by Chris Eboch
I set up my sign on the rim and started down the off-limits side trail. It was a narrow, steep switchback but felt safe enough so long as I went slowly. I found the storehouses about halfway down the canyon wall. No wonder they were hard to spot from across the canyon unless you had binoculars. Wherever the Ancient Ones had found a cave-like depression in the rock, they had closed the front with blocks of the same color. At one time even the entrance holes would have been sealed with stones and mud to keep out mice and other animals. In the winter, the people could have broken the seals to retrieve their food and then closed up the storehouses again.
Now all the storehouses were open, and anything major, like pots or baskets, had been removed long ago. But I hoped to find a few seeds caught in cracks or a bit of dried vegetable matter stuck to some rock. I might not even be able to see material with my eyes, but I had a magnifying glass and I would take scrapings to study under a microscope.
I noticed some scuff marks in the dirt, including the imprint of athletic shoes with little suction cups on the bottom. I had noticed that Sean was wearing expensive athletic shoes, not what I would’ve chosen for hiking, but safe enough on most of the paths. I was still wearing tennis shoes myself. I followed the prints along the path. I couldn’t see them constantly, but every once in a while a patch of little circles in the dust showed where he had gone. It looked like he had stayed on the trail, at least.
I suddenly realized that by asking me out, he’d totally deflected my anger. I’d never decided not to report him, but he’d walked away as if doing me a favor by not coming on too strong. Had that been his intent, just to get out of trouble? Or was I reading far too much into things?
I shook my head. I’d grown so suspicious. Was it just an excuse to avoid contact?
I had to start dating again sometime, unless I planned to be celibate for the rest of my life. I wanted a family someday. No hurry on that, but if I dismissed every man I met as somehow inappropriate, I’d never get back in the saddle, so to speak.
Maybe it made sense to go on a few casual dates out here, if only to test my reactions. The fact that I was just visiting gave me a kind of safety. If things got too intense, I had the perfect excuse to back away.
I shrugged. I’d probably never see Sean again, no matter how small the community. Danesh was too good-looking for my comfort, and his personality left a lot to be desired. Jerry was a sweetie, but... I’d probably never really get to know him. I felt bad about that, guilty even, but it wasn’t just a matter of his stuttering. He got so nervous that it made me uncomfortable, and I couldn’t see pursuing a relationship like that.
I lost Sean’s footprints about halfway down the path. The ground got rockier there, so maybe I just wasn’t seeing his tracks. I looked around the nearby storehouses to make sure nothing was damaged.
The slope had crumbled a little a few feet above the path. I noticed a small storehouse higher up on the cliff. It blended in with the rock so well that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t been looking. It probably wasn’t meant to be a hiding place, though; people had just used the materials at hand.
The turned-up dirt on the slope looked fairly fresh, but I couldn’t tell if someone had stepped there or if the damage was entirely natural—maybe dislodged from a rock bouncing down from above. I glanced up toward the rim. I would have to be careful in case some passing tourist kicked a rock off the edge. I was about fifty feet down now, but if a rock bounced, it could reach me. I shuddered to think of it.
I turned and looked out over the canyon, a lovely expanse in shades of red and brown, with green down in the cool depths. It didn’t seem like desert, despite the dryness. The word desert suggested emptiness, monotonous drifts of sand. Here the rich colors and rounded rock shapes drew you in. When you looked close, you saw a whole life of shrubs, cacti, mosses, and lichen, some of which the Ancestral Pueblo People used for food, medicine, or dye. They even used shredded bark for insulation and berries for jewelry, and, of course, wood for building or fires. It was hard to imagine surviving on natural resources here, but you could still glimpse the rich life they must have had.
Time to head back up for my gear. The dozen storehouses would keep me busy for a couple of weeks. Fortunately, the area had lots of little ledges, so I could set down my gear or find a rest spot when I needed it. I would enjoy working here, tucked away out of sight. People would be able to see me from the far canyon rim, but they wouldn’t try to talk to me from there. I could stay in my own little world, coming out only when I felt up to facing company.
For the moment, I put living men—all of them—out of my mind. I had work to do. The secrets of the past seemed much more comfortable than the realities of the present.
Chapter 6
I spent several hours peering, probing, and scraping, in the process preparing two dozen slides that might or might not tell me anything. Finally I rose, stretched, and took the last long drink from my water bottle. Sweat dampened my skin and my stomach grumbled. Time for a break. I packed up my gear and climbed the path.
I headed for my campsite, wishing I had something more interesting than granola bars, nuts, and fruit for lunch. As I entered the campground, I saw the old woman at the host site, sitting at her picnic table—with Sean.
He got up and headed toward me, then glanced back to say, “Nice visiting with you, Mrs. West.”
“You too, dear,” her voice boomed out. She beamed at me as Sean joined me.
He gave me that appealing boyish grin. “You look hot and tired and thirsty. Seems like this is the perfect time to invite you to lunch again.”
I looked at the old woman and back at Sean. Danesh had said Mrs. West learned everything about everybody. She and Sean had apparently had a long visit, and she seemed to approve of him. I had an unexpected second chance, but I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Play it safe or take a risk?
