I climb into the truck and check the map again. After I leave Tucson, I-10 E to El Paso drifts past towns with names like Dragoon, Cochise and Bowie.
My daughter should be with me. This should be her pilgrimage.
As I drive, the sights and smells of the Southwest bombard me through the gap in the driver’s side window—dry desert sand, sage, the smoky smell of mesquite. I’m headed to sacred places that don’t belong to me….