Seventeen

THE WORLD HAS GONE STILL, poised on the fulcrum of Now. Lindsey takes a deep breath of fir needle resin and listens to the forest hush.

She’s halted at a switchback on the Goat Mountain trail, confronted by the flaring skirts of two giant cedars flanking the trail, making a gateway to the filtered light beyond—a soft green frieze of lacy bleeding-heart, red huckleberry, and backlit vine-maple leaves. She steps through, outstretched fingertips brushing the rough bark on either side. Before her on the steep slope rises another big cedar, this one a hollowed-out husk surviving an old lightning burn. It’s a favorite spot, an intricate sculpture in brown and charred black, scooped and hollowed into a windowed tube and resting impossibly balanced on narrow spikes of intact trunk. Lindsey holds her breath, feeling the slightest breeze might crumble the fragile balance, send the whole thing crashing at her feet. And yet it’s clearly stood this way for decades.

Overhead, a raven chortles.

There’s an answering raven call behind her, full-throated.

Lindsey turns to see Damon stepping through the twin-cedar gateway, face turned up as the hidden raven overhead calls back to him. He smiles and flattens a palm over one of the flaring trunks.

“Wow.” He steps closer behind Lindsey, staring at the hollow burned cedar. “I’d forgotten about that.”

They stand quietly taking it in.

Damon lifts the camera hanging around his neck. “How about a shot of you standing beside it?”

She shakes her head. “Better without me.”

“It needs you at its feet, gives proportion.”

“Oh. All right.” Lindsey moves carefully to avoid crushing the delicate wildflowers. “How about if I crouch down? Less intrusive.”

“Perfect.” He snaps a couple shots, taking his time, and when Lindsey thinks he’s done and she’s relaxed to gaze up at the play of filtered light over cedar bark, he snaps one more. “Nice. If you’ll sign a release, I can use it in one of our hiking features.”

She bites her lip, starts to protest about not being photogenic, then shrugs.

“Look. It’s beautiful.” He gestures her closer, tilts the camera—an expensive-looking digital with a big lens—so she can see the monitor screen. The soft lighting glows over the sinuous lines of the burned sculpturing, casts a warm hue on Lindsey’s uptilted face. He’s caught a very flattering angle on her.

She blinks in surprise. “You’re an artist.”

He brushes her bare shoulder lightly with his fingers. “No. You’re a natural.”

She shivers—from his touch, or just cooling off after the sweaty push up the steep switchbacks? Adjusting her knapsack straps, she moves quickly on up the trail. “Looks like more light breaking through up ahead. We’re almost to the meadow.”

A snowmelt stream gurgles down the slope and across the trail, silencing whatever response Damon might have made behind her. Lindsey can feel the heat in her cheeks, the unspoken vibe between them. He’s been quiet on the trail, after their animated brainstorming session in the car about article ideas, but she can feel his gaze on her back, can’t help noting his appreciative glances at her bare legs and arms when they take a water break.

Damon has surprised her in the forest, the way he’s carried a sort of stillness that meshes with the forest hush. They have a good matching pace and rhythm for hiking, something Lindsey doesn’t find in many companions. She’s grateful he doesn’t feel the need to talk much, can just tilt his head toward something he’s noticed, or catch a movement of hers toward a bird or wildflower. They’ve got a groove going with the trail.

And yet, part of her isn’t fully here, is somewhere else wrestling with the enigma of Newman in her life. She has to remember what she’s learned the hard way: Be watchful for the signs of manipulation. Don’t let herself fall into another Nick scenario of push-pull. Can she ever trust herself to know when a heart connection is true? Trust that core goodness she feels in Newman, past this static of confusion? Do they each need to go off and lick their old wounds a little longer?

Why did he have to pick last night to call? Stir up that wild pitch of arousal one more time, for one more wait-and-see? Just in time to divert her pleasure in Damon’s company, insert his Zender static into this vibe that’s building today, whether it’s flowering into a creative work partnership, a new friendship, the frisson of sexual flirtation or more—and why the hell shouldn’t she enjoy Damon’s appreciation of her female self? Newman’s certainly made his ambivalence clear.

Clearly ambivalent. Now there’s a Zender koan. She can’t help chuckling—better than twisting herself into a pretzel over it all.

She blinks as she steps out of forest shadow into full blazing sunlight, a meadow opening at her feet rampant with crimson fireweed, lavender lupine, and delicate yellow glacier lilies nodding at the edge of a melting snow patch. A stream meanders from under the snow, braiding over the lush, soggy grass—a rainbow carpet shimmering under the incandescent alpine-blue sky.

