Pos, the new Burger King on the west side of Kayenta, the enlarged Peabody Coal transfer yard at the foot of Black Mesa, and, along Highway 160 across much of northern Arizona, the two-year job that had kept him busy into July as things with Janelle had heated up, the right-of-way for a planned electric transmission line across the reservation to Phoenix from the Four Corners Power Plant in northwest New Mexico. Chuck’s one-man firm had provided the required archaeological assessment, with digging, screening, and cataloging of unearthed artifacts as necessary, before construction at each site could begin.
They’d stopped along the way for Chuck to meet with Marvin Begay in the lobby of the Tuba City Quality Inn. Marvin was the young tribal official in charge of the transmission-line contract, which included a specific focus on the ancient Anasazi Indians who predated the Navajo in the region by a millennium.
Chuck pulled his camp stove from the back of Janelle’s pearl-gray mini-SUV, fired it up on the metal-mesh picnic table in the center of the campsite, and set water to boiling. He spooned French roast into his drip-filter and poured in the steaming water, sending the heady aroma of fresh coffee straight to his brain. Before he could hand Janelle her filled mug, five-year-old Rosie came barreling out of the fold-out camper set up in the campsite’s gravel drive. The camper’s screen door slammed behind her as she charged barefooted across the site and piled into her mother’s arms.
Janelle scooped her daughter up in a bear hug. “Preciosa mia,” she whispered into Rosie’s ear, as she did each morning.
“Preciosa mia, tambien, Mamá,” Rosie recited back huskily.
Rosie’s throaty rasp, particularly apparent first thing in the morning, channeled her grandfather’s gravelly growl. Everything about Rosie matched Janelle’s father. Rosie was squat and big-boned like her grandfather, and shared his wide face, deep-set eyes, and mischievous smile.
The girl’s chubby heels dug into the small of Janelle’s back. Animal-print flannel pajamas rode up her legs, exposing round calves. Matted brown hair stood out from the back of her head as if starched.
Rosie held on tight when Janelle lowered her to the ground, sliding down her mother’s torso like a firefighter descending a firehouse pole until she came to rest seated in the dirt. Janelle stepped out of Rosie’s circled arms, pulled her to a standing position, and patted her on her dusty backside in the direction of the camper. “Your clothes are on your bed, m’hija. Bring the hair brush when you come back out.”
Rosie turned to Chuck, struck a pose with her hip jutted far out to one side, and gave him a circular wave. “Hey there, stranger,” she said in a pitch-perfect impression of a smoky-voiced starlet from a 1940s Hollywood black-and-white.
Chuck grinned and returned Rosie’s wave as she sashayed back across the campsite and reentered the camper. He turned to Janelle. “I thought you said we had an hour.”
“Coffee.” Janelle held out her hand. “Quick.”
They sat sipping while Rosie bounced around inside the trailer, humming loudly as she got dressed. Chuck leaned back in his camp chair and relished the tang of the coffee at the back of his throat.
The meeting with Marvin Begay the previous afternoon had gone well. Marvin had been named Director of Anthropological Affairs for the Navajo tribe straight out of college three years ago, just weeks after his uncle, Robert Begay, had been tapped as the first-ever Native American chief ranger of Grand Canyon National Park. Chuck and his subcontracted assistant, Clarence, had completed the last of the fieldwork required by the transmission-line contract a month ago, and the final report on their work was due to Marvin in two weeks.
The report would detail the scant evidence of past Anasazi presence Chuck and Clarence had discovered along the transmission-line route. Chuck knew the rudimentary evidence he and Clarence had come across—a handful of potsherds, a few hunting points—wouldn’t please Marvin. The tribal official had dropped several hints over the course of the contract that Chuck would do well to find something of value along the right-of-way to bolster the contention among a subset of young Navajos, Marvin included, that the Anasazi had been more culturally advanced than the current historical record indicated. To Chuck’s relief, Marvin gave voice yesterday in Tuba City only to the same vague hints he’d made over the preceding two years. That enabled Chuck to offer equally vague assurances to Marvin in return and get back on the road with Janelle and the girls in less than an hour.
Chuck blew on his coffee and turned his attention to the day ahead. Everything about the last few days had been aimed at getting here—buying the used camper, outfitting it with gear from his garage, bolting a tow hitch to Janelle’s car, and shopping for daypacks and hiking boots for her and the girls.
“I’m not sure I know how to do this,” he confessed.
“Do what?” Janelle asked.
“Be a tourist here.”
“That’s why we came, Chuck.”
A loud thump issued through the canvas walls of the camper as Rosie leapt from the sleeping platform to the floor.
Chuck smiled ruefully. “Our honeymoon.”
“A few days. Just us. Before school starts. A chance for you to show the girls and me what it is you do out here for months on end, remember?”
Yes, he remembered. And yes, Janelle was right on all counts. This had been her idea, coming to the Grand Canyon, a place she’d never visited despite her whole life spent six hours away in Albuquerque. She’d insisted on camping, too, an entrée of sorts for her and the girls to Chuck’s archaeological world, the epicenter of which was right here at the canyon.
The millions of tourists who visited Grand Canyon National Park each year did so for the incredible views of one of the most awe-inspiring geological wonders on Earth. But Chuck’s fascination with the place was different. Though he bid for contracts all across the high-desert uplift known as the Colorado Plateau, which stretched more than a hundred miles in all directions from the Grand Canyon, he bid hardest and lowest for contracts at the canyon itself—and every time he looked into the canyon’s depths and felt his bones tingle with its long history of humankind, he knew why.
“It’s great to have the chance to show you around,” he said. “It’s just . . .”
“It’s just what?”
Chuck knew what he was supposed to do right now. It was his duty to explain himself, to work through the complexities of what he was thinking with his new wife. But how was he to do that when even the word wife remained foreign to him? How was he to open up to Janelle when he’d had a lifetime of working through things on his own, with no one else’s opinions to consult or concerns to worry about?
“We’ll do the rim today,” he said, sticking to the basics.
“Fine.” Janelle bit off the word.
He plowed ahead. “Grab some food and jump a shuttle out to Hermit’s Rest.”
Another thump sounded from inside the camper, causing the small trailer to rock atop its telescoped legs like a skiff bobbing on the ocean. This time the thump was followed by a high-pitched wail from seven-year-old Carmelita.
“Oops,” Rosie said earnestly from behind the wall of canvas. “Sorry, hermana.”
“Get away from me!” Carmelita screamed.
Janelle
