What's Worth Keeping

by Kaya McLaren

  The young woman at the counter called her name, jolting Amy out of her spiral downward into unhealthy thoughts. She rose, thanked the woman, took her bag, and pressed on.

  In just over an hour, she was beyond Grand Junction and a little west, entering Colorado National Monument. Driving up the narrow mesa on the windy road, she found herself suddenly a world away from the civilization on the valley bottom. Her eyes widened and her heart fluttered with excitement as each bend in the road offered her new and better views of enormous red rock cliffs below. Something about that red rock struck her as wildly exotic. More and more effort was required to stay on the narrow road as views became more expansive.

  When she stepped out of her car at the visitor center, she was aware of a dull ache where her most recent surgery had been, undoubtedly irritated from the core muscles she had used driving such a windy road. Still, it was worth it. The beauty in every direction filled her and inspired her.

  As she walked through the visitor center, she stamped her little book and bought more postcards, then walked on out to the back deck, where a ranger was telling a little girl about the leading causes of death in bighorn sheep—slipping, dental problems, and being killed by a cougar. Across a fork of the narrow canyon in front of her, she saw three bighorn sheep perched precariously on a cliff. They did not appear to be thinking of these three possibilities, although they might have been. Instead, they appeared to simply be finding the next place to take a step, and then the next, as they walked forward.

  And later, when she crawled into her new, improved bed, she knew she hadn’t made a mistake at all. If beauty itself couldn’t heal her faster than she would have healed, it surely would distract her while she healed at her own otherwise intolerably slow pace.

  Carly

  Four hours hadn’t seemed like very long to drive the chuck wagon, but every single second of it had been like being in a centrifuge, where all of the molecules in her body were separated according to atomic weight. The ride jostled and shook her that much. Ahead of her, the six women from Florida who were their guests for the week chatted merrily with each other and with Great-Aunt Rae, who rode in the front. They were all having a great time.

  It wasn’t a completely hopeless situation. Great-Aunt Rae had tied T. Rex to the back of the wagon to follow along so that when time allowed, Carly would have a horse to ride. Frank and Drake hadn’t been trained under saddle. Just knowing T. Rex was there with her made Carly a little happier—even if she never had time to ride.

  After they arrived at the spot where Great-Aunt Rae always camped with her groups, Carly helped unhitch Frank and Drake and lead them and T. Rex to the stream to drink, while the guests dismounted, stretched, and led their own horses there. Great-Aunt Rae showed Carly how to set up a canvas wall tent after they tied the horses, then left her to set up the three other tents and put two cots inside each one. As Great-Aunt Rae set off on horseback with the six women and Violet the dog, Carly was envious. Images of Cinderella came to mind. Had she really been so bad that she deserved this? She didn’t think so. Rolling out the canvas of the next tent, she remembered that Cinderella had not been paid, and Carly would be—even if it was only two hundred dollars a week. She struggled with posts, the ropes, and the stakes but eventually erected tent number two. Unlike the crisp, tight tent Great-Aunt Rae had set up, Carly’s tent sagged. Trying to pull this rope tighter and then that one, she saw some improvement, but still, a line of wrinkles cut through the middle of the roof. Surely Great-Aunt Rae could tweak it when she returned. Repeating the process again, she set up the third tent and then the fourth, but just as she was carrying a cot from the chuck wagon to the tent, a stiff breeze blew and the third tent collapsed. Any sense of satisfaction she’d had with her progress fell along with it, leaving her feeling once again like she couldn’t do anything right. The guests would come back, see their tents on the ground, and know that Carly’s secondhand cowgirl clothes were nothing but a make-believe costume, nothing more than Cinderella’s ball gown. She imagined how stupid she was going to feel.

  For a moment, she turned her back to it and took some deep breaths, undecided about whether she was collecting herself or preparing to leave. That was the upside to failure. If she failed, she might be allowed to return home to Oklahoma City.

  But as soon as she thought it, the feeling of failure hit her in the belly. This failure would be different from ones at school, because she could leave behind school and everyone in it. It would be different from her perceived failure at home too. After all, at some point she would either redeem herself with her parents or not, but regardless, she was going to have to leave them behind too. That was nature. That was expected. But with Great-Aunt Rae and the horses, it was different. There was nothing kicking her out of here. There was no expectation of high levels of academic achievement, expectations that if met would lead to even higher expectations. No, there was just wind and a few trees, and horses. And if today was any indication, there wasn’t going to be anyone standing over her judging her all day long—no teachers, no parents, not even friends. The truth was that she did not want to return home, where each night she had to figure out where she could sleep if she wanted to avoid her own bed in a house that held all the joy of a mausoleum. Sleeping at friends’ houses came with the pressure to bring the party, or at least act normal or fine, which she wasn’t. She was actually freer here. She knew where she was going to sleep even if it was a cot in a tent, and she didn’t have to work to stay socially relevant. Here, she had the freedom to simply be neutral. With her next breath, she breathed in all the wide-open spaces around her. She walked over to T. Rex, touched her nose to his, and reached up and petted his enormous, sweet face. Yes, she definitely preferred him to human friends. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around his big neck and shoulders, and he rested his head on her back. It had been so long since she had been hugged like that—slow and indefinite, quiet and still. It was such a relief—just such a relief to be hugged, that a couple of tears slipped out of her eyes and down her face. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that she very much wanted to stay.

  Resolved, she erected the third tent again, lugged two cots over to each one, and set them up. Then, back at the chuck wagon, she looked at the list Great-Aunt Rae had left for her and began accomplishing those tasks. She set up a long folding table, put a red-checked tablecloth on it, secured it with clips, put two decks of cards on the table in case guests wanted to play while they waited for dinner, and unfolded eight camp chairs. After that, she filled two five-gallon buckets with water from the stream and carried them to the firepit, then began some of the prep cooking until everyone returned.

  Great-Aunt Rae took over then, and Carly simply followed her lead, and though she didn’t say so, Carly appreciated that Great-Aunt Rae was happy—not happy the way Carly’s friends were happy when some boy or another liked them, not temporary like that, but solidly happy … not superficially happy, but deep-down happy. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t euphoria happy. It was contentment happy. Carly made no effort to join her in happiness, but she observed it and appreciated it nonetheless, even if she didn’t laugh or smile the way Great-Aunt Rae did.

  And later, after a dinner of steak and potatoes with a side of peas and carrots, Carly watched Great-Aunt Rae and the guests as she washed all the dishes. She listened to them tell funny stories, watching their eyes smile even in the rare moments their mouths didn’t. They felt light—light in a way Carly hadn’t felt in months, if ever … light in the way a person could feel only when she didn’t fear that she wasn’t good enough and destined to die early.

  Before bed, as Carly brushed her teeth and spit toothpaste into some bushes, Great-Aunt Rae handed her a small package of earplugs. “Sorry,” she said, “I snore.” As Great-Aunt Rae brushed her teeth next to Carly, Carly wondered whether this summer might be punishment after all.

  * * *

  After the centrifugal experience of the wagon, it seemed funny to Carly tha
t crawling into a sleeping bag on a cot would be the most uncomfortable part of her day, but it was. It was here that she was most in unfamiliar territory … most vulnerable, perhaps.

  She remembered T. Rex’s fur under her hands as she took long, deep breaths and began to relax. Just as she was on the brink of sleep, Great-Aunt Rae’s snoring began. Carly squeezed the foam earplugs and put them in her ears, but finding both the pressure of them in her ear canal and the sound of white noise unpleasant, she took them out.

  In the distance to the west, a coyote howled. It was the first one she had ever heard that wasn’t on the TV or in a movie. She rolled over to look down and see what Violet’s reaction was. The dog had taken note of it but wasn’t alarmed, so Carly figured everything must be okay. Just then a group of coyotes answered from the east. Shortly after that, another song came from the west, but this time there was more than one voice. For the next hour, at least, the two groups of coyotes called and answered each other, moving closer and closer to the middle ground, which Carly suspected more and more was in fact her tent.

