“Yup,” Ammalie said several times in unison with each step. “Yup, it’s true. It’s all true. My privilege and limitations are fucking enormous. But still, I think people need to live more dangerous lives. Dangerous in terms of trying to do real good. Let me do this, even if it’s just for me. Even if it’s selfish. Because doing something is better than doing nothing. Let me leave water where it might actually be useful.”
By the eighth outing, she was making much shorter trips, but that was fine. She’d done her best. The sun was three-fourths its way across the sky, now tilting toward land, and the snow became crunchy instead of mushy. Her jeans and shoes were soaked and coated in mud. Her shoulders hurt. Her nose had started to bleed again, from dryness or exertion or both. Her left hip and knee hurt. She promised herself that she’d stop if she needed to, and simply leave the rest of the supplies at the car. By the ninth trip, which was very short, she was crying, from exhaustion and physical pain, but also just from empathy. From knowing one small part of what it must feel like to walk so far, to be so tired, worn, desperate. She was so sad. So very bone-deep sad for all those who had done this journey, and, somewhere around the world, were doing it for real at that very moment.
She thought of Powell and Apricot, who had gathered for Thanksgiving. Oddly, her sister had agreed, and without much fuss had flown to Chicago and spent a few days in Ammalie’s house and cooked a meal for Powell. When she’d texted the idea, with a Just have some aunt-nephew time, please do this for me, Apricot had simply responded with, Okay, are you alive and okay and what exactly are you doing again?
She thought of Mari, who would be with her own big family, with or without Maximo, she didn’t know. She thought of Levi, who she assumed would be having a meal with his extended family. She thought of Kat in Colorado, and Dan and Lulu winding their way home across the American West. She thought of Rex and his MS and how hard it must be to carry the weight of that disease. She thought of Rita and her beautiful coral lipstick and smile and her dead son. My god, life was not for the faint of heart.
She hiked on through wet-smelling sage, came across the vertebrae of a deer, and a paw of a rabbit, and bushwhacked through some willows. Here she left her final offering, took a photo of the plastic tub with Paz in black marker on the top, then, crying, took the pottery shards from her pocket and set them gingerly on the ground. She looked up at the sky. “Vincent! Come look! I want you to see.” She knelt above them for a moment, sifting some snow on top of them. “This is right,” she said. “Happy birthday tomorrow. I miss you. I wish this wasn’t so. I wish you were alive. I wish your soul well; I wish you peace.”
She touched the pottery shards one last time, pressed them gently into the earth, and used those same fingertips to wipe the tears from her eyes. Then she stood, dusted her hands off, and walked.
—
As she stopped to unlock the Grey Goose, she was startled to see headlights in the early twilight and the glint of a car against the snow-mottled landscape. It was not yet dark, but clouds had made it dark enough to see the orbs of the headlights bobbing up and down on the rutted road. They looked like two flashlights on a roller coaster, beaming this way and that. The Sea Creature swam straight up and lodged in her throat.
Maybe it was Kit’s sister! Maybe it was Kit! But when she put the binos up to her eyes, she could see it was some sort of civilian-style Jeep Cherokee—and oh, god, yes, it was black with a gold streak and some lettering. Fuck, fuck, ducky fuck, a phrase from her teen years, flew into her mind. She moaned as she eased herself into her car and sat. She would just slowly drive away. Say that she was exploring, gone for a hike. That was pretty true. And the biggest charge against her was that she had been trespassing, cutting a fence, littering. She wasn’t even sure who owned this land that bordered Texas Sky Man’s property—was it BLM land, or private land, or state land? Who knew. But surely what she’d done was no huge deal. Whatever fine there was—well, that was fine. A fine fine she heard herself thinking, to which she responded, Shut the hell up and think! Maybe he’d run her plate and realize it was stolen, so she jumped out and took it off and threw it under her seat. If asked, she’d tell them it’d just gone missing. Stolen. That was plausible, wasn’t it? She could also play the Vincent card—that he’d come here as a Dark Sky appreciator, he was dead, she wanted to do a ceremony to say goodbye and return some pottery shards to the area. And that had the benefit of being all true.
Or, maybe, she could just sit here until the deputy left—maybe he hadn’t seen the glint of her car? She glanced in the backseat. She didn’t have Fluffiest Red with her, but she did have her Survival Bucket and space blanket and enough water. But then Rita would worry; she’d probably call the police and reporting a missing woman. And there was no way to text her she was fine.
She didn’t want to look suspicious, but she raised the binos to her face again, briefly. The deputy was now walking toward Dart as if he was just looking around, not casing or stalking the place, though his hand was on his hip on what she presumed was a gun. It’s okay, Kit’s not there, this guy will find nothing.
But that was not true.
Her binos had just caught movement, someone running low to the ground from the back of Dart over to the rock outcrop. She gasped.
Kit was there.
Oh no no no.
What if Kit had seen her leave food? What if she had drawn him to this trouble? Had her water-drop efforts brought the law? Thereby ending Kit’s freedom? By doing one good deed, had she caused a catastrophe?
She whimpered and watched Kit move until he stopped and turned toward her, and then he did exactly what she had just predicted he’d do. Once in the rock outcrop, hidden from the deputy but visible to her, he waved his arms at her in big X’s, and, once sure he had her attention, he then flung one arm, pointing down the road, as if he was traffic-controlling her to leave. To get the law to leave.
“Noooooo,” she heard herself whispering. She wanted to avoid whatever this would bring. But of course, she had to. She had to get the deputy out of there. She had to help a friend.