“Ah!” The intensity of light pierces her heart, breaks it open to gratefulness. Tears sting her eyes.

“Hey.” A soft voice behind her. “You okay?”

She didn’t hear Damon stepping closer on the moist dirt of the trail. She ducks her head, brushes at her eyes, and nods.

He squeezes her shoulder briefly. “Sometimes it’s hard to take, this beauty, eh?” His voice has taken on the slow native cadences, so different from his pace in town. “Almost to the overlook. We can have our lunch there. Take your time.”

He moves around her, up the trail, not pushing her to respond. Again she’s taken by surprise by him. She takes a deep breath, breathing in the shimmering light and color, the pure cleansing air. She smiles, sending out an incoherent Thank you—to what or whom she isn’t sure. Her feet are light on the path as she moves on, higher, deeper, into overarching blue.

Damon’s waiting on the granite knob of the Goat Mountain overlook, shirtless and sprawled out on his back, eyes closed, smiling. Lindsey is smiling, too, as she rounds the last switchback and crosses a lingering snowbank in the alpine meadow. Somehow she’s been released into the joy of the day. She steps forward into a nearly three-sixty panorama of jagged snowy peaks cutting a razor-sharp border into the ultraviolet sky.

“Wow.” She drops her knapsack and stretches.

Vibrant light pulsates over the glaciers and mountain lake almost close enough to touch across the steep valley, a glimpse of the river glittering far below. The intensity of light throbs in her eyes. Shimmers over Damon’s brown skin, a startling contrast of warm, vulnerable flesh against the starkness of black rock, white snow, blue sky.

He opens his eyes, blinks, and sits up. “Man, this is where it’s at.” His white teeth flash as he opens his arms to the view.

Which, for Lindsey, includes his beautiful presence. His long black braid falls over one shoulder, bare torso nearly hairless and smoothly muscular. “Let me take a shot of you, here,” she says.

He looks surprised, then shrugs and hands her the camera sitting beside him. Lindsey moves the knapsacks out of the way, backs up and crouches, sighting into the viewfinder. She angles around, backs up some more, and finds the best spot to catch him sitting crosslegged on the weathered dark rock, its upward thrust launching him into mountains and sky. “Got it! This is the one you should put in that hiking column.”

She sits beside him as he purses his lips, scans the shot, and laughs. “No way! I look like the fucking shaman on the mountaintop.”

“I want a copy, at least.”

“Okay, but you have to promise not to show it around.”

“Why?” She tilts her head and studies him. “Don’t go all fake modest on me. You’d make a terrific scenic trailside attraction.” She waves a hand as he laughs. “But it’s more, right there in that picture. Like you’re rooted here. Why do you want to hide that?”

He shakes his head. “Lindsey, you just put it right out there, don’t you?”

She bites her lip. “It’s just lately. I mean—” She laughs at herself then. “I don’t know, it’s not the way I used to be. But now it… doesn’t seem worth it to dance around things anymore.”

He turns to face her, wincing a bit in the glare of sunlight off stone, and reaches to pull off her shades. He looks into her eyes. “You have the most amazing eyes, Lindsey. The color of growing things.”

He touches her face, leans in to brush his lips over hers. She starts to stiffen, pull back, but then it feels right to see what this is. He returns with a slow, lingering exploration, drawing her out, drawing her in, and it’s suddenly very clear what those earlier sparks were promising. He has a gift of sensual touch, not rushing or pushing, just savoring, and Lindsey joins him in a warm uprush of delight. Along with the deep stirring of arousal.

Finally she pulls away, lightheaded. “Oh.” She lies back on the warm rock, closing her eyes to feel sunlight pouring over her, penetrating.

“Mmm,” he breathes, and lies down on the rock next to her, taking her hand and slowly running his thumb over her open palm. “I knew that was going to be good.”

She chuckles, still lying eyes closed. “I guess I knew it, too. But, Damon, I have to warn you. I’m sort of… a loose cannon these days. Since my divorce.” She squeezes his hand and releases it.

He blows out a slow breath, pulls his arms up to cradle his head. “Yeah. And the boyfriend?” His voice sounds unruffled.

She shakes her head, still with her eyes closed. “Don’t know if I’d call him that, it’s still really new. And pretty confusing. If he wants to pursue it or not.” Somehow it feels perfectly comfortable to be talking this way with Damon.

“I figured it was something like that. But there’s something else going on here. We had to at least get a taste of it. And man, oh man, it would be really sweet with us, Lindsey.”

