Sam had never visited the particular area of the desert where she now ran, but her body recognized it. The uneven terrain hummed in a familiar way beneath her feet. The dry scents of mesquite and sage enveloped her, a security blanket that never failed to deliver.
She ran and ran, not following a marked trail but keeping the sunrise to her right. Intuitively she found sure footing in the sandy dirt, leaped over stones, and skirted boulders and low-lying vegetation.
She ran and ran. The first rays of the dawn streaked across the landscape. The black mountains to her left burst into golden hues. The color flowed from their peaks downward as if a giant swept a paintbrush across them.
She ran and ran, trusting that the lone coyote in the distance up ahead would not mistake her for a rabbit.
She ran and ran until the love-hate relationship with the desert no longer burned in her chest like hot coals.
At last she slowed to a jog, removed her visor, and wiped the hem of her T-shirt across her face. Whoever had decided to start the engineering project in one-hundred-degree September weather should be locked up.
She turned until the rising sun was on her left and then retraced her steps.
Less than sixteen hours had gone by since she had arrived at the Lotanzai Reservation, and already she’d mentally resigned from the company three times. At least she hadn’t said it out loud. Although she figured that Randy knew.
She recalled last night’s conversation with him as they had sat knee-to-knee in two wicker chairs, aka the motel lobby. If she had reached over her shoulder, she could have touched the check-in counter.
“Sammi.” His big brown eyes and puppy dog expression masked his Attila the Hun work ethic. “Are you nervous about joining the big league?”
“N-no.”
He grinned. “That was convincing. Hey, no worries. It’s understandable, your first time out on a project like this. We wouldn’t have chosen you if we didn’t think you could handle it.”
“Thanks. I’m fine. Really.”
“You seem more ticked off than usual.”
She gave him a small smile. His comment was a private joke between them, one she used on him now and then. Her work ethic matched his, and their demeanors were sometimes mistaken for irascibility.
“Seriously, Sam. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“ ‘Nothing.’ My wife’s famous last word right before she falls apart.” He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward until they were almost nose to nose. The scent of peppermint gum filled the space between them. “Listen.” He spoke in a low voice. “I know you couldn’t wait to grow up and get off the rez in Arizona. I understand if being on one now unsettles you. The thing is, I’m counting on more than your technical expertise here. You have a deep insight that none of the rest of us can begin to fathom.”
She shook her head. “Just because three-fourths of my ancestors were Navajo doesn’t mean I understand diddly.”
“Yes, it does. You have a connection to this land and this people whether you’re conscious of it or not.”
“It’s not my land. They’re not my people.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get that.” He waved a hand, batting away her words. “Trust me, Sammi. There’s something different about you.”
Tears of frustration gathered, and she gazed at her hands in her lap, blinking. She had spent a lifetime trying to escape the something different label, and now Randy wanted to glorify it.
“Listen, all I’m asking is that you put aside the childhood junk, but don’t dismiss your respect for all the rest. Use it to enhance your work. Okay?”
Not trusting her voice, she had nodded just to get him to stop talking.
“Thanks.” He stood. “And no meltdowns allowed until we get back to the city.”
She didn’t do meltdowns. She ran.
Now she quickened her pace. The morning sun had risen well over the peaks.
Shadows atop a flat, low-lying boulder caught her attention. They outlined three or four bowl-shaped indentations. A common sight, they should not have affected her. But she slowed and walked over to the boulder, blaming Randy for whatever subliminal message he’d planted.
She stroked the smooth interiors of the shallow depressions. They were morteros, a pre-Crate and Barrel version of a mortar and pestle. Ages ago women had ground acorns, hollowing out the bowls over time.
Sam sat on the boulder and let the landscape envelop her. The desert floor. Its scrubby plant life. The mountains, purple to the east, golden in the west. The cloudless blue canopy over it all. The quiet. The ineffable quiet.
Randy respected the land. The Collins and Creighton Engineering Firm was committed to using it wisely. They would figure out how to work with its contours and its layers of decomposed granite, volcanic remnants, siltstones, and even marine fossils. They would mold and shape and remove and not disturb the past or harm the future. Their sole purpose was to bring the land into the twenty-first century so that it might provide the necessities for work and play, for life itself.
Like the ancients had done except with a bit more flair.
Sam doubted she would find ancient burial grounds or proof of environmental issues. Her early research indicated the area was clear. These morteros, several miles from the site in question, were no matter. They merely proved that the Lotanzai had lived here, a fact not in dispute.
She, her boss, the company, and the Lotanzai were all in agreement about disturbing as little as possible. Yet Randy wanted more from her, some deeper insight into the impact of the project.
She didn’t have it.
Her father had had it and had tried to teach her, but he died when she was a child, long before she could comprehend his words and his stories as they walked in the desert.
Sam propped her feet up on the boulder, wrapped her arms around her legs, and pressed her face against them. Randy’s rule against meltdowns was about to be broken.