“So, Erika, why are you here?” Joe asked.
“I’m on a project for the Regional Director. Fact finding mostly. Visiting parks to understand their management issues. Giving him my take on how solid their planning is. Whether we should be approaching things differently.”
“What kind of things?” Joe asked, suspiciously.
“Public engagement. Political pitfalls.”
“Why would he be sticking his fingers into that from Denver?”
Her smile slipped away. “Oh, no, don’t get me wrong. I won’t be suggesting that we get involved in what you’re doing at park-level, where the rubber meets the road.”
“Then what?”
“We want a better handle on what’s happening around the region so we can complement your efforts. Engage the right people, buy you space to operate.”
“What does that mean?” Joe shook his head. “And how does it justify a trip here? For several days?”
“I’m making a sweep of several parks. Believe me, this park isn’t one we’re worried about. Things run well here, but you have to see the contrasts to know what help and intangibles a poorly-run park might need.”
“Well, I can’t give you the time I promised, but Jack’s the right person. Talk to him. He’ll have any information you need.”
Erika re-crossed her legs. “We’ll be fine.” She nodded, giving Jack a glance. “I look forward to learning a thing or two. Like old times, huh Jack?”
Jack refused himself a reaction.
Margie stuck her head in the door. “Phone call. Washington.”
“I have to take this. Jack, tell her what we’ve got going on. Send me that email later.” Joe gestured them toward the door. He picked up the phone. “Good morning.”
They slipped into the hall. Jack stopped at his office door and motioned her inside. She took the seat beside his desk.
She smiled and locked eyes on his. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in uniform. Only a coat and tie, maybe a suit. Looks good.”
He avoided her eyes. “Identity. Tradition. All that stuff.”
“Part of the team.”
“I’m in no mood for small talk. What are your questions?”
“Sometimes I wish I still wore the uniform. I have one, you know. Past job, and I look pretty damned good in it. Most people trust the uniform. I like that.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re not allowed to wear one. Might ruin it for the rest of us.”
Her eyes moved to his left hand and back. “You’re carrying hard feelings, Jack.”
“I think about your boyfriend every day. You, I haven’t given you much thought. Not sure why.”
“Why do you call Clint my boyfriend?”
“You were chummy. Neither of you made my job any easier.”
She crossed her legs. “I was just doing my job. Don’t know about him.”
“When all hell broke loose, I was the one thrown to the wolves.”
“And you think you were the only one?”
“Look at Foss. Didn’t hurt him any. He’s now a superintendent back east, pulling strings with the Director any time he wants.”
“Why do you think things were different for you and me?”
“Because they were.”
“You weren’t the only sacrificial lamb. When you were sent here, I was sent to Denver. I was buried so deep in the regional office that people wondered if I was dead. Put me in an office that felt like a custodian’s closet. They hid me.”
He stared.
“It’s taken a couple of years to prove myself and get back in the game.”
He sighed. “You’re saying . . .”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“I . . . I had no idea.”
“Now you do, so cut me some slack. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s not a time I want to remember. Tell me about this Coalition. Tell me about its work.”
He looked into her eyes, and waited to see if she looked away or flinched. She did neither. Just move on. “Know about the national monument?” he asked. “Know about the Presidential proclamation that created it?” He waited for her nod, and continued. “Part of it managed by us. The rest by BLM. The two agencies work together on a management plan.”
“Yes, I know about that,” she said, sitting erect. “Is the Coalition doing any good, and where are they in their process?”
He flipped past pages in his mind. “They’re getting to the hard work, some difficulties now, but they’re good people, they’ll get through it.”
“Anything I can look at?”
Good question. He pulled out a file drawer, found a red file folder and handed it to her. “Detailed briefing statements.” He started to close the drawer, but left it open.
She scooted closer to the corner of the desk and thumbed through the pages. She stopped, closed the file, and put it on her lap. “I’ll look at this later. So . . . what’s the purpose of this meeting tomorrow?”
“Continue discussion of protection measures. There’ll be discussion of ranching culture, river protection, protection of cultural sites.”
She twisted his way. “Sounds exciting. Can I play?”
Jack studied her eyes. The old Erika. “Obviously I didn’t know your story, or what happened to you. Give me time to absorb that. Play? I don’t think so.”
“May I at least come?”
“Joe wants you to have the full picture, so yes.”
She smiled. “All I can ask is to be on the playground.” She glanced at the door. “You’ve got a visitor.”
Jack spun around in his chair.
In the shadows of the hall stood a man—Thomas, leaning against the wall, his nose still bandaged, another now wrapping his elbow.
“Thomas, come in.”
“I can wait. I don’t want to interrupt,” he said meekly. “Could we talk later today?”
“Yes, but I can also ask Erika to come back later.”
He considered it, then shook his head. “I just want to ask a favor.”
“Shoot.”
He reached into a pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper, slipped a finger into the fold, and flipped it open. “Look at this,” he said, drawing Jack toward him. He turned and shielded the page.
Jack looked closer. A map.
“I want to go here. Think it’s possible?” He waved his finger over a spot on the page.
The cliffs above Sipapu Falls. “What’s there, Thomas?”
“Please don’t be concerned with that,” he whispered.
“You won’t tell me what it’s about, but you ask me how to get there. I don’t get it.”
He handed Jack the paper.
Jack studied the map. The contour lines were so close, nearly a solid strip of black. Vertical cliff. Talus slope below. A few lines spreading out under the rim of the plateau. The alcove from