Ammalie saw Kat squinting at the slice on Lady’s head, taking it in, drawing her conclusions, and her brain swung into the easiest lie. “I rescued her from a shelter recently. Obviously, someone was…”

“Jesus!”

“I know.”

“That’s horrible.” Kat bent down to the dog to examine the cut more closely, and she glanced up at Ammalie with a fierce look in her eye.

“I know, I know. I’ll love on her forever. To make up for the bad.”

Kat nodded approval. “Some people are real shits. The older I get, the more I want to do my part to…I don’t know. It’s not that I want to do them wrong. It’s not in my power for one thing, ha. I guess I just want to help the good guys.” She ran her hands across the dog, exactly as Ammalie had done. Her fingers found the round wounds on the dog’s butt, and she sighed. “She seems otherwise okay.”

“That’s what I thought. You’re a vet?”

“No, but I’m a rancher.” Kat stood up, stretching her back. “Look, speaking of doing kindnesses, maybe you could not mention my early arrival? Or no, that’s a terrible thing to ask! He’s your neighbor.”

Ammalie made a gesture at her mouth of turning a key and then throwing it away. Meanwhile, she really looked at Kat, who indeed looked like she wasn’t feeling well for reasons other than sneaking into a place a day early. “Let’s sit outside; it’s warm. We could do a few turns of Scrabble on the picnic table before it gets too dark. I don’t have time for a full game, but first one to fifty points?”

Kat let out a bark of laughter. “I’d love to.”

What the fuck are you doing? Don’t tell her any personal details, keep it to the weather, she said to herself on her way back in. What kind of crazy are you, Ammalie?

But it was not crazy. It was a delight. Over Scrabble and tea, with golden aspens quivering, she heard the story of a childhood in Hawaii and Colorado ranches and wild horses and mustangs, which Kat had spent years trying to protect. Kat spoke of her home in Salida, and seeing mustangs in captivity in the prison program in Canyon City. “Mustangs and men, captured but not tamed, I like to say. It’s quite a thing. There’s a lot of pretty innocent dudes there, and it strikes me as unfair, and I’m a little tired of so-called justice in this country. I myself have lived a wild life, and when I got clean, I had to adjust to a different kind of living. Just like those horses and men, though some of them don’t deserve to have to, you know? I’m hoping to find a band to belong to.”

“That sounds lovely. And necessary.”

When Kat asked, “Do you have a special someone?” Ammalie shook her head no. “Just a guy I have a crush on, but that’s just something that will live in my brain.”

Kat nodded as if she understood. “Me either, not at the moment. I miss…hands. Someone touching me. But a partner comes with strings. And I want the strings less than the hands, ha! I have my own strings to untangle first.”

Ammalie snorted. “That sounds smart.”

“You wanna know what I’ve been comparing my emotions to? A tumble of necklaces and earrings that get all bunched together in your jewelry drawer. I need to sort them out, and lay them side by side, so I can see the beauty of the individual pieces again.”

“I like that.”

“I don’t believe in God.” Kat looked up at her. “I believe in grace, or in clear moments, in moments that glitter, like a jewel.”

Ammalie felt a wash of gratefulness for a woman who said real things, who saved mustangs, who saved herself. So she responded in truth: “That’s what I am doing, I guess. I need bits of jewels too, and my old life could no longer satisfy.” Ammalie glanced up and saw that the sun was now below the tree line. “I need to go. I’m sorry, but I do.” She handed Kat one of the bracelets she’d made, which were in her jacket pocket, with a few humble apologies about its rudimentary style.

“It’s beautiful,” Kat said, holding the bracelet in her palm. “It will remind me to sort my jewelry, so to speak.”

When the two women hugged tightly, it felt like two souls connecting for one moment, which was one pure treasure.

—

When she pulled out of the driveway, Ammalie sang a string of joyous cusswords to Lady, who sat in the seat beside her, taking it all in with a panting smile. The curses were a release of nervousness, an acknowledgment of the weirdness of some future time when the homeowner might have a strange exchange about a mysterious person who stayed for Scrabble, the one who had scraggly graying hair, or the moment he found the stacked wood or a necklace or a note about a missing puzzle piece.

Oddly, she wasn’t scared. There was no camera at the house. Kat had never seen her car, since she was inside unpacking when Ammalie pulled out of the driveway. Humans were capable of not noticing, or not caring, or explaining things away in their mind, both small stuff and big.

People were truly capable of zoning out. Which is exactly what she’d done these last years, of course. There was plenty she’d not noticed, surely.

Still, it was stunning how easy it was to get away with this.

And if anyone stopped and questioned her, well, now she could just say she was exploring, driving along and looking for public land access for camping. An older man drove by in a black minivan and tipped his hand up from the steering wheel—a local rancher, she assumed, in an odd choice for a vehicle. She lifted her fingers from the wheel at the same time she saw him squint at Lady and tilt his head. She pressed on the gas and drove faster, glancing in her rearview mirror, but the minivan had gone on. For one thing, it was a narrow, snowy road, no good places for a turnaround, but for another, he was likely on his own way, somewhere, in his own life.

Real food. That was her first stop, and so she drove to a coffee shop in a cluster of buildings alongside the highway and ordered a coffee and lasagna to go, not wanting to leave Lady in the car alone for long.