She turned the ignition. Drove down the rutted dirt road toward Dart, putting on her best smile.
—
The officer was young and slender and had a handlebar mustache—good god, was she stuck in some sort of Hollywood Western?—and he walked to his car and stood watching her approach, hand at his belt. She had to distract him. Get him out of there. The Sea Creature clogged her windpipe but she stopped and rolled down the windows. “Hey,” she said. “You okay here?”
He blinked at her.
“I was out on a hike,” she said cheerfully. “Driving home now. Have a nice evening!” When he said nothing, she shrugged, and started to accelerate when he put up his hand.
“Stop.”
She pressed the brake, tried to look nonchalant. She could see he was taking in her car, both the outside and inside. She resisted the urge to talk; better, in this situation, to stay silent.
“I’d like to see some identification, please.”
She opened and closed her mouth and had the vague sensation she must look like a fish. “I’m Ammalie,” she said, fumbling for her wallet. “Out for a hike. My husband once came here. Dark Sky appreciator. He died. Of a stroke. I brought him water. But he died. I came to…tell him goodbye. It’s a long story.”
He was standing, looking from her driver’s license to her face, but at the mention of Vincent’s death, a softer look indeed came across his face. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and sounded like he meant it.
A moment of nausea was followed by a brilliant idea that unfolded in her mind. “My car, wow, my car…” She took a deep breath. “My car isn’t well. It actually got broken into in Colorado, at a place called Kenosha Pass, you can look it up, they took my plates, that’s why I don’t have any on right now, and anyway, what my point is, is, that my car is making a clanky sound! Creaky. Maybe you heard it? I don’t suppose you would mind following me out? When you leave? Make sure I make it to the highway, at least? I’m staying at Cave Valley Cabins, which kind of confuses me, because is it a cave or a valley?”
His stance relaxed. “Rita and Rex’s place?”
She smiled. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Valleys have caves in them,” he said, somewhat annoyed. “And I heard your car as you approached.”
She snorted, trying for playful. “Yeah. Very sick. On top of the creak, I’m worried about low oil. Don’t want the engine to blow.”
“So you know John?” he said, nodding at Dart.
Her mind whirred. “John the Dark Sky man from Texas! That’s what I call him.”
A small smile crossed his lips. “Well, John asked me to come check on the place. Somebody saw some activity.”
“Oh?” She kept her voice calm. “If you see any tracks, they’re mine. I’m sorry, but I got curious. I just peeked inside. From the outside, I mean! I didn’t go in! I just, you know, looked in the little window on the door. He said it was okay. John did. Like, I hope I’m not trespassing or something…I just wanted to tell my husband goodbye. It’s a long and complicated story…”
He glanced at the setting sun, then back at her. “Looks quiet enough to me. And there ain’t much to take, or reason to be here. This is as remote as it gets.” He scratched his jaw. “I’m having a day. That storm and all. How about this? How about I drive you back to Rex and Rita’s and you get Bob over at Bob’s Gas and Tow to come tow this tomorrow? Because it doesn’t sound good at all, and yeah, you don’t want to burn your engine up.”
The smile that she gave him was genuine, because her delight was real. While she didn’t look forward to being in the company of the law, another idea had bloomed in her brain. A colorful one. “What a generous thing to offer. Sincerely! If you don’t mind giving me just a minute? I’ll hurry, won’t keep you waiting. I know it’s getting late. I just need one minute to think on what I need from inside my car here.”
But even as she spoke, she was moving fast, sliding the car key off her key ring. She left it in the ignition, jotted a quick note on the back of a crumpled dirty envelope. take the grey goose, love her well, she is yours. various plates under seat. mail there too, so you can find me if you want. undercarriage is going, she won’t last long. She paused. It was against her code of ethics to give out other people’s information, but she also had to trust her instinct. in case of emergency, contact woman with my same first name, last name your stated mission, near the exit. she will be ally. also, thank you for the kiss.
Kat Wilder from Salida.
Then she placed a few bills—she wished she had more, but she was out—on the floorboard, grabbed her backpack, and smiled as she walked toward the man.
As they drove past the rock outcrop, she pointed with enthusiasm in the opposite direction. “Wow! Wowza wow wow, look at that sky, that moon!” Just as she’d hoped, he glanced over, looking at the hanging globe, and as they passed the rocks, she felt her heart leaning toward Kit, who was surely hiding behind them.
When she was delivered back to Cave Valley Cabins—truly, she was grateful—she shuffled off to bed and curled up in a ball, and in that position ate a sandwich she’d prepared and fell asleep before she’d finished it and without bothering to wipe the exhausted and happy tears from her eyes.
—
When Bob the Tow Truck Driver called to say no car was at John’s property, she feigned surprise. What?! My god! Where could the car have gone! I left the key in it for you, but who would steal a car from there?
When Hugh the Deputy called so as to file a missing car report, she went along. Sure it was clunky, but I sure loved that car!
When Rita expressed outrage and confusion, she got closer to a truth: Truly, it was time to donate it to NPR anyway.
When Rex raised an eyebrow, she shrugged and got to her knees to give wiggling Lady the biggest hug of her life. Then she stood and said, “You’ll take good care of her? She’s helped me through a tough time,” and waited for him to nod and say, “Of course, Ammalie. You have my word. And my word for silence too. I don’t know what you’re up to, but it’s likely something I’d support.”
When an email arrived from an unknown email address, she read it three times. Contact made, all safe. She wrote back: I knew Kit Kat bars would be good.
