My fingertips are trembling as I close my laptop. I take in a deep breath and shake out my muscles. I go to my bedroom window and slide open the glass. The early morning sky looks in at me, all purple-black and hazy, wide swatches of clouds blotting out the moon. The desert breeze snaps the silky cloth of an American flag hanging in front of the house across the street.
Yawning, I open up the dresser and pull out a pair of running shorts and a top. Quietly, I change into my clothes and tie my hair back into a ponytail, covering my scar with a purple headband. I slip on my shoes and open my door a crack.
There’s a light on under the bathroom door, which means either Dad or Rachael is already awake. Not surprising, since they both start work early. I tiptoe quickly down the hallway and let myself out the front door.
Outside, the desert wraps around me—walls of red sandstone, the rounded silhouettes of prickly pear cacti, grains of sand swirling like miniature storms at my ankles. Stars peek through breaks in the clouds. I had no idea anywhere could be so beautiful in the dark.
I turn in the direction of the national park and start running. My feet pound the asphalt. I breathe in deeply. This is the first time I’ve run since the accident, and my body aches from the impact of each stride, but it’s a good kind of pain, like my muscles are waking up after a long nap. My heart keeps pace with my feet.
My mind stays blissfully blank as I run, my eyes taking in the scenery that’s waking up around me. The shop windows are all still dark, but as the sky lightens, the massive rock formations off in the distance become clearer. I remember what my dad said in the car about how the Virgin River carved out this whole area between the cliffs. Not such a weak river after all.
It takes me about fifteen minutes of running to reach the entrance to Zion. There’s a separate entrance for pedestrians across a parking lot of restaurants and camping shops. The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon and there’s no one in the ticket booth yet, so I can just wander right in. I pause inside the gate to consider a map of the park so I don’t get lost.
Even though it’s still early, the air is already beginning to grow warm. I wish I’d brought something to drink with me. I glance around, looking for a place to get water. The Zion Canyon Visitor Center complex is huge—a sprawling network of concrete filled with educational displays. The actual building is centrally located and not open yet, but there’s a second building across the way.
I squint and can just barely make out a sign that says “Restrooms” and a water fountain between the men’s and ladies’ rooms. Perfect. I cross the parking lot, cutting in front of a white pickup truck.
A guy in a gray uniform shirt that looks like Rachael’s is sitting in the driver’s seat. He’s staring down at his phone, his thumbs rapidly tapping out a message to someone.
The guy doesn’t even look up as I head for the drinking fountain. Bending over, I gulp some cool water. As I’m heading back out to the road, the guy gets out of the truck and I realize he’s about the same age as me.
He puts down the truck bed and starts to unload a long beam of lumber. His arm muscles go tense beneath skin that is tanned from outdoor work, but I can tell he’s not plain white like me. Part Hawaiian maybe, or Native American.
The wood is probably ten feet long, and even though this boy’s biceps are pretty massive, he’s struggling a bit due to the awkward proportions.
“Do you need some help?” I ask. This is the first sentence I’ve spoken to anyone in Utah who isn’t Dad or Rachael.
The boy turns toward the sound of my voice and nearly hits me with the beam he’s carrying. “Jesus,” he mutters. And then, “Sorry. You scared the shit out of me.” His dark eyes take in my outfit. “Early morning run?”
“Yeah.” I scoot out of the way so he has more room to maneuver the beam.
“Do you have a park pass?”
“Uh . . .” I start. “There was no one in the booth. I was just curious to look around. I didn’t mean to sneak in.” I back away from him slightly.
His lips twitch. “So you’re just out trespassing and sneaking up on park staff?”
“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you either. I’ll leave if you want. That just looks awkward, like maybe you could use a second set of hands.”
“I’m supposed to have some help, but I don’t think he’s going to show.” The boy shakes his head in disgust. “The problem with volunteers is that they mean well, but there’s no sense of commitment.”
“I can commit to helping carry all four of those,” I offer, pointing at the wood. “You know, in exchange for my breaking and entering.”
The boy chuckles. “If there’s been any breaking, I don’t want to know about it.” He looks me up and down again, as if he’s not convinced I can even carry half of a beam. “This would be faster with a second person. You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind.”
“Okay, then.” The boy sets the beam on the ground and grabs a pair of gloves out of the cab of the truck. He tosses them to me. They’re about three sizes too big, but they’ll protect my hands from getting splinters.
“I’m Elliott,” he says. “We’re just taking these over there to where that railing is damaged.” He points at an area that overlooks the Virgin River. “I’m going to cut them down with a power saw later.”
“Okay.” I take the back half of the beam and we set off across the clearing together. We’re almost there when a rustling down by my feet makes me stop sharply.
Elliott glances back over his shoulder. “Rock squirrel. They’re everywhere.”
The little rodent dashes across the clearing and disappears behind a sagebrush plant. Elliott and I set the beam down in a grassy area. As he bends over, a carved pendant on a black cord slips out from beneath his collar. He tucks it under his shirt as we both turn back to the truck.
We’re on the fourth and final beam when the walkie-talkie on Elliott’s waistband crackles to life.