“Indian tacos,” Sean said temptingly. “Hot fry bread, meat, and green chile... and a large soda with lots of ice....”
My stomach rumbled so loud he must’ve heard, and I laughed. “All right, you’ve convinced me. Give me ten minutes to clean up.”
Sean walked to my campsite with me and waited there while I washed up in the bathroom and changed my shirt. I stared at myself in the blurry metal mirror. Had I made the right choice? My stomach was knotting at the thought of getting in a car with a strange man. I tried to tell myself that the pain was just hunger. I couldn’t live in fear forever.
I walked back to my campsite, determined to treat this “date” with the casual confidence it deserved.
Sean gestured at my tent. “Nice place you got.”
I managed a smile, but it occurred to me that if I was anxious about getting in a car with a man I barely knew, I’d been stupid to let him see where I was staying, alone and without locks or even doors.
I tried to shake off the thoughts. I had to stop thinking that people were out to get me. The guy in Boston was scum with a previous record. And as for Jonathan—well, people let you down sometimes. Not everyone was ready to handle a crisis. But I had to believe that most people were decent. Constant paranoia was no way to live.
“Did you want to drive?” Sean frowned at my car. “That doesn’t look built for the roads around here.”
“It’s not,” I admitted.
“We can take my SUV. Up to you.”
It made sense. It was a purely logical plan, and Sean wasn’t pressuring me. But my hands were shaking as I got my bag. Get a grip, I told myself. You’re just going out to lunch with a perfectly nice guy. I looked at him. “We can take your car. But I hope you won’t think I’m completely nuts if I ask you to do something first.”
He shrugged. “Anything.”
“Show your ID to Mrs. West.”
He frowned for a few seconds, but then his face cleared. “I get it. Prove I am who I say I am and leave a witness.”
I glanced away. “You probably think it’s stupid.”
“No, it’s sma
rt. You’re right to be cautious. Come on, I bet the old lady gets a kick out of it.”
She did. And she waved us off like a gracious mother pleased about her daughter’s first date. We walked back to the visitors center, where he’d parked his vehicle. I’d found a balance between being a coward and being rash, and Sean hadn’t been offended at all.
We came out of the trees into the parking lot. Danesh was bent over a hoe in a little garden beside the building. I held my breath and resisted the urge to duck behind Sean. Danesh didn’t glance our way, and I let out a sigh of relief once the building hid us from view. Not that it was any of his business where I went or with whom, but I doubted that would stop him from making comments.
Sean had a dark green SUV with leather seats and an impressive sound system. He either made a lot of money or was one of those guys who spent every penny on his car. It struck me that this was a Tuesday, and he apparently didn’t have to work. “So what do you do? For a living, I mean.”
He turned down the classic rock on the radio. “I was hoping you’d find the sense of mystery alluring. Better than the dull truth, anyway.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “How bad can it be?”
He grinned. “Guess.”
“Oh, all right. It’s boring, you say? Um…accountant? Insurance agent?”
He shook his head.
“Hmm, you’re off on a Tuesday… unless you work nights. Cleaning person? Street sweeper?”
That probably wouldn’t buy him a vehicle like this. I had no idea, but he was smiling so I kept at it. “Wait, I got it—you’re the guy who changes all the light bulbs in office buildings at night. Or you count ball bearings in the roller skate plant. You’re a taste tester at the frozen fish stick factory.”
He was laughing. “You were closer in the beginning.”
“You sell magazines by phone.”
“I said I was dull, not desperate.”
“Maybe you’d better just tell me.”
“Maybe I should let you make something up,” he said. “At least then I’d sound original.”
I gave him a pleading look.
“Oh, all right. I’m a sales representative for a cell phone company.”
“Well, that’s…um, I mean….”
“It’s OK, you don’t have to say anything nice. I told you it sounds dull, especially to someone in your exciting field.”
“Archeology only sounds exciting. It’s mostly paperwork.”
“My job involves a lot of paperwork, too. But I work independently, set my own hours, and the money’s all right. I’ve paid off my student loan. I studied political science, but there aren’t a lot of jobs in that field. I’d like to get involved with politics, but people won’t take me seriously at my age. So for now I’m just making money. I may go back to college in a year or two, get an MBA.”
“You don’t have to defend your job. It sounds great.” I adjusted the air vent and enjoyed the cool, not to mention the smooth ride over the washboard road. “I sure can’t afford a car like this, with what I do. And none of us really knows what we’ll be doing in five or ten years. There aren’t many jobs in archeology. Maybe I’ll be asking you for work.”
He gave me a long look and a warm smile. “Any time.” He asked about my research and sounded genuinely interested when I explained in detail. Then we talked about movies—the nearest theater was fifty miles away, but one of the trading posts showed movies once a week.
“If you get to explore Utah, stop in Moab,” Sean said. “It’s the shooting location for scenes from Thelma and Louise and the third Indiana Jones movie. A bunch of others, too. It even has the Hollywood Stuntmen’s Hall of Fame.”
I laughed. “What will my friends say if I go to the southwest desert and come back with stories of Hollywood?”
