Page 9 of Capture the Moment

Tim Rivers leaned against his truck, squinting up at the cloudless sky as he listened to the chatter over the radio. On such a beautiful day like this one, tourists were starting to fill the park after a long, cold winter. Tim loved seeing their enthusiasm, but he also knew it meant summer was coming, and that meant traffic congestion, parking problems, overcrowded facilities, lost or injured hikers, and potentially dangerous wildlife encounters.

He heard his name crackle over the radio and reached inside the open jeep window to unclip the microphone. “Rivers, here.”

“Where are you?”

He smiled. Sally was looking for him. He wondered why she didn’t just text him. “I’m over by Jenny Lake Lodge, directing people to parking spots.”

“There’s a family in the visitor center who said you caused their children to cry.”

“What?” Oh, now he remembered. “They wanted to go wading in the Snake River but—”

“The parents said their kids had their heart set on it and you told them they might drown.”

“Yes, I did.” Because those two little girls didn’t know how to swim. And because the river level was supposed to rise all day as the Jackson Dam released water. Keeping people safe was a top priority for Tim. “Sally—”

Sally, clearly, wasn’t interested in an explanation. “Rivers, you know better. A ranger’s job is not to parent other people’s children.”

Tim looked at the microphone in his hand. Was she serious? And why “Rivers”? What happened to “Tim”?

“Find Coop and tell him to get over to Moose-Wilson Road to manage a bear jam.”

Another crackling voice interrupted them. “This is Coop. I’m at Moose-Wilson Road. Bear jam is covered.”

Good grief. Was everyone on the radio right now? Had they all heard Sally scold Tim?

“Which bear?” Sally said.

“793,” Coop said.

“That bear,” Sally said, “likes to hang near people. Cooper, do you have it covered or do you need help?”

“We’re here too,” another voice chimed in.

“Who’s we?” Sally said.

“Shepard and Teale.”

“All good,” Coop said. “The bear is moving beyond the tree line.”

“Fine,” Sally barked. “Over and out.”

Slowly, Tim clipped the microphone back onto the jeep’s radio system. Sally’s sharp tone stung.

Ever since she had returned from the Chief Ranger conference, held at nearby Yellowstone, something had changed between them, and Tim couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Up until then, things had been going so well. In fact, this winter hadbeen a significant turning point in their relationship. They’d even talked a bit about a future together.

He shook off Sally’s brusqueness and focused on the task at hand. Cars had pulled over and people were standing along the road, watching a herd of elk, their cameras clicking away. Tim could see the elk had become aware of their audience. A few males were lifting their heads, which meant, to him, that people were too close for his comfort. When a wild animal was feeding peacefully, Tim wanted them to be left alone, not interfered with. He hurried over to the visitors, flashing his ranger badge, and politely asked them to give the animals some space. Most complied, but a few grumbled, muttering about their rights to get the perfect shot.

As the day wore on, Tim dealt with one wildlife-tourist conflict after another. A family had a close encounter with a moose because they ignored warning signs, and a group of hikers ventured off-trail, disturbing nesting birds. Another couple had brought their grandmother’s remains to scatter, without a permit, without any idea of where or how to release ashes. They were just about to shake out the container into the Snake River—where wildlife fed and watered—when Tim stopped them. He escorted them straight to the Jenny Lake Visitor Center and into a ranger-on-duty’s capable hands to fully instruct them about the dispersal process.

In between radio calls and park patrols, Tim couldn’t shake off that radio call with Sally. Had he done or said something to offend her? Had he forgotten a birthday? An anniversary? It seemed a little soon in their relationship for celebrating anniversaries, but what did he know about romance? His late wife, Mary, wasn’t the romantic type. She’d always said she’d rather have a year of being treated with kindness than a day of expensive gifts. So that’s what he did—showed her kindness every day.

Mary was easier for Tim to understand than Sally. It might’ve had something to do with the faith they had in common. Sally had faith, he knew she did, but she wasn’t a churchgoer. She said that she’d had too much church as a child, that it was crammed down her throat. Tim didn’t push the issue. He attended a church in Jackson each Sunday morning, but alone.

He didn’t pressure Sally to attend church because of his experience with his stepdaughter, Thea. The harder he pushed for her to find a church, the more she shut down on the topic. On everything. When had he last heard from her? He couldn’t remember. He’d never quite decided if silence from Thea was a good thing or not. Did it mean she was managing life well, with steady employment? Or it could mean that she was struggling, financially and personally, and felt too much shame to call him for help.

Thankfully, faith came easily for Maisie, Thea’s daughter. Tim had always had a special connection with his step-granddaughter. He didn’t even consider her a step. She was his. Unlike Thea, whom he’d first met when she was a boy-crazy thirteen-year-old, he’d known Maisie from her first day of life. How old was Maisie on her last birthday? Just ten or eleven, he was pretty sure.

But then a troubling thought occurred to him. Maybe they got along so well because she was still a little girl.

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