He grabs it without even missing a step. “What’s up?” he asks.
The voice on the other side is male, but I can’t make out what he says.
“Okay,” Elliott says. “I’ll check it out in a few minutes. Oh and FYI, Eric didn’t show up again. Tell Rachael we need another aide for the summer, or at least a reliable volunteer.”
Rachael! Elliott must work for my stepmom. Small world.
We set the last beam on the pile. Elliott still has the walkie to his ear, so I smile a good-bye at him and head for the street.
“Hey, wait.” He hooks the walkie-talkie back on his belt. “Aren’t you even going to tell me your name?”
I pause. This is an issue I should have realized would come up eventually and already dealt with in my mind. If I tell people my name is Genevieve and they’ve seen any of the coverage of the accident, they’re going to put it together. “It’s, uh—”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Elliott says. “I can just think of you as my mysterious beam-carrying benefactor.”
I smile, this time for real. “My name is Gen,” I say, hoping he’ll assume it’s J-E-N as in Jennifer. That’s got to be one of the most common names ever.
“Thanks for the help,” Elliott says. “And be careful if you’re exploring the park by yourself. I just got a call about a mountain lion sighting out on one of the trails. They don’t usually mess with people, but you’re kind of small, so if you see one, don’t run from it, but don’t approach it, either.”
“So . . . just stand there?”
“Um, no. If a mountain lion comes near you, make a lot of noise and try to make yourself look big. It’s probably a nonissue now that the sun’s up. Usually the sightings happen at dawn and dusk.”
Holy crap. The sun rose completely while we were unloading the beams and all of a sudden I’m outside the house in broad daylight without sunglasses, where anyone might see me. And recognize me. “Got it. Thanks for the tip. Bye!” I wave and then head back toward town.
That night at dinner, I tell Dad and Rachael how I ran down to the park.
“I’m glad you’re back running,” Dad says. “Sounds like your body has almost completely recovered.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Are you finished with your stuff for school?” he asks.
“Almost. I have two finals left I was hoping one of you guys might proctor tomorrow night. Once those are graded, my guidance counselor said they’ll mail my diploma to Mom.”
“So what do you want to do this summer now that you’ve basically graduated?” Rachael asks. “I could use a reliable volunteer if you’re interested. We just had another one quit.”
I remember Elliott’s frustration about the missing volunteer. I wonder if he told her about his mysterious beam-carrying benefactor. “Why?” I ask. “Are you a mean boss?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe I am,” Rachael says, her dark eyes twinkling.
Dad snorts. “Trust me, you’re not. On a completely unrelated note, Genevieve, have you talked to your mother lately?”
“This morning, actually. I decided to touch base after someone posted an article speculating about why I left St. Louis.”
Dad makes a face. “Those people need to get a life. Is your mom doing okay? Letting you come here for the whole summer must have been tough.”
Dad’s concern surprises me. I figured he hated my mom as much as she seems to hate him, that how she was coping without me would be the furthest thing from his mind, except possibly to gloat. “She seemed a little lonely, but you know Mom. She’s a survivor.” I pause. “But back to the volunteering thing. If you’re serious, I think I’d like to give it a try.”
The old Genevieve Grace was not much for hiking or camping, or even spending time outside. Except for the running I did most mornings, I really only went outside to transfer from the house to the car and then back inside on the other end. It was all about studying for me. That was what my mom wanted and what I wanted for myself. But I can’t deny that being outside today made me feel better.
“That’s great, Genevieve.” Rachael beams. “I just know you’re going to love it there.”
“I’m assuming I’ll have to wear a name badge. Would it be okay if I went by Jen with a J? That way people will be less likely to figure out who I am.”
“Hon, you can spell your name any way you want,” Rachael says.
“And you’ll call me Jen?”
“If it keeps that smile on your face? Sure thing.”
Rachael took my dad’s last name, Larsen, but all the news articles are calling me Genevieve Grace since I changed my name to my mom’s last name after my parents got divorced. It should work. Even when people find out I’m her stepdaughter, they won’t automatically put the pieces together.
“We had our seasonal volunteer training sessions a couple weeks ago, so I’ll have to pair you up with some of my more experienced staff. They can get you caught up on how we run things at the park. How does Friday sound for a first day?”
“Sure,” I say.
Rachael pulls out her phone and swipes at the screen a couple of times. “What’s your email address?”
I give it to her and a message pops up, “Subject: NPS Training Materials.” I open it and download a twenty-page PDF.
“That’s a lot of training materials for a volunteer,” I say.
“Well, the park is a government-run facility,” Rachael says, smiling. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t bury you in tedious and difficult-to-understand paperwork.”
I give Rachael a quick hug. “Thank you for this,” I say. “I think being outside in this beautiful environment will be exactly what I need.”
For the first time since the accident, I actually feel excited about something. I wonder if I’ll see that Elliott guy again. I liked the way he didn’t pressure me to talk about myself. He seems like the kind of guy who keeps his head down and focuses on the work. That’s exactly the kind of person I need around me right now.