At that, she sits up, looks over at him. He’s lying there smiling up at her, for a second pure Raven Trickster, and she has to laugh. She puts her face in her hands and shakes it. “Too crazy.”

“Kind of like life, eh?” Then he sits up, reaches over for his knapsack. “Hey, let’s eat!” He winks at her. “Just keep it in mind. You never know.”

She turns to her own knapsack and digs out her lunch bag. “I’ve got some plums from my tree.”

“I’ve got smoked salmon and crackers. What else are you hiding in there?” He reaches over to grab her sack and peer inside, lifting an eyebrow. “Chocolate! I knew it!”

They laugh and lay out their offerings to share.

Lindsey’s worked up a ferocious appetite, and manages to demolish several crackers loaded with tender smoked salmon, along with her own contribution of pita bread and cheese, fruit, and chocolate.

Damon’s lying back on his elbows, watching her. “I like a woman with an appetite.” The flirtatious innuendo is back.

“Mmm. I can’t resist this salmon.” She finishes the last crumb of it. “Should have brought along a little red wine, perfect mountain gourmet eating.”

“Don’t tempt me. I don’t drink anymore.”

She gives him an inquiring look.

He lies back on his braided hands, gazing out toward the mountains.

“Hey, I don’t mean to pry—”

“It’s—”

Their words collide, then he snorts and starts over. “Lindsey, it wasn’t some line when I said there’s something about you. Makes me want to tell you stories. I mean real ones.”

“I’d like to hear,” she says quietly, licking her fingers and then settling back with her head pillowed on her knapsack.

“Mom and Dad—they were drinking pals, really liked to party. When I was little, it was pretty wild. Mom was so beautiful….” Silence for a moment. “I still miss her. Even though sometimes it wasn’t so great. She… alienated people in the tribe. Well, that’s complicated. But, anyway, Dad was driving them back early one morning from one of their binges, hit another car. Killed an old man and lady. And Mom.”

“Oh, no.” Lindsey sits up, looks at him. “That’s really rough.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, but goes on, “Dad did some jail time, then disappeared for a while. I was raised mostly by my abuelita. That’s—”

“Si. Entiendo.”

As he glances over at her, she shrugs. “Peace Corps in Honduras.”

He nods, continues, “Well, that was until I was fourteen, I guess. Then Dad showed up again, married Danielle, wanted me back with him. But before that, during the summers I lived with my Nana on the rez. Nana and Abuelita, they’re both fantastic. Both tough as nails in their own ways. Beautiful.” He sits up then, turns to look at Lindsey. “Man, that’s it! You’ve got to meet Nana, you two would just hit it off. You need to spend some time with the tribe if you’re going to write these pieces about the fishing rights. You could stay with her. She’d love it.”

“That sounds perfect. Thanks.”

“No—thank you.”

“Why?” She raises her eyebrows.

“I don’t know….” He looks at his hands. Opens and closes them. Then glances back at her face. “Yeah, I do know. You remind me of her.”

Lindsey laughs. “Now that’s an interesting development.”

He shakes his head, serious. “I mean it. It’s like you’re a messenger, reminding me it’s time I went home. You’re beautiful in the same way Nana is.”

“I…don’t know what to say. That’s quite a compliment.”

“Lindsey, you must hear it all the time.”

She shakes her head. “Oh, I never had any illusions about being that pretty. And now, at this age….”

“Hey, you’re talking to the gray hair here!” He laughs, tilts his head to display a few silver threads along his dark temples. “That’s why my Abuelita—and Nana—keep on me. I was pretty wild when I was young, along with the drinking, pretty much a radical, too. Always off half-cocked on whatever cause sounded good and angry. So now I’m all respectable— even civic-minded, caramba!—they’re all over me to settle down, make them some grandkids. Especially on the Perrera side. Es la vida, you lived among Latinos, you know all about machismo. Still a bachelor at forty-two, they’d all be calling me mariposa, if it weren’t for….”

“Yes?”

“Okay, I admit I’ve gone through my share of pretty women.”

“Never would have guessed.”

He chuckles. “I finally realized it’s empty just having those… flings.” He blows out a breath. “Anyway, most of the women I’ve met lately, they either have kids already or their biological clocks are ticking away, and they just want a man to plug into the picture as Daddy. I don’t know if I want that. Kids. And like I said, I haven’t exactly had a great record with longterm relationships….”

He glances aside at Lindsey. “You know, I’ve just been assuming you don’t have kids.”

She nods. “My marriage wasn’t…. Well, it didn’t happen.”

“But you want them? I’m not knocking it, you know. I’m just talking about my own confusion here.”

