more than a scuttling waitress, painfully shy, afraid of her own shadow and terrified of the two maintenance seasonals, Gil and Dennis. Anna guessed she’d been neither; she’d been ashamed of how she looked. Regis had exacerbated the situation with barbed remarks about the size of her derriere.
Anna’d forgotten that. Her first weeks at Lake Powell she’d been self-involved to the point of being deaf, dumb, and blind. Compared to her personal drama, those around her seemed staggeringly unimportant. With food, strength, and freedom from the fear a monster waited around the next bend, Anna came out of her self-imposed isolation.
A newness highlighted the people she watched and the landscape she traveled through. There were times Jenny glittered as much as the wind-scattered lake surface. Even Bethy was growing on her. The woman’s butchery of the English language grated on ears trained to the Bard, but Bethy had mettle. Beneath her vague babbling exterior was a vein of something strong. Anna’d seen flashes of it when she’d pushed her maximum weight up from the bench into Anna’s waiting hands and, once, when Regis had made a deprecatory remark that managed to simultaneously flatter Anna and disparage his wife.
It seemed to both Anna and Jenny that the more Bethy slimmed down and firmed up, the more cutting Regis’s remarks became. Sly and cutting, the kind that are tricky to confront, but felt all the more sharply for being served with that spice of helplessness. It was almost as if he hated seeing his wife becoming what she thought he wanted.
Disturbingly, Regis became Anna’s cheerleader in the fitness game, remarking—always politely and never with an underlying leer that either Anna or Jenny could detect—on how much stronger she looked, how much faster she ran. It was annoying to the point Anna avoided him when she could. If he had the itch to be a personal trainer, he should scratch it with his wife. Even Gil and Dennis, as obtuse as they seemed to be, noticed how Bethy hungered for Regis’s approval. They would flirt with her a little after a rebuff, their inherent good natures wanting to bolster her up.
The night Regis offered to teach Anna canyoneering, Anna thought Bethy was going to burst into tears. Instead she’d stood up for herself for the first time in Anna’s acquaintance with her.
“I taught you,” she’d snapped at Regis. “If Anna wants to learn, she’d be better off coming to me.” The half- hangdog, half-hoping look she’d shot Anna was painful to see.
“I’d like that,” Anna replied firmly. Regis didn’t let the matter drop with any grace. His demeanor turned so cold Anna half expected icicles to form on the eaves of the duplexes. Shortly thereafter, he left the picnic benches for their apartment and didn’t return.
Since then, Bethy had taken Anna on two tiny canyoneering adventures in an old Zodiac she brought out from Page.
In the slot canyons, Anna suffered mentally. The sense that the walls were closing in and trapping her never entirely went away. Physically, she did herself proud, enjoying the playground-jungle-gym way she worked her body. Moving like a child awakened the spirit of a child in her as she bent and twisted, crawled and wriggled.
On their first adventure, Jenny was with them; on the second, Jim. The third time it was just Bethy and Anna. The canyon Bethy chose was off Rock Creek Bay, half an hour’s ride in the Zodiac from the Rope. The afternoon was still and hot, and after a day of trying to talk a string of uniquely unpleasant individuals into being better stewards of the land, Anna was glad to lounge in the bow of the puffy little boat and watch the unfailingly awesome grandeur of Glen Canyon fold into the secret jewels of the smaller side canyons.
“This is an easy one,” Bethy said as she expertly herded the fat little craft up a snaking waterway, dyed deep turquoise by the shadows. “A walk in the park,” she said and laughed.
Anna laughed with her. Bethy’s sense of humor was woefully undeveloped, and Anna felt duty bound to reward even the smallest glimmer of it. After years around actors, Anna had come to believe that people in general were witty and entertaining. That this was not so had been dawning on her over the past months. In general, people were plodding creatures. Occasionally, she missed the brighter-colored social butterflies, but only occasionally. Lack of repartee was conducive to honesty and solitude. Both of which she was coming to crave.
Bethy beached the Zodiac on a spill of sand on a flat stone outcropping no wider than the boat was long. Anna climbed out of the bow and, line in hand, walked the few feet to the only anchorage, a dead tree wedged tightly between a rock and a hard place.
