out of ideas.

We sit in the car and try to figure out what’s next. Aisha’s eyes look like they’re beginning to close.