“Right, you’re a big-city girl—you get real entertainment, not the hick stuff we have out here in the boonies.”
I hadn’t meant to be insulting, but before I could explain, the song on the radio stopped, and a man’s voice said, “And now for a special news update. We reported this morning that a small plane was seen flying low across the desert last night. Police say they’ve found no sign of a crash, as was feared.”
Sean reached out as if to change the station, but I caught his arm. “Wait a minute, I saw a small plane yesterday, flying really low. Maybe someone reported it.”
The announcer said, “Rumor has it that the plane may have been smuggling—”
“Which way was it headed?” Sean asked.
“Uh, east—no, northeast, I guess. The plane came toward the canyon and then turned and went alongside it.”
“There’s nothing much out that way. Probably a coincidence, and you saw a private pilot on a cross-country trip.”
“I suppose.” I tried to listen to the newscast while we talked but only caught a few words about investigations of a drug ring. It seemed strange that a drug ring would center here, practically in the middle of nowhere, but the announcer said something about an access point to Denver and Albuquerque. They were hours away, but obviously it wouldn’t be as easy to land a plane secretly near a big city.
“Did you see the call letters on the plane?” Sean asked.
“The what?”
“Planes have to have identifying letters and numbers on the body.”
I closed my eyes and tried to picture the plane. “I don’t remember anything. It was probably too far to see it.”
“Nothing much you can do about it, then, even if it was the same plane.” Sean switched the radio off. “It’s too good a day for bad news. Tell me about life in Boston. Do you have a… significant other?”
I kept my eyes on the road. “No. Not anymore. I mean, not right now.”
“Good.” Sean settled back in his seat and smiled.
I smiled back. So what if my face felt a little stiff? I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do. And I had plenty of time to decide on that.
A few minutes later, Sean said, “That’s the town up ahead.”
I could only see a few bumps on the horizon, but they did turn into a town, or at least a cluster of buildings. The diner sat on the main road with a big sign out front.
“The best place in town to eat,” Sean said. “Okay, the only place. But it is good.”
We went in and found a booth. The decor was nothing special—plastic checkered tablecloths, hard benches, and a few posters on the wall. “No menus,” Sean said. “Just what they have on the board.”
A chalkboard behind the counter listed red chile, green chile, and Indian tacos.
“Quite a selection,” I said. “What’s the difference between the red and green chile? And if you say color, I’ll throw this hot sauce at you.”
Sean grinned. “Green chiles turn red as they ripen. The green is usually hotter. Better stick with red if you’re new to this; it’s enough to burn the lining off your mouth. And chile really is just chile peppers, cooked with some onions and garlic, but no beans or meat unless you ask for it. The Indian tacos are fry bread with chile on top and beans or meat if you want. I recommend them.”
A plump, middle-aged waitress came over. I ordered Indian tacos with red chile. Sean had the same. The food came out five minutes later, and I took a tentative bite.
I made a whimper of pain and breathed out around the scalding food in my mouth. When it finally cooled enough to chew, a different type of burning started.
I swallowed, took a deep drink, and then demanded, “This is the less hot one? Are you playing a trick on me?”
“No, I swear!” Sean was laughing. “The green is even worse. But this is an especially hot year. Can you stand it?”
“I guess so. The flavor’s good, at least what I can taste with my tongue throbbing.”
“Better have a beer.” Sean waved to the waitress. “That helps kill the burn.”
I managed to eat the fry bread once I’d scraped half the chile off of it. After lunch we wandered the town and stopped at t
he general store. I grabbed the opportunity to get some ice for my cooler and a few perishable foods. When we got back in the car, I was surprised to see the clock on the dash reading three o’clock. Good thing I’d gotten a lot done that morning.
“You look serious,” Sean said. “Anything wrong?”
“No. I was just deciding that I might as well blow off the rest of the day now.”
“That’s the spirit! Care for that hike?”
“Sure, why not? I haven’t done the full trail yet. It’s what, four or five miles?”
“I’ll try to keep up,” he said. “I don’t suppose you could carry me back if I don’t make it.”
“I wouldn’t try. But I might report it to the rangers. Eventually.”
Sean laughed. “I’d better stick it out, then. Good thing I have a couple of water bottles in the car. I’ll need to refill them, though.”
“The campground has a pump.” I wanted to avoid the visitors center. Danesh didn’t need to know I was slacking off so much, especially after I refused to hike with him.
We stopped at the campground for water and then started the long walk around the canyon. Sean seemed to know everything about the region. He identified plants and birds, pointed out a snake basking in the sun, and told me about the nearby towns. I began to suspect that he knew plenty about the Ancestral Pueblo People, too. His morning request for a “guide” had obviously been a ruse, which made me smile. I wasn’t used to men jumping so quickly on the chance to get to know me. They must be desperate for women around there.
We paused to catch our breath and take a drink. “You’ve been here your whole life?” I asked.
“Yep. Right here in this very spot.” We looked around at the sagebrush and sand and laughed. “No, really, I was born in Blanding, but I went to college in Denver, and I’ve traveled a bit. Mexico, Guatemala, Belize—great scuba diving there. But this is home. I know it here, really know it, and there’s something comforting about that.”