Page 46 of Anywhere with You
“Now what?” Cara asked.
“Would you take him back if he asked?”
She was shaking her head before my sentence was finished. “I think they both showed us who they are. I don’t think we can pretend, anymore, not to know.”
We sat in silence for a long time, staring out at the unearthly beauty of the canyon. It should’ve felt wrong to have such a sad conversation in the midst of such a wonder, but instead, I stared at the layers of stone, the millennia underneath us, and it gave me a feeling of rightness I couldn’t explain.
That was the hard part, not having the words. If I’d known what to say, I could’ve shared my thoughts with Cara, and it was strange to think that Iwantedto share them with her badly.
After an hour, we weren’t ready to abandon our private view of the canyon. Cara grabbed snacks, lamenting that she was already out of popcorn, and I brought out my guitar, listening for the echo of my chords below.
I’d been working on putting some of Mary Oliver’s poems to music, not to break a whole lot of copyright laws, but just for me.
After a while, the sound of tires crunching gravel interrupted my strumming.
“Ladies! Ladies, excuse me. This is a restricted area.”
Cara and I turned to find a small white man in a brown uniform emerging from the truck and bustling toward us. We looked at each other, then immediately looked around for a sign.
“I apologize,” Cara sputtered. “We were following the GPS and didn’t see—”
“Two pretty girls like you? You gotta use your brain and not those damned computers, don’t ya? Never know where you’ll end up.” He spoke to her breasts and adjusted his belt. I’d seen power-mad police officers do the same thing, but this asshat didn’t have a gun or a badge, just ill-fitting clothes and a sadistic tilt to his grin. “Never seen anyoneon this road who wasn’t a park ranger or a troublemaker. Or an axe murderer, but just the one. Now, you girls—”
I was done with this conversation. If I wanted to be ogled and talked down to by gross old white men, I’d go into politics. I turned toward the car, but I knew I wouldn’t be taking a step away from Cara unless she was following. “Come on, we’ll go ahead to the next public area.”
“That’s forty miles back the way you came,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “All the way back to thepostedlookout points. ’Round here, there’s no rails, no guards. Anything at all could happen to a couple of pretty things like you. I could tell you some stories. I’ve been a park ranger twenty-five years, and—”
I could tell him some stories, too, and many of them started with a friendly seeming stranger commenting on all the things that could happen to a couple of pretty things like us.
He took a step toward us. It seemed absent-minded, just shuffling his feet, but the alarm bells that had been tinkling started clanging.
“What about the other way?” Cara was asking, gesturing to the road ahead.
He frowned at her, then at her boobs. “Dead end. You gonna tell me you didn’t see that sign either? Need glasses? Or maybe you need someone to show ya.”
Cara seemed like she was about to apologize again, so I reached for her and turned her toward the car, gripping hard enough that she seemed to get my message. I had my guitar in one hand, but I didn’t take my other hand off her shoulder until she was safely in the driver’s seat.
He was still talking at us when we got in and started the engine.
I was trembling slightly as we drove away. It was strange. He’d been only vaguely threatening, but I lived in one of the largest cities in the country. I kept my own business open late. I didn’t live in the nicest part of town. I was a woman. I was accustomed to dealing with vaguely threatening.
Maybe he’d just surprised me, showing up the way he did. Maybe his tone had been enough to signal to my brain that we might be in a dangerous situation. Maybe his gawking at Cara’s chest made me want to run him over. It was hard to say.
Soon enough, I’d put him out of my mind, and half an hour later, we found the sign and the place where the lane split off from the main tourist road. I suppose I had just kept driving in the direction of the canyon, never noticing the two-foot wooden pole with the rustedRestricted Areasign the size of a dessert plate.
We stopped and took a selfie with it.
Chapter Nineteen
Cara and I made our way back to an approved viewing platform in time for sunset. The orange and red hues of the rock walls could’ve been fire—they were so vibrant. People crowded around us, holding up phones and cameras, speaking a variety of languages.
I couldn’t help but pause my admiration of the view for a moment to appreciate how awesome it was that people all over the world were amazed by this natural wonder, too, a wonder that was relatively close to home, for me.
“I kind of wish that we’d planned to stay another day, maybe hike down at the bottom,” Cara said, standing on tiptoe to peer over the railing next to a toddler trying to do the same.
“You said we’re not on a bell schedule,” I said. “We can, if you want.”
A sudden cool wind hit us, and she took a step closer to me. The sun seemed to sink a little faster.
