Don't Fail Me Now(56)

“Hey,” I say, touching Cass’s cheek as she sits down in the passenger seat. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She nods, but her eyes are watery, threatening to spill over. I’m not sure what broke this dam in my sister—given the past few days, there are plenty of contenders—but if there was ever a time to give her a break, it’s now. Tim’s right—it doesn’t matter if we get to LA tonight or in the morning, and camping’s probably safer out here anyway. We haven’t so much as seen a police cruiser in the past eighteen hours, and we all need a rest from the tension that Buck’s previous dickery and imminent non-absence is bringing up. As long as we’re careful, a stupid sightseeing detour might be exactly what we need.

I learn a few key facts about the Grand Canyon as we pull up to the South Rim entrance in the late afternoon. One, it’s popular on Saturdays; the line to get in is a quarter mile long. Two, it’s not free; it costs $25, over a third of our funds, which Tim neglected to mention but swears he’ll make up for with as many al fresco concerts as it takes. Three, he wasn’t kidding; it’s breathtaking. Even before we get all the way to the visitor’s center I can see the scope of it stretched out in front of us, an unbelievable panorama of sunset-colored rock rising out of the Colorado River.

We finally find parking and leave Goldie to bake in the searing Arizona sun. Cass, who’s been fidgeting for most of the four-hour trip from Window Rock, seems out of it, but at least the angry edge that’s been clouding her eyes all week is gone. Any trace of Leah’s former attitude has also evaporated, and walking up to the sprawling nexus of the park, it almost feels like we’re just a normal family taking in a tourist attraction on a road trip. Especially since all the kids want to do is eat junk food and go to the gift shop.

“You can go in the gift shop, but don’t try to steal anything,” I say to Denny, drawing side-eyes from age-appropriate moms who don’t have to coach their children not to break laws. Cass sits down on a bench looking sweaty and shaky, and I dig a five-dollar bill out of my pocket. “Can you get her something?” I ask Leah, who’s also looking limp under her heavy disguise. “She needs to eat; don’t take no for an answer.” I look for Tim, but he must have taken Denny someplace, because they’re nowhere to be found. Cass slips on her sunglasses and turns away, and I take that as my cue to get lost, if only for a few minutes.

I go in the opposite direction of the masses of cargo-shorted, sunburned tourists and follow a sign for a greenway that leads to the Kaibab Trailhead. It’s just a little road lined with rocks and brush, but after a few hundred feet the canyon opens up on one side, vast and awe-inspiring and almost instantly profound, like nature smacking you in the face and saying, “Get your head out of your ass and just look at this glory,” and so I listen. I climb my ragged, city-kid butt up on a rock (far enough from the edge so I don’t have to worry about coughing and tumbling to my death), fold my knees Indian-style, and just look. It’s been so long since I just stopped to breathe, I’ve almost forgotten how.

The canyon makes me think of Buck, the absence of it. The lack of something coming to define it, like the lack of him has come to shape me in so many ways. It reminds me of Mom, too, the depth of it that could swallow you whole if you don’t watch your step. Mom hasn’t fallen yet, but she’s hanging by her fingers, scratching at the stones, waiting for someone to reach in and pull her up while all I want is for her to stop doing drunken cartwheels along the edge.

But it’s not depressing somehow. It’s the first place I’ve seen where the absence of matter is what makes it mean something, what makes it special. And the canyon’s huge rock formations aren’t mountains, even though they look like mountains. They’re just parts of the earth that haven’t fallen into the fissure. They’re survivors.

“Hey, is this rock taken?” Tim asks. I shake my head—not taking my eyes from the vista even though the sun is so strong I’m seeing spots—and feel him sit down next to me. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Beats the hell out of Baltimore,” I say.

“Don’t rub it in, I’m stuck there for four more years,” he says.

“But you get to go to college.”

“‘Get to!’” He laughs bitterly. “More like ‘have to.’”

“It’s a privilege,” I say, finally turning to him, narrowing my eyes. “Not everybody has it.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I rest my chin on my hands and look back out at the canyon. I try to imagine all my anger and resentment, all my jealousy at the things I can’t, don’t, and will never have tumbling in. What would life look like without those ugly filters? There might be colors I don’t even know exist yet, things I can’t even see.

“You know, you’re amazing,” Tim says after a while. “We never would have made it this far without you.”

I let myself smile, just a little. “Yeah, but without me you’d be sleeping in a bed with fresh sheets and taking real showers and not forced to sing for your supper.”

“It’s worth it,” Tim says. “If Leah gets to see Buck just for a few minutes, it’ll be worth it.”

I frown down at my scuffed boots. “Have you considered the possibility that he’ll disappoint her?”