your assistant. Is that what this is about?”
“Was my assistant. The fieldwork’s finished.”
“What’s the problem then?”
“I told you. No problem.” Which was, to a certain extent, the truth.
Chuck had enjoyed working with Clarence Ortega more than any other subcontractor he’d hired over the years. Twenty-four months on the transmission-line project, the longest contract Chuck had ever worked, and Janelle’s brother had been with him the whole time.
Clarence had been a fresh graduate out of the University of New Mexico School of Anthropology who’d been smart enough to follow up the résumé he’d sent Chuck with a personal phone call. At Chuck’s side, as the two worked their way section by section, month after month, along the transmission-line right-of-way across the Navajo Reservation, Clarence had proven himself to be hard-working, eager to learn, and acceptably, if not entirely, reliable.
As had Chuck in his early twenties, Clarence partied too long and too hard on a number of weeknights over the course of the contract. He’d arrive at the worksite an hour or two late on those occasions, uncharacteristically soft-spoken, clearly hung over, and not worth a dime productivity-wise. Clarence hadn’t racked up enough of those unproductive days for Chuck to make an issue of them. Besides, Chuck enjoyed having Clarence around. The young man was friendly and easygoing. He got along well with Chuck and, notably, with young Navajos across the reservation as well.
Clarence mixed easily with the twenty-something Navajos, many chronically unemployed, who filled the rez towns along the transmission-line route, hanging out in fast-food joints and crowding the impromptu flea markets held several days a week in every reservation community. While working for Chuck, Clarence often spent his weekends just across the border from Arizona in the mid-sized city of Gallup, New Mexico. The primary gathering spot on the rez for young tribal members was a few miles southeast of Window Rock, the Arizona town that served as the official capital of the Navajo Nation.
“My Latino people been mixing it up with Indian folks ‘round here for more than four hundred years,” Clarence said with a laugh when Chuck gave him a hard time about his late-night wanderings. “I’m just keeping the tradition alive.”
Archaeological digs on the reservation often fostered accusations of grave robbery and cultural theft, which made Clarence’s off-hours role as an unofficial goodwill ambassador for Bender Archaeological a significant plus. Clarence’s informal public relations work on the reservation was particularly beneficial given the unusually long timeframe of the transmission-line contract. It made good business sense, then, for Chuck to cut Clarence some slack on the rare occasions the young man’s off-the-clock fun limited his on-the-job performance.
Not until this past spring had Chuck accepted Clarence’s long-tendered offer to swing through Albuquerque and meet his parents, Enrique and Yolanda. Janelle stopped by her parents’ small stucco home in Albuquerque’s South Valley the same evening Chuck showed up for dinner, and Chuck’s life had been on fast-forward ever since.
Carmelita and Rosie looked up at Chuck from the picnic table as he stared out across the campground. No way could he convince Janelle to return to Durango tomorrow morning with the girls’ Uncle Clarence set to arrive here tonight. If Chuck announced that Marvin Begay had moved up the deadline for the final transmission-line report, Janelle would suggest, logically enough, that Chuck work on the report in camp on his laptop while she, the girls, and Clarence explored the South Rim on their own.
Chuck took a deep breath. Any way he looked at it, he was trapped at the canyon for at least another day. The best thing he could do, he supposed, was get used to the idea. He exhaled. Everything would be all right. The woman from Albuquerque had chosen not to point him out to Rachel when she’d had the chance. She would leave in the morning to accompany her boyfriend’s body to Flagstaff. After that, Chuck would be in the clear.
He summoned a smile and slipped behind the girls. “Hear that? Your Uncle Clarence is coming!” He tickled each of them in turn. Rosie shrieked in delight, laying her head back against Chuck’s chest. Even Carmelita managed a giggle as she curled her shoulders away from him.
“We gotta eat,” he said to Janelle, waving her over to the table. “Sunset’s in forty-five minutes.”
They left camp at a brisk walk fifteen minutes later and arrived at crowded Grandeur Point just west of the South Rim Visitor Center as the last of the sun’s rays set fire to the farthest walls of the canyon. The topmost ramparts of Shiva Temple, a wedding-cake-layered butte rising a vertical half-mile from the bottom of the canyon, shone like a Roman candle in the last of the day’s sunlight.
Chuck positioned Janelle and the girls against the overlook railing and used Janelle’s phone to snap pictures with Shiva glowing behind them. Rosie jumped from one foot to another. Carmelita held her mother’s hand and displayed a timid smile.
When an elderly man with a heavy German accent offered to take a picture of the four of them together, Chuck handed him the phone and found it easy to slide behind Janelle and the girls at the railing and grin over the tops of their heads. He accepted the phone back from the German man, draped an arm around Janelle’s shoulders, and looked out over the canyon. Around them, dozens of tourists spoke in reverent tones in all sorts of languages as daylight gave way to dusk. The setting sun splashed the cliffs of the North Rim with orange and red, and shadows smoldered deep in the purpling canyon below the pulsating cliffs, the Colorado River a thin dark curl at the bottom of the gorge.
The four of them headed back to the campground after the last of the sun’s rays left the canyon. Chuck tucked his hand around Janelle’s waist as they ambled alongside one another while the girls skipped ahead. This was everything he had imagined married life could be, though he’d always thought of it with friends and acquaintances in mind, not himself. As he’d told Rachel two years ago, ‘til-death-do-you-part never had been part of what he’d pictured for his future, not after his upbringing, if it could be called that, as a lonely only child with a mostly absent mother and entirely absent father. Yet here he was, barely four months after meeting Janelle, and he couldn’t dream of being any happier than he was at this minute.
Yes, there was still the stuff that was eating at him, to use Janelle’s terminology. And there was her time-limit comment earlier today in the museum. But all that was muted this evening. Maybe the death of the guy he’d punched had something to do with it, the finality of the bulging body bag. Chuck was ashamed to think how eager he’d been to confront the guy on Maricopa Point. But he was through with all that now. No more looking for fights. That version of himself didn’t fit with being a committed husband to Janelle and parent to Carmelita and Rosie. He pulled Janelle close as they walked, happy to find that, for the first time since he’d stood beside her and pronounced a shaky “I do” to the Albuquerque City Hall clerk twenty-some days ago, he had no qualms whatsoever about his life’s recent radical change of course.
When they got back to camp, Janelle phoned Clarence while Chuck picked up the hatchet and called the girls over. He made a show of removing the plastic head cover.
“It’s super sharp,” he warned Carmelita as he handed her the hatchet. This time, she took it from him without hesitation. “Now that the cover’s off, this is the real deal.”
She shot him a pointed look, identical to one of Janelle’s. “I’m good,” she replied. “Seriously.”
Janelle watched while talking on the phone with Clarence, her eyes wide with concern, as Chuck fetched firewood from a box beneath the camper and wadded up pages of newspaper. The girls stayed close to him as darkness closed in around them.