“Damon, how old do you think I am?” Time to get that straight.

“Well, we’re in the same ballpark, right?” He shrugs. “It’s one thing I liked right off about you. I’m tired of younger women. You’ve got depth. And, hey, you’re in way better shape than most people in their twenties.”

Lindsey blows out a breath. “Damon, you’re forty-two? Well, I’m fifty-two.”

He goes still, staring. “No way.”

“Way.” She raises her palms. “Maybe that’s why I remind you of your Nana.”

“No.” He grasps her wrist, gives it a little shake. “That is no way. But hey, this is really interesting. I like it.” He studies her. “You are one damn sexy woman, Lindsey.” He grins. “This is coming from an expert.”

She laughs. “You just want to explore new territory.”

He shrugs. “Why not? We’d be good together, Lindsey. I can feel it.”

She spreads her hands. “Damon, obviously I find you attractive. I like you. But I’d rather be friends, colleagues, not get all messy with some kind of affair that might sour things. And I need to find out what it’s about with my friend Newman.”

“Newman? The maybe-boyfriend?” He shrugs. “Hey, I’m cool with sharing.”

She laughs. “You are impossible!”

“No, just flexible.” He picks up her hand, runs his thumb over her palm again. “Let me show you. You’ll like it.” He gives her hand a little tug toward him.

She shakes her head, suddenly uneasy, hunching away from him.

“Hey. Sorry.” He backs off, holds up his palms. “Truce? I like to tease a little too much.”

Lindsey takes a deep breath. “It’s not you. Sometimes I still….” She pokes a finger into the lichen along a crack in the granite beneath her. “Sometimes I get flashbacks to the times with Nick, when he’d push me around….” She adds hastily, “Not that you were being like him at all.”

“Nick? That’s your ex?”

She nods. “You might know him, he works for Green Life. Nick Papetti.”

“Papetti? That jerk?” Damon sits up straight.

“I guess you know him.”

“Hey, Lindsey, you don’t need to say anything else. I’m sorry.” He reaches over to gently squeeze her shoulder.

She shrugs. “A lot of people like him.”

“Not me. I mean, he gets things done, but I don’t like the way he insists on confrontation. Sets it up. He’s a real manipulator.” He runs a hand over his head, smoothing back his hair. “Yeah, sometimes pushing is what you need to get things moving. But not always. I like what you were saying about finding common ground, in your essay. It’s where the new environmental activism is moving. Looking for the win-win instead of war. So that’s where I think we want to head with these pieces about the Kwamish. There’s already enough head-butting going on.”

She turns to him, eager. “I was hoping that was your take on it. You know, after I read your notes, I called a friend of mine in Seattle. Ayako does communications-facilitation consulting. She’s done some work with regional tribes, and there’s an interesting model she uses for getting fruitful discussions going. Sort of sidestepping the usual authoritarian models where conflicts get triggered. She calls it ‘circularity.’”

“That’s it!” His face lights up. “Linear doesn’t work too well with us Indians. You got to circle around. Circle up.” He traces one with his finger on the rock. “I’ve got a feeling about this—there’s a lot that’s ready to come out into the light. Not just for this region, or even this country. Maybe shed some light on some wrong turns we went down a hundred years ago. More.”

Then he raises his palms. “Yeah, pretty grandiose, Perrera. Never had too big a problem with that false modesty stuff you were talking about. But really, Lindsey, if you’re into this, it could unfold into some in-depth essays, maybe even turn into a book. We could do a collaboration. Who knows?”

Lindsey blinks, startled. “You know, why not? Ayako was talking about the experiences she’s had with different groups, how this model of communication really gets to the heart of issues, generates all kinds of ideas. Somehow frees people up to talk about the nuts and bolts. Ways the imbalance of power, from family on up to government, can be shifted.” She presses her hand flat on the warm granite, over the place where he’d traced the invisible circle. “You could say it hits home with me, in more ways than one.”

He nods. “We’re on the same wavelength. Let’s go for it!” He purses his lips. “I think I can get my Whiplash investors to front a little cash on this. Some of them like to… seed liberal notions, see what comes up. Best if you go first, spend some time on the rez without me. I’ve got too much history there. It’d just be inflammatory.”

She frowns. “You think they’ll take me into their confidence without an inside connection?”

“That’s why you’re going to stay with Nana!” He beams.

“Hmm.” She tilts her head, studies him. “This is about a lot more for you than writing those pieces, isn’t it?”

He takes a deep breath. Looks out at the mountains again. Lindsey lets the hush settle around them.

Finally Damon nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly.