My husband and I have a secret place. It's east of Tucson, Ariz. That's all I can say.
I may already have said too much.
I'd love to tell you about it — its scenic heights and its riverbed lows, its bevies of birds and stretches of stars, and the particular feature that could give it away, so I can only assure you that it's heavenly.
My need for secrecy walks a tightrope between keeping the place well-known enough to remain a going concern, yet not so popular that we can't get a reservation.
As it is, when we were taking our leave from this year's visit, we had to book into 2017.
This, in a place that has no phones, no Wi-Fi, no cell service, no TV — and you have to bring your own food for your stay. All of this is what makes it so appealing to a certain sort of visitor.
I simply cannot take the chance that you're that sort of visitor. I wouldn't want you to nab my space.
Now reassured that business is good, my husband and I realize that part of the lure is that it has become our secret place. It's a private joke, a shared glance, a fount of memories that only the two of us remember.
