The TV blasts in the den, Pop out cold in the recliner. Soon he’ll hear the morning news program, its opening theme always jolting him like an alarm clock. I’m already dressed for the day, needing a long walk. I just have to find my warmer gloves.
“You headed somewhere?” my father asks in a ragged voice that hasn’t yet coughed up the morning phlegm.
“I thought I’d hike up to the rims,” I say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“If you can keep up,” I say.
I’m trying to pretend last night didn’t happen so today doesn’t have to feel so serious. I wait for him to change out of his pajamas.
“Trying to find a clean shirt,” he calls from behind a half-closed door. “Give me a couple more minutes.”
When we’re both bundled up, we head into the crisp morning.
“This cold sure wakes you up,” he says, adjusting his cap so it covers more of his ears. His words come out as white clouds.
We pass Doris at her window. Pop waves, but she is busy dipping her brush into the next color. I open my mouth to say something about Robert and realize that I had only wanted to say his name.
“Well, that’s worth getting up early for,” Pop says as a small herd of mule deer run across Main Street and into the open space below the rims.
“Maybe we’ll see them again when we get to the top,” I say.
Our carefree talk becomes a long silence. I notice our breath, the crunch of frozen stubble beneath our boots, specks of sunlight dancing along the hill we’re about to climb.
“I didn’t mean to upset you last night,” Pop says, breathing harder.
“It’s okay,” I say.
It’s easier making peace with our eyes facing the rimrocks rather than each other.
“Forgive me for what feels like prying about your mystery man,” he says. “It’s just that I’d love to know what he’s like.”
I don’t mean to answer but can’t help myself.
“I don’t know,” I say. “He has a funny little smile that turns up on only one side of his mouth. He’s interested in my thoughts. And he likes to spend his afternoons out in nature when he can.”
I stop there. If I say more, I may give away some detail that identifies Robert.
“And he has a good job?” Pop asks.
He seems to be worried that my mystery man might be unemployed. For now, that’s a level of disapproval I can live with. Also, I never thought to ask what kind of work Robert does.
“Now you’re prying,” I say.
“Well, I’m glad you have someone,” he says and pulls me close.
My father is not a natural hugger. No one in his family hugged when he was growing up. He and his parents and siblings shook hands when they greeted, but even that looked uncomfortable.
He learned this skill for me, the way he learned to put my hair in clips and check under my bed for monsters. Every time he places an arm around me or gently tugs at my ponytail, I know he is reaching beyond all he’s been taught, beyond all levels of comfort.
His arm drops back down to his side as we walk past rusted corrals and a sagging barn. There is only one road up to the rims but soon we cut our own path, closer to the giant letter P, our footsteps swishing through tufts of grass and stunted yucca plants with their thorny leaves. We breathe harder, making the last push to the flat top of the butte.
The wind is a low hum in my ear as we walk across the powdery earth, stepping over slabs of brittle sandstone, animal tracks and droppings. This land still takes my breath away, the sound of birds waking, the far-off mooing, the grass swaying, nothing ever truly still.
At the crumbling edge of the rims, we look out over the town and the broken rock below. I watch the movement of men and trucks and cattle.
“You think we’ll get a big storm this year?” I ask, kicking at a coyote track.
“I think it’s a good thing we got all our canning done this summer,” he says. “Did you get it all labeled?”
“And alphabetized.”
He palms the top of my head. It feels like he’s saying, Thank you, and also, Oh dear, what did I do wrong that made you this way?
In the distance, children leave the hotel in hats and gloves and scarves, walking quietly with good posture, hands to themselves unless they’re in charge of younger children. Minnow scuffles behind them in a too-small coat, all legs.
“We should do this more often,” Pop says. “Spend time like this.”
“I’m always happy to hike up here,” I say.
“Maybe we could catch a basketball game together,” he says, looking right at Minnow. “Next home game. Does that sound good?”
I don’t want to ruin this attempt he’s making to smooth things over. I want to say yes to something.
“If I’m free,” I say.
“Your schedule should be pretty light now that everything’s sorted out with the Goldens.”
I put my hands deep into my pockets and push till the fabric strains.
“Pop,” I say. “I didn’t give him those original papers.”
“But you told me you had,” he says.
“I dropped off blank paperwork, same as I would for anyone else. Robert doesn’t even know the others exist.”
“Well, this is a real mess.”
“I couldn’t make sense of giving him paperwork you filled out,” I say. “He’s next of kin.”
“Mary, there are a lot of people expecting to be involved in Doris’s service.”
“I know.”
“Her old singing group’s been preparing hymns,” he says. “They’re going to be very upset.”
“They might,” I say.
“What if someone’s already prepared a speech?”
“Pop, you put those plans together when there was no next of kin. Now there’s next of kin.”
“You don’t understand, Mary. This is the kind of thing that makes people choose a different place to do their business.”
“Pop.”
“If we hurry,” he says, “we can make this right.”
“His mother’s dying,” I say, reaching out to a nearby juniper shrub to pluck a seed. “People might be mad, but you always tell me that planning a funeral helps a person to grieve and let go.”
“Show him the plans I came up with,” he says. “I can’t think he wouldn’t like them. I’ve organized singers, a speaker, casket bearers. This saves him a lot of work. He probably doesn’t even know these people who’ve been so important in Doris’s life.”
I split the juniper seed open with my thumbnail to release its piney scent.
“I’m comfortable with my decision, Pop.”
“Mary, I don’t want to fight.”
“Then let it go,” I say. “You made plans and they aren’t needed anymore.”
We stare over the rims at the town, back to where we started. Children continue on to school, some hurrying to get there before the late bell. A group of boys playfully pushes and shouts as they cross into the schoolyard.
“Do you hear that?” Pop asks.
“It’s just some boys horsing around before school.”
“No. Down the highway,” he says.
Now I hear it, too. A radio, maybe? We see a number of our neighbors come out of their homes and businesses, their heads also turned toward the highway. Soon I see Pete’s white Ford way in the distance, heading toward Petroleum, lights flashing. On TV shows, sirens are common, but not here.
“What’s going on, do you think?” I ask, but Pop only shakes his head.
The siren moves closer, and we hurry down the hill, taking long side steps.