“We’re intending to use boulder pinches for anchors,” Brigit says.
I smile inwardly, knowing she’s testing me.
“Then I’d suggest you go for sixteen-millimetre tubular webbing.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because it’s stronger — better for making the knot chock anchors you’ll probably set.”
She nods, like she’s warming up to me. Soon we’re discussing anchors, webbing, static ropes, and belay devices. But between the words, we’re jousting like fencers to determine one another’s rank and knowledge level. By my calculation, it’s a draw.
Finally, she hauls her load of webbing and rappel rings to the counter. Absent-minded Uncle Ted doesn’t appear right away from the backroom.
“Have you been canyoneering long?” she asks.
“Most of my life.” It’s what Dad and I did together, along with tracking, but she doesn’t need to know that. “And you?”
“Most of my life,” she echoes with a bemused smile. “Just moved here two months ago from Lillooet.”
An hour away. “And you work for Swallow Canyon Expeditions.” I nod at the logo on her T-shirt, the sight of which makes my chest tighten.
“Yup. Ever done Swallow Canyon?”
That question again. “The Upper Canyon a thousand times.” Well, a hundred, anyway. I lift my chin.
“And the Lower Canyon?”
My chin sinks. I saw the second question coming, but my body goes stiff, anyway.
A smile creeps onto her lips at my reaction, unless I’m imagining it.
“Of course not. You?” I say.
“Once.”
As if! “And you came back alive.”
“I did.” Suddenly, Brigit leans across the counter, her eyes glowing. “I’ll take you into the Lower Canyon sometime if you like.”
My stomach knots up, and I draw back and stare at her. My first impulse is to spin around and leave her with Uncle Ted, who seems to have forgotten we’re even here. But I’m shocked at the part of me that is tempted to accept. Not because I’m suicidal or anything. Maybe just because it has been so long since I’ve been in any part of Swallow Canyon, or for that matter, had anyone invite me to do anything more than fetch groceries and medicine. Or maybe this Brigit person has some kind of power over people. The way she ordered the firefighters around. The way she just made my uncle feel bad for running a canyoneering and climbing store and not being an expert.
The way she seems to sense my need to escape and have an adventure.
No way. I’ve got to stick close to Mom.
“Saw your brother’s tree-climbing stunt yesterday at school,” I say to counter her bizarre offer.
She smiles like there has been no abrupt change of topic. “You were there? I suppose most of the school saw it. Dean has a knack for climbing trees. He got in big trouble for it, like he seemed to be asking for — from school and me. He’ll grow out of it soon, I hope.”
My father’s chair squeaks as Uncle Ted rises and cruises up to the counter. “Sorry, I didn’t know you two were waiting for me. Wow, Brigit, you’ve managed to find quite a few things. I take it Tristan here was useful? Excellent. I’ll ring them in. It’s a pleasure doing business with Swallow Canyon Expeditions.”
“Thanks,” she says and looks at me. “Can you help me carry all this to my truck?”
“Of course he will,” Uncle Ted tells the best customer he has had in weeks, drowning out my “Yes.”
As she unlocks the blue Chevy pickup parked outside, she says, “So, no charge if you want to join the trip I’m guiding Sunday. Could use an experienced hand along.”
“To the Lower Canyon?” I ask incredulously.
She laughs lightly. “No, the Upper Canyon, of course.”
“Sorry, I’d never get permission for that.” My face goes warm for having admitted it. Elspeth is with Mom while I’m at school, but I’m the weekend caretaker. No way can I leave my mom alone an entire day. Who would cook, clean, and listen for when she calls out? Besides, I don’t quite get Dean’s older sister. Why would she offer a complete stranger a free day trip? Maybe because she has heard about my family? (In small towns, gossip travels fast, even if I’ve been too out of the loop to hear anything about her.) If that’s it and she feels sorry for me, I’m out of here. I don’t need anyone’s help.
She lifts the pile of canyoneering gear from my arms and tosses it into the back of the pickup.
“You wouldn’t get permission? You haven’t even asked!”
Then, without a “nice to meet you” or “thanks for the help,” she climbs in, slams the driver’s door shut, fires up the engine, and drives away. Her ancient mountain bike rattles from where it’s tied up in the back.
I’m left standing there, coughing up road dust and scratching my head. A part of me would do anything to canyoneer again — to reclaim the sport I love and miss. Even if it does trigger thoughts that can cut me up like a chainsaw: flashbacks of happy trips with Dad that fight with the crippling memory of the day two grim-faced police officers showed up at our door, and blew up the entire planet.
But anyway, I’m not going to find my way back to the canyoneering world anytime soon. Mom needs me, and she’s so fragile. Just the word “canyon” would trigger her.
Of course, I’d never try to explain to her that canyoneering was a special connection Dad and I had. Which is why, despite the tragedy, it’s a link to my father that I’ll never stop craving.
CHAPTER 4
When I shuffle into the barn at daybreak, my tracker instincts jerk to attention. Something’s wrong: the way the hens are cackling and dashing about the hen house.
I stride over to the hens and count. All five are alive and well, even if a little unhinged. Digging into the straw, I collect their eggs. One, two, three.
Two hens haven’t laid. Something’s up, for sure. Has a racoon or mink been circling around outside, making them nervous? Well, it didn’t get in or they wouldn’t all be here. Anyway, it’s a mystery that’ll have to wait.
I let the hens out and head back to the house. Placing the eggs on the kitchen counter, I grab a bun to stuff in my mouth and head out the door. Within minutes I’ve got rabbit tracks in my sights.
Following them, I pause to sniff the spring shoots, listen intensely, and scan the horizon. Left, right, down. Not far into the woods, my superior Spidey sense tells me again that something’s not right. The crickets, birds, and soft crackles in the underbrush have stilled, but only immediately around the tree under which I’ve paused. I scan again: left, right, down. Wait! It’s up I’m always forgetting. I raise my head, but a second too late. A blur of beige leaps down from a branch and lands lightly in front of me.
I shake my head at the boy in the beige T-shirt. “Yo, Dean. Why are you trying to scare me, you little jerk?”
Dean can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. “Just having some fun.”
“Well, guess what? Not funny. And don’t you know there are lions, tigers, and bears around here just waiting to eat you up?”
“Yeah? Then why are you here?”
“I’m tracking — following tracks. I’d know if there was a wild animal nearby.”