Slickrock Paradox by Stephen Legault Page A

he stood in front of the mirror to contemplate the damage done by his wild ride down Sleepy Hollow. There was almost no part of his body that wasn’t covered in bruises and cuts. Two of them still had gauze pads taped to them, which he carefully peeled off to reveal two-inch-long abrasions sewn together with black surgical thread. He looked exactly like he felt: as if he’d been through the wringer. He swallowed three ibuprofen tablets with the last of his beer and turned the shower on.
    After his shower Silas ate his dinner and then retreated to the hammock under the pergola. He lay down and listened to the end of the day: cars on the road leading further up the valley, poor-wills in the willows, and somewhere, a canyon wren’s tremolo tripping down the harmonic scale.
    And his Penelope, found at long last, seemingly, inexorably, by her own will. He jolted and twitched toward sleep, the hammock gently swaying, his last thoughts on his long-lost wife.
    THE TELEPHONE WOKE him. Silas struggled to free himself from the hammock. Around midnight he had woke, chilled, and found a thin blanket in the house and returned to the cooler out-of-doors. Wrestling to free himself now, he came down hard on his damaged foot and winced. He bent over to find his cane, but the phone stopped ringing. He rubbed his face and stood awkwardly, then made his way into the house. There was a cordless handset in the bedroom and he went to see who might be calling him at 6:00 AM . As he picked it up it rang again.
    â€œThis is Pearson,” he said. His voice was raw and gravelly.
    â€œMr. Pearson, this is Agent Taylor. Would you please come to the Grand County Sheriff’s Office this morning? As early as you are able?”
    â€œIs this about my wife? Have you identified the . . . have you identified her?”
    â€œIt is about the body found in Courthouse Wash. I need you to come into the Sheriff’s Office. You know where it is?”
    â€œYeah, East Center. Can’t you tell me what you’ve found over the phone?”
    â€œWill you be here by 7:00 AM ?”
    Silas shook his head. “Yes, yes, I will,” he said, then hesitated. “Do I need a lawyer, Agent Taylor?”
    â€œThat’s up to you,” said Taylor.

IT TOOK SILAS A SURPRISINGLY long time to leave his Castle Valley home to make the drive to Moab. For some inexplicable reason he couldn’t decide which shirt to wear. For the longest time he’d dressed in whatever T-shirt fell to hand, but this morning he kept thinking, What would Penelope want me to wear? When he was teaching at NAU she would dress him most mornings before he left for class; those mornings that she was away, in canyon country, his students would take note of his shabby attire. It had become a running joke between them.
    As he drove down Hal Canyon the Colorado River was visible through the tangles of invasive tamarisk and native willow; it reflected the orange glow of the adjacent cliffs in near mirror-like perfection. It was a good morning, he thought, to put this business to rest. The thought that his manic search might have come to an end gave him some comfort. He almost allowed himself to feel relief.
    Almost. Doubts plagued him as he neared the junction with 191 and the turnoff to Moab. If the body had in fact been that of his wife, why hadn’t Agent Taylor simply said so? Was there some official Bureau procedure that had to be followed around notification? Maybe he had to be present to receive the news so it could be witnessed. Maybe they would be watching him for his reaction. He wondered if he should call Ken and ask him to join him at the sheriff’s office. In his prime, Hollyoak had been a fire-brand defense attorney until a heart attack had sidelined him a decade ago. He decided that if it became necessary, he’d make the call. Silas parked in front of the red brick building housing the County offices and turned the car off, then