Canyon Sacrifice. Scott Graham
“I’m not married, if that’s what you mean.”
Chuck blinked. What was he doing here? He should have known better than to go along with Janelle’s idea that they take their first family vacation at the Grand Canyon—although, he realized, blanching, it was he who had hurried across the campground to chase Rachel down.
Independent, career-oriented women like Rachel had comprised virtually all of Chuck’s romantic relationships over the years. And for the longest time, such women were all he had ever imagined wanting, partners who expected nothing more of him than the same surface companionship he took from them. The mutual desire to keep things simple had driven Chuck and Rachel apart on three different occasions. Each time they’d grown too close, they’d bounced away from one another like opposing magnets. The last time they’d spoken, Chuck had told Rachel he didn’t think either of them were the marrying kind, and Rachel had agreed.
Then along came Janelle.
“She’s really something,” Chuck blurted.
Rachel shuttered her eyes. “I’m sure she is.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You never do, Chuck.”
“She’s . . . She’s . . . You’re . . .” Chuck stuttered his way to silence, feeling as if he were drowning, as if he were last in a mile swim and Rachel was leading the way, far ahead, with her sure and steady strokes. She was smart, pretty, confident—everything logic told him he should desire in a mate. Their third and final breakup had come two years ago, just before Chuck had completed his work at the latrine site and left the park to begin the transmission-line contract.
Rachel was waiting.
“Still competing?” he asked.
“I’m a few weeks away from hitting masters—” the masters division of the adventure-racing circuit to which she devoted all her free time was for racers forty and over “—which means, barring injury, I should be looking at nationals next year.”
Rachel’s adventure races were held in places like Utah’s red-rock country, the backwoods of Maine, and the high Sierra. The races lasted two to three days and nights, and involved rock climbing, whitewater kayaking, cross-country running, mountain biking, zip-lining, and any other outlandish outdoor pursuits race organizers could dream up. While serving as Rachel’s one-man crew at a number of her races over the years, Chuck had come to appreciate the camaraderie between opposing teams and racers at the events, the odd juxtaposition of intense athletic competition waged deep in the backcountry, and the emotional highs and lows that were an inevitable part of such lengthy contests.
“Rachel Severin, national champion,” he said. “Nice ring to it.” Her green eyes glowed in response. “I saw you with that woman back there,” he continued. “Looked like she was giving you a hard time.”
“She wasn’t too out of line, considering she’s trapped here ‘til morning. Gotta take it out on somebody.”
“She can’t leave?”
“Coroner’s coming from Flag. Retired Air Force surgeon, just elected. Everything by the book. Wants to visit the scene before he accompanies the boyfriend’s body back to town. Until then, Begay says she stays close.”
Chuck recalled the man’s Isotopes sweatshirt. “She’s from Albuquerque?”
“Yep.”
“The guy fell? That’s what Donald said.”
Rachel inclined her head. “Something to do with a fight. She says he was showing off, trying to save face. Climbed up on the railing, struck a pose, slipped. Big guy, like her. Never had a chance.”
“The fight was between the two of them?”
“No. Him and some other guy. She says it was over before it began. Doesn’t sound like there’s much to it. This woman and her boyfriend, from the sound of things, their whole life was one big brawl.”
“‘Big’ being the operative word.”
“Zipper on the body bag blew out during the retrieval. Paramedics had to suture him back in just to get him to the top.” Rachel’s lips ticked upward in the start of a smile.
Chuck had forgotten how much he enjoyed being with her. He gave the roof of her car an amiable tap. “Good seeing you.”
“You, too.” She sounded as if she meant it. She accelerated a few feet, then stopped and stuck her head out the window. “Good luck, family man,” she said, before ducking back inside and driving away.
He stood in the middle of the exit until an approaching car sounded its horn behind him, herding him out of the way. The evening sunlight winked out as a small cloud passed in front of the sun. Chuck dug his fingers into the palms of his hands as he headed across the campground toward Janelle and the girls, his thoughts returning to the woman from Albuquerque. Why had she ignored him when she’d spotted him spying on her? Why hadn’t she told Rachel it was Chuck who had punched her boyfriend?
According to Rachel, Chuck’s fight with the guy in the Isotopes sweatshirt was at least partly to blame for the guy’s death. Chuck kicked at a pinecone lying in the campground drive. He knew one thing for sure: he had to get away from here. He shouldn’t have agreed to come to the canyon. There was no rush for Janelle to learn the details of his profession; she’d get to know all about what he did for a living as she got to know him.
He stopped.
Janelle didn’t really know him yet, did she? As fast as everything had happened between them, how could she? And, when it came right down to it, Chuck knew just as little about her.
It was far too soon for Janelle to judge the strength of their marriage. How could either of them measure their true commitment to each other at this early stage? That was the reasoning he would present to her as soon as they were back in Durango. She would agree that they should give themselves enough time to fully get to know one another, and things between them would smooth out.
He resumed walking. He had to get away from the canyon with Janelle and the girls, get back to the new life they were still in the process of creating for themselves in Colorado. No excuse he could come up with would convince Janelle to break camp this evening and drive back to Durango through the night, but he’d be able to come up with something by morning that would require their departure—maybe a sudden need to finish the final report on the transmission-line project sooner rather than later for Marvin Begay.
Yes, that excuse would work when he trotted it out over breakfast tomorrow. All he had to do was make it through tonight.
The girls were seated side by side at the picnic table eating dinner when Chuck returned to camp. Rosie’s cheeks were shiny with chicken grease. She bounced up and down in excitement at his appearance. Even Carmelita, looking up from wiping each of her fingers fastidiously with a paper towel, brightened at his approach.
Janelle waved him over to where she sat in her camp chair. “My folks are so glad we made it,” she told him. She held up her phone, beaming. “Dolores and Amelia, too,” she added, naming her closest friends in Albuquerque.
Chuck took in Janelle and the girls. This would work. Sunset in a little while, a good night’s sleep followed by a second round of pancakes in the morning, then, upon checking messages, he would announce that Marvin had moved up the delivery date for the final report, and Janelle would agree to head for home. Once they were back in Durango, they would have the time and space their still-developing relationship needed. The girls would start school. Janelle would finish moving into Chuck’s house. And he would do whatever it took to prove himself to her.
As for what had happened this morning on Maricopa Point? That was done, finished.
“And guess what,” Janelle announced with a wide smile, her phone now clasped between her palms. “Clarence is joining us. He’s on his way right now!”