Communication. That was next. Her phone revealed a text from her sister, and she decided not to respond, which was normal—she and Apricot often went weeks without check-ins, even since the diagnosis. Nothing from Powell, and she felt a surge of bitterness or anger or sorrow, she wasn’t sure what, rise and bloom in her chest. After the funeral, Powell had checked out, which is the opposite of what she had hoped and tried for. Since her repeated texts and calls clearly only irritated him, then made him blow up big-time, she’d been trying for silence.

Mari, however, had left many texts.

All well? What tense are your daydreams?

Hey, I’m at Avogadro’s! Which is reopened now after the fire! Burt recognized me, says hello, says a customer has been asking about you. Wondered if he can give out your number?

Hey, a guy named Levi is here at Avogadro’s. Handsome Black middle-age guy. He wants to know where you are. Can I tell him? Please advise.

Oooooohhh…Is he that regular you liked so much? How come you never told me he was Black? Not that it matters, but maybe it does? Just because, well, our neighborhood. Our lives. Not the stuff of our youth. Not what we dreamed of. I’m the only POC around & so get to deal with all the dumb Day of the Dead questions! America is so weird. I won’t give out number till you give me the ok. How’s the dog?

Now that you mention it, my daydreams are about a younger me. That is sad.

Ammalie sat in the car, engine running for warmth, and closed her eyes. So that she could feel what she was feeling. Because it was a burst of warmth. Of magic. She felt the Sea Creature surge up happy in her chest. Levi. Levi was looking for her!

Such a simple small thing, such a dumb thing, but it filled her with some youthful excitement, expanded her whole chest. She hadn’t felt this in so long! She had the vague echo of a memory of this sort of feeling, and she touched her chest and laughed.

She texted back: Safe and sound but leaving for a new place. Yes, Levi was the nice regular. He looks like Denzel Washington. Handsome, don’t you think? Do you think it’s weird I only ever dated white men? Well, I hardly dated. Then I got married. So maybe I didn’t have the chance. Always had a crush on Levi and maybe him on me, but I think I just dreamed that because I wanted it to be real. But there was…fondness. But honestly (I can admit this only to you), I was always intimidated by him—he’s too cool, and I’m too, well, uncool. As you know. Tell him I’m on a spiritual journey of sorts. Or on vacation. I’m not ready. Get his number and tell him I’ll reach out. I’m secretly happy to hear he asked about me. Even though he was just a customer. But still. It’s nice. I want him to be happy.

Immediately Mari responded, Call me, but when Ammalie tried, the call dropped twice, and so she responded, Sorry, can’t, will when I have a signal, at a small café in the middle of nowhere, but larger towns coming up.

Mari wrote back, You always compare men to actors. Is there any man who does not look like an actor? Are you lonely?

As a reply, Ammalie attached a photo of snowy mountains lit by alpenglow. I have plenty of company, including myself. Vincent only looked like Vincent. You look like Rita Moreno. You are a good friend. Xoxoxox

Then she texted a vague Hope you’re well, love you to her sister and son.

There was a call about extending her car warranty and one from a vague friend from childhood, checking in, having just heard about Vincent’s death. There were some emails from friends, both close and peripheral, but nothing required a response. She sipped at her coffee and stared at her phone. It used to be so important—the dings kept her addicted and grounded—but now she felt no great need for it at all. Before she left, she texted Mari one more time: Hitting the road again. With the dog. Will call soon, I promise. I’m happier than I’ve been in some time. Thank you. It’s working, this plan of mine.

CHAPTER 7

The next morning, after splurging for a room in an old mom-and-pop hotel on the side of a road, she drove south toward Taos, a historic town she’d always wanted to see. She chomped on an apple with her driving hand, finger-combed her hair with her other, and sang ’80s songs as loudly as she could. Randomly, when she had service, she asked her phone, “Where does the Rio Grande rift start?” Taking the time to do this was something explorers would do. To simply allow the space for curiosity. Deep canyons had to start somewhere, after all, and she knew the Rio Grande Gorge started with a rift, but where did that rift begin?

Somehow, seeing the beginning of a tectonic chasm felt important—perhaps it would give her insight into her own shifting, her own fault line. Google Maps led her across a flat landscape dusted with snow that ended in a desolate dirt parking area with an expansive view of the Rio Grande winding its way across flatland. The area had one old car parked in it, which felt like a beacon. She pulled up next to it, got out with Lady, bundled up, and started walking alongside the slow-moving river, which was beautifully caught in the in-between stages of freezing over, a dark stream of running water in the middle, ice on both edges.

And there it was: Up ahead, the land started to sink. Or, rather, small red cliffs started to rise up alongside the river. It depended how you wanted to look at it, either the land sinking or the cliffs rising, but either way, this was the very beginning of what would become one of the world’s most famous and deep canyons downstream.

“Empyreal,” she said, and it was. She picked her way along the ice and rocks with Lady trotting nearby, and then they both stopped suddenly. The large tracks of a cat—mountain lion? bobcat?—gave her pause. Her heart thrummed and her ears went on alert and her eyes scanned the cliffs, now as deep as she was tall, but all she saw were mud swallow nests clinging to rock.

She considered turning back, but she had Lady, and also she could see three figures in the distance, and the presence of other people made her feel at ease. As they neared, she nodded a hello, as did they, and they were about to pass one another when she cleared her throat. “Hey, do you know what that is?” She pointed across the river to several tall columns made of stacked stones.