“Cassie—open the door.”
A pounding sound echoing through the darkness makes me jump and makes Ti dig his hind claws into my leg. Recognizing Dad’s voice, I stumble to the door and release the dead bolt I set earlier.
“Why did you lock up?” Dad asks, turning on the light. His hair and clothes are coated with dust. Circles of sweat stain the underarms of his shirt. “And why are you sitting in the dark?” He looks around the Winnebago at the closed blinds.
“I heard something—a noise back there.” I point to the back wall.
He frowns. “What did it sound like?”
“Uh, metal, I think . . . yeah, definitely metal.”
“More than likely it was raccoons. They come down from the canyons, scavenging for scraps. Need to make sure the lid on the trash barrel is down tight.”
“Oh, raccoons.” My shoulders slump in relief, then stiffen again. “But see, I didn’t put anything in the trash. And Ti heard it first. He was acting spooky.”
“Spooky?”
“Yeah, staring at me, not blinking.”
“He’s not staring at you, Cassie—he’s blind.”
“But see, then he started slinking around—close to things. And then I heard that metal sound again. That’s when I locked the door and closed the blinds.”
“Sounds like he did hear something.” Dad blinks slowly. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’ll take a look around.”
I hobble from window to window, opening blinds so I can follow the beam from Dad’s flashlight. Lighting boulders. The ground. Piercing the blackness. The canyon walls have closed in, making things disappear. I lose sight of him as he walks in front of the Winnebago; then I hear a sound. Something tinny, like metal. A few minutes later, he comes back inside.
“Nothing to worry about. As I said, probably raccoons.” He’s carrying a manila envelope.
“Where’d that come from? What is it?”
“Paperwork.” He carries it to his bedroom and locks it in a desk drawer. He glances toward the kitchen when he returns. “Thought you’d have supper going.”
“Supper? I have to cook, too?”
“House rules. I’m an early riser, so I fix breakfast. You have plenty of time after you get in from hiking, so you fix supper.” He glances toward my messy bed. “You can’t be that tired.”
“But hiking’s hard. I got blisters—big ones.”
“Show me.”
“They popped already.” I turn my feet so he can look at the heels.
“Sit down at the table.” He retrieves a first-aid kit from the bathroom. After cleaning the blistered places, he covers them with gel lubricant and Band-Aids. Pulling a clean pair of socks from the drawer under the bed, he hands them to me. “So, did you have fun today?”
“Oh, yeah, hiking with blisters is a blast, Dad.” I pull the socks on carefully.
He frowns. “Can’t believe Winnie let you do that. She’s a seasoned trekker. Why would she let you hike with your feet in that condition?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging.
“I’ll have a talk with her tomorrow.”
“Wait . . . see, I didn’t exactly tell her.”
He cocks his head, staring at me.
“She thinks I’m a sissy,” I blurt, “because I’m afraid of horned lizards.”
“She said that?” The furrow between his eyes deepens.
“Not exactly.” I tell him about Ranger Burns’s reaction to my question. “I felt really . . .”
“. . . dumb?” He grins. “I felt that way when I started in construction.”
“You’re supposed to pick them up behind their horns, did you know that?” I demonstrate, holding my fingers like tweezers.
“Since I was five,” he says. “Hiking will get better. And you don’t start until next week, so your feet will be healed by then.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, “except I’m supposed to hike my trails this week.”
“Which ones?”
“Sunflower, Rojo Grande, the Juniper Trail along the river and the Paseo del Rio. We did that one today. They’re all two miles long, round-trip. Me and Bobby Ray are partners. We have to build up our stamina before we’re given longer trails.”
“Shouldn’t take long,” he says, returning the first-aid kit to the bathroom.
“Oh, and Héctor’s going with us. Because I’m scared of everything, Ranger Burns thinks I’ll make sure he won’t get hurt.”
Dad laughs at that. “Can’t fault her logic. Just let the others know you have to hold off a couple of days. They won’t mind.”
“The others? I’m not going with the others. I thought we’d hike the trails together. Just you and me.”
“Give them a chance, Cassie,” he says, sighing. “They’re good kids. The fact that they’re volunteering to be trail guides should prove it.”
“Yeah, but . . .” A part of me is glad I got the shorter, easier trails, but another part of me resents it. “I’m not as good as them, and . . .” I drop my chin, staring at the floor. “They laugh at me.”
“I see. Well, there’s only one way to get better.” He glances at the training materials on the kitchen table. “Looks like you’ll have plenty to do in the meantime.”
“I guess. . . .”
“You and Bobby Ray can catch up later this week,” he says. “And Héctor can stay here with you while X does his trails. You can help him with his reading. He got pretty bored today.”
Cooking and babysitting?
“Let me clean up, then we’ll get supper going,” he says. “And I’ll tell you about my phone call to Becky—Rebecca.” He glances away, staring at the darkness outside the windows.
My heart starts pounding double-time. “Mom—you talked to Mom?”
Supper is BLT sandwiches, chips and leftover spinach salad that Dad spices up with mandarin oranges, red onion slices and feta cheese. To drink, we have iced tea he made with tea bags in a jar, setting it in the sun to steep.
“What time on Saturday are we calling Mom?”
“Early. We’re five hours behind her now. Eight in the morning here is three in the afternoon in Germany. We’ll do laundry while we’re in town, pick up more groceries.”
“What’d she say when you talked to her today? How is she? Did she ask about me?”
“She misses you.” He pauses to refill his tea glass. “And she’s keeping very busy.”
“Is that why you couldn’t pick us up today, so you could call Mom? Why couldn’t I go?”
“Not exactly. Went into town to e-mail off a job bid. When I got where I had phone reception, there was a message waiting from your mom. So I called her. She couldn’t talk long.”
“Job bid?”
“It’s how I get work,” he says. “The state puts jobs up for bid. If your bid’s the most reasonable, you get the job.”
“Where are you going next?”
“Depends on which one of my bids is accepted. I’ve put in three, good chance I’ll get one of them.”
“In Austin?” My heart pounds fast. “Maybe you can drive me home. I’d like that a lot.”
He stacks the dishes, carries them to the sink. “I didn’t bid on a job in Austin, Cassie.”
The pounding in my chest turns to an ache. One or the other parent . . . why am I stuck having just one of them?
“I’ll clean up,” he says, running hot water in the kitchen sink. “You go let Bobby Ray know you won’t be hiking for a couple of days. Wear those pink shoes you brought, tied loose. See if his folks can take you and Bobby Ray hiking on Thursday. To stay on schedule, I need to leave early all this week.”
“But Dad—”
“Go.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Their camper’s the blue-and-white Conestoga, near the entrance.” He pauses, smiling. “If Bobby Ray gets ugly with you, just pick him up behind his ears.”
“Real funny, Dad.”
Outside, the beam from the flashlight punches pinholes in the inky darkness. I walk slowly, listening to every noise. My head bent low, I examine the ground, searching for something that looks like certain pictures in the training guide.
But there’s not a single raccoon track to be found anywhere. Or scat.