  “Great-Aunt Rae,” she whispered. “Great-Aunt Rae.” Great-Aunt Rae did not even stir. If it was possible for a dog to have an expression, Violet’s would have been that any attempt to wake the old woman was pointless. Instead, Carly patted the sliver of space next to her, inviting the dog up, and to her surprise, Violet accepted.

  When the two groups of coyotes converged, the middle ground was not exactly her tent but a site not too far away. Calls became happy yips.

  Her thoughts turned back to an unsupervised night at Kaylee’s house when, after drinking some vodka they’d found in a cabinet, it seemed like a good idea for Kaylee to drive her parents’ remaining car while Carly held a waterski rope that was attached to the rear bumper and skateboard behind it through the neighborhood. She’d felt wild then.

  But here in this tent, where there really was no escaping her fear and discomfort, she suddenly knew the difference between being wild and being reckless. One took courage. One took vodka. Being wild wasn’t the complete absence of self-control. It was actually quite the opposite. It had something to do with acute awareness, knowing the best way to respond and having the self-control to respond in no other way than that. Being reckless was easier. And more fun. For just a second, she fantasized about jumping on T. Rex’s back and galloping all the way back to Great-Aunt Rae’s house.

  * * *

  When the twilight before sunrise finally came, birds began singing loudly. Had there not been guests, Carly would have yelled at them to go back to sleep until the sun was up. Instead, she put on her clothes, emerged from the tent, and found Great-Aunt Rae in a camp chair facing the east, drinking coffee and waiting for the sun to crest the mountains. Violet sat next to her, nudging Great-Aunt Rae’s free hand with her nose, wanting to be petted.

  Carly wandered off to answer nature’s call, returned and brushed her teeth, and sat with Great-Aunt Rae for a moment of stillness before work.

  “How did you sleep?” Great-Aunt Rae asked her.

  Carly hesitated for a moment the way someone did when they didn’t sleep well but didn’t want to say so. “Fine, thank you.” Then she added, “Did you hear the coyotes?”

  “Eh, I sleep through them now.”

  “There was a group that came from over there,” she said, pointing, “and a group from over there. They seemed to come together over there.”

  Great-Aunt Rae nodded. “That happens sometimes.” Then she added, “Were you scared?”

  Carly didn’t know why it was such an uncomfortable thing to admit. She considered a few answers and then simply said, “No.”

  Great-Aunt Rae could see she was lying. “If you’re not a goat or a sheep … or a dog,” she said, opening her hand to pet Violet’s head, “or a cat, or some kind of rodent, you don’t have to worry about them. There’s been no documented cases of coyotes attacking people.”

  “Maybe the coyotes ate the evidence,” Carly said with a laugh.

  Great-Aunt Rae smiled as her expression said, Hey, that could be. Then she changed the subject. “Well, eggs this morning. Let’s get cracking! Pun intended!”

  Carly winced at her bad humor, then smiled despite herself.

  “If we can get all the guests fed and the dishes done quickly, you can join us on our ride this morning. Some days, we’ll be riding too many hours and will need to leave you behind, but I like to start the guests off gradually, so today will be shorter than the others. Let’s see whether we can make that happen for you.”

  With a little smile, Carly said, “Thanks,” and in that moment saw a look of confidence wash over her great-aunt’s face—confidence in her, as if she had a feeling that whatever tailspin Carly had been in, she could still pull herself out of it.

  Paul

  Now that Amy was well, there was no reason to continue to work night shifts, but Paul had to wait a few more months for another day shift to open up. Another officer would be retiring soon, and then Paul could return to his old schedule. This morning, Paul was initially grateful to have a little more time to rest from the long drive the day before. Later, not long after his shift started, though, he missed the slightly quieter day shift. Evenings, it seemed, were when a lot of unfortunate things happened.

  After word from dispatch, Paul and his partner, Mark, sped to the house that neighbors had reported for a possible active domestic abuse situation, arriving before the other team of officers. They paused for just a moment to listen to the sound of a woman shrieking, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” followed by a heavy thud before knocking on the door of the otherwise rather ordinary house. Silence followed and then a child crying.