The sand apron that formed their landing area had been washed down from a slot canyon, a mere crack in the sandstone cliffs, carved and smoothed by the runoff from a million years of rain on the plateau and Fiftymile Mountain. A gold-and-gray pathway beckoned them into the heart of the rock. Straighter and shallower than many slot canyons Anna had seen in previous weeks, it was not dark and did not fill her with the mix of excitement and foreboding she’d grown accustomed to.
While Anna tied off the line, Bethy unloaded the gear. “This one’s not a technical thing. We’re not going to need ropes and stuff. I’m not even going to wear a helmet,” she said as she sorted through the plastic laundry basket that served as her gear chest. “You want one?”
Anna knew she should—safety first and all that—but it was hot and she hated wearing the things. “I guess not.”
“We won’t need ropes either, but I’m going to carry this one. Just in case.”
“Just in case what?” Anna asked, resisting the impulse to offer to carry the coiled line with a carabiner affixed to either end. Once she had eschewed the helmet, the idea of scrambling totally unencumbered took precedence over good manners.
Bethy looked nonplussed. “I don’t know. Just in case, I guess, you know, we need to tie something to something or something.”
“Be prepared,” Anna said and raised her hand in the three-fingered Boy Scout salute.
Bethy wrinkled up her nose and forehead like a little kid trying too hard to think. Finally she gave it up. “You’re so weird,” she said. “Is everybody in New York as weird as you?”
“In New York the people are as gods,” Anna said as she followed Bethy down the yellow sand road. “Spider-Man: a New Yorker. Batman, the same. Gotham was just an alias. King Kong immigrated to New York. In New York I am considered to be the most banal of beings.” There was a quality about Bethy Candor that allowed Anna the peculiar freedom of chatter, or, when feeling wildly audacious, of babble. Only with Zach had she given herself permission to free-associate. With her husband, it was their shared joy of whimsy, wordplay, and language that lowered the inhibitions and opened the mental floodgates.
With Bethy, Anna suspected it was because, cruel as it was to think—let alone put into words—it was rather like talking to the family cocker spaniel. Not being understood, how could one be judged in any meaningful way? Once in a while Bethy surprised her by responding intelligently, but not often enough that Anna worried about it.
Anna paid as little attention to, and understood as little of, Bethy’s monologues as Bethy did hers. Friendships had been built on less camaraderie than that, Anna supposed.
The canyon, half again as wide as Anna’s shoulders, had a flat sandy bottom and the lazy curves of a snake’s trail. Sunset wasn’t for a couple of hours, but it had long since finished its brief visit to the bottom of the forty-foot slot. The air was cooler between the walls, and a pleasant breeze blew down-canyon, as it often did at this time of day. Light was clear but didn’t have the glare it did on the water. For the first time in a closed-in space Anna felt relaxed. She must tell Jenny. Jenny was the kind of girlfriend Anna hadn’t had since she was in grade school and spent most of her free time with Sylvia Gonzales; the kind of girlfriend for whom one saved up successes and failures along with foolish remarks and astute observations, like treasures to carry back and share. Jenny would be pleased Anna had entered this benign bit of Mother Earth with fearlessness.
Jenny. Anna had accepted her with ease, as if such friendships came along every day or sprang fully formed like Venus from the sea. She supposed it was shared trauma. Emotions became accessible in times of stress or high drama. One of the dangers of the theater was that actors could so easily fall in love with one another in the same way people thrown together on a great adventure often did. When the final curtain came down, it was anybody’s guess as to whether the romance would survive the daunting ordinariness of day-to-day life.
The canyon narrowed but didn’t squeeze, and there was no water in which to fall and die of cold. Happily, Anna scrambled along in Bethy’s wake as she climbed upward through crevices and rock chimneys that reminded Anna of the children’s board game Chutes and Ladders.
Bethy chattered breathily as she climbed. “I can’t wait until Regis turns thirty. It’s not even two whole years and then we’re going to go to Europe and see stuff. He promised me. And I’m going to get all new clothes and we’ll