  Paul knocked again, shouting, “Police!” and hoping that the residents would make this easier by opening the door before he and Mark had to force their way in.

  The knob turned and a man cracked the door just enough to reveal himself. He said nothing, as if he had been read his Miranda rights before.

  “Open the door wider,” said Mark.

  The suspect opened the door all the way. A woman sat on the couch, blood dripping from her nose. “I fell,” the woman said. Beside her sat a child, not quite two, Paul guessed. She bore a striking resemblance to his own daughter at that age. Sensing the tension in the room, she buried her face behind her mother’s bruised arm.

  “Put your hands behind your head,” said Paul to the suspect. The suspect complied, and Paul cuffed him while reciting his rights, starting with, “You have the right to remain silent,” which the suspect chose.

  Mark stepped in to get the woman’s statement for the report, but she stood and walked toward the doorway to watch her husband or boyfriend be taken away. “He didn’t do anything. I fell,” she said simply. With the threat now gone, the crying child ran to her and she picked up the little girl.

  Just as Paul and the suspect reached the car, the suspect turned forcefully, spit in Paul’s face, and then headbutted him hard enough that Paul saw stars, but not so hard that it knocked him out. Disoriented and unsure about whether he was going to remain conscious, he feared what would happen to him and everyone else if he didn’t get the suspect secured into the back of the patrol car. Because of this, he forced the suspect into the car quickly and without the usual care. In the process, the suspect’s head hit the roof of the car hard as he went in and he shouted the f-word. Paul shut the door and put a hand on his own head where he had been struck, and with the other hand, he reached in his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the spit off his face.

  Just then, backup arrived, and Paul let them assist Mark and interview any neighbors for statements.

  Since he knew he had taken a good hit to the head, Paul asked Mark to drive back to the station and book the suspect.

  Paul was finishing his report on the computer and icing his head in the cubicle reserved for this purpose when Captain Lopez walked in. “Mrs. Miller, the woman from the domestic abuse call you just responded to, is saying that you said, ‘Take t
hat!’ as you slammed her husband’s head into the doorjamb of the car.”

  “You know me better than that,” said Paul.

  “Yeah,” Captain Lopez said, nodding. “I do. Any witnesses? Mark was inside. Juan and Vince hadn’t arrived yet. Mr. Miller isn’t cooperating. Did you happen to notice any neighbors watching?”

  Paul shook his head. “I was seeing stars.”

  “I have to put you on administrative leave while we do an investigation. The team will call you in—maybe more than once—and when they do, you need to show up in a timely manner, so stick around. I’m sorry, Paul.”

  Paul nodded, then stood to leave, unsure of whether he really should drive himself home. No good deed goes unpunished, said his father’s bitter voice in his head. He was annoyed but not terribly concerned. The truth usually had a way of coming to light. So, he would have about a week of mostly paid vacation, and then he’d be found to have done nothing wrong and return to work. It might not be such a terrible thing.

  Amy

  There were so many choices. Too many choices. Amy looked west over the red rock rim of the butte near where she had camped. She was only a couple of hours at the most from Arches National Park, which she very much wanted to explore. She did. But mostly she just wanted to go home. Not the home in Oklahoma City where she had lived for most of her life. No, the home where her soul dwelled—the kindest forest. Her endurance was low and she knew it. She knew it was likely going to take all of her energy just to get to Mt. Rainier by way of Yellowstone. There was a spot there in Yellowstone that had been magic for her during the one summer they spent there. By the time she came back through this region of the Southwest, she would feel stronger and her abdomen wouldn’t hurt so much. There would be time to come back. That was the thing. There was time now. She didn’t know exactly how much. People’s cancer came back sometimes. And sometimes people got an entirely new cancer. That could happen. That and a thousand other possibilities could happen. But they probably wouldn’t, she told herself. It was just that “probably” had lost its meaning after being the exception to all the probable outcomes during each step in her diagnosis. A person’s concept of probable was what kept their somewhat irrational fears in check. Without it, all she could do was resolve to act like a sane person even if she didn’t feel like one. With that, she walked a short nature trail near the visitor center before getting back in the car and heading north.