Edward climbed the stairs into his tent cabin and pulled a topographical map of the valley and regions south from his map folder. Lying on his stomach across the beds, he fingered the Four Mile Trail up to Union Point, and then on to Glacier Point, and compared other vantages.

There were none better and so accessible. Glacier Point offered some facilities. But if things get rocking, won’t it just split off and fall, and take us with it?

Did it matter? What was an hour or so, one way or another?

Edward entered his card number into the pay phone keypad and dialed Stella’s home number in Shoshone. After three rings, Bernice Morgan answered, and told him Stella was at the store, taking inventory. “Life goes on,” she said. “I can transfer you from here.”

After a few clicks and hums, the store phone rang and Stella answered.

“This is Edward,” he said. “I’ve been wondering what you’re up to.”

“The usual,” Stella answered. “Where are you now?”

“Oh, I’m in Yosemite. Settled in. Waiting.”

“Is it what you thought it would be?”

“Better, actually. It’s beautiful. There aren’t very many people.”

“What did I tell you?”

“You’ve heard about Seattle and Charleston?”

“Of course.”

Edward detected a hint of resolve in her voice. “Still planning on staying in Shoshone?”

“I’m a homebody,” Stella said. “We heard from my sister, though. She’s coming home from Zimbabwe. We’re picking her up in Las Vegas the day after tomorrow. You’re welcome to join us…”

He surveyed the riverbanks and trees and meadows beyond the clutch of pay phones. This feels right. This is where I belong. “I was hoping I could convince you to come here. With your mother.”

“I’m glad you asked, but…”

“I know. You’re home. So am I.”

“We’re a stubborn pair, aren’t we?”

“Minelli is here. I don’t know where Reslaw is. Minelli’s found a girlfriend.”

“Good for him. How about you?”

Edward chuckled. “I’m just too damned choosy,” he said.

“Don’t be. You know…” Stella stopped, and there was silence over the line for several seconds. “Well, maybe you know.”

“If we could have more time,” Edward said.

“Is the deal still on?” she asked.

“Deal?”

“If this all turns out to be a false alarm.”

“We still have a deal.”

“I’ll be thinking about you,” Stella said. “Don’t forget.”

What would life with Stella be like? She was tough-minded, intelligent, and more than a touch willful; they might not get along, and then again they might.

Both of them knew they would not have the time to find out. “I won’t forget,” he said.

In the Curry Village general store, he stocked up on dried soups and various pouches of gourmet camp food. The supplies were running out. “Trucks haven’t come in here for two days,” the young woman clerk said. “We keep calling, they keep saying they’re coming. But nobody’s doing much now. Just sitting back and waiting. Damned morbid, if you ask me.”

He added a pair of dark sunglasses and paid for the supplies with the last of his cash. All he had now were credit cards and a few traveler’s checks. No matter.

He had hoisted the plastic bag and was about to leave when he saw the blond woman at the back of the store, picking through a bin of half-rotten apples. Taking a concealed deep breath, Edward replaced his bag on the counter, motioned with his finger to the clerk that he would be back, and walked to the rear.

“Find your husband?” he asked. The woman glanced at him, smiled sadly, and shook her head.

“No such bad luck,” she said. She held up a particularly bruised apple and inspected it ruefully. “I’m a fruito-phile, and look what they offer.”

“I have some pretty good apples in my…Back at the cabin. I’ll be leaving for Glacier Point soon. You’re welcome to them. Too heavy to carry more than one or two on a hike.”

“That’s very kind,” she said. She dropped the apple into the bin and held out her hand. Slender, cool, strong fingers; he shook the hand with moderate firmness. “My name is Betsy,” she said, “and my maiden name is Sothern.”

“I’m Edward Shaw.” He decided to go for broke. “I’m not with anybody.”

“Oh?”

“For the duration,” he said.

“How long is that?” she asked.

“Somebody said less than a week. Nobody knows for sure.”

“Where’s your cabin?”

“Not far from here.”

“If you feed me a nice, crisp, juicy apple,” she said, “I’m liable to follow you anywhere.”

Edward’s smile was spontaneous and broad. “Thank you,” he said. “This way.”

“Thank you,” Betsy said.

In the tent, he found her the best red apple and polished it with a clean dishcloth. She bit into it, wiped away a dribble of juice running down her chin, and watched him arrange the supplies in his backpack.

“I hope you’re not one of those ignorant people,” she said abruptly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but if you think everything’s rosy, and God’s going to save us, or something like that…”

Edward shook his head.

“Good. I thought you looked smart. Sweet and smart. We don’t have much time left, do we?”

“No.” He flipped the pack over and buckled it, glancing at her.

“You know, if I had it all to do over again,” she said, “I’d choose men like you.”

This pricked Edward a little. “That’s what all the beautiful women say. There aren’t any maidens in foxholes, or something to that effect.”

“Jesus.” She smiled. “I like that. Do you…pardon me for asking…do you have any devastating, immediately fatal communicable diseases?”

“No,” Edward said. “Hardly any.”

“Neither do I. Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.”

“Neither am I. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her hand, and Edward shook it delicately by the fingertips, then grinned and pulled her toward him.

66

The network came alive in Arthur’s head at eight in the morning. He opened his eyes, wide awake but feeling as if he had been stunned, and rolled over to shake Francine’s shoulder. “We have to be going,” he said. He got out of bed and slipped into his pants. “Get Marty dressed.”

Francine moaned. “Yes, sir,” she said. “What now?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “We’ve been told to be a certain place in an hour. In San Francisco.”

Marty sat up on the cot, rubbing his eyes. “Come on, sport,” Francine said. “Marching orders.”

“I’m sleepy,” Marty said.

Francine grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him close to her, staring up into his face with a stern expression. “I’m only going to say this once. If you’re crazy and this is all for nothing, I’ll…” She grabbed his nose, and not in play; the tweak she gave it was exquisitely painful. Eyes watering, Arthur took her hand in both of his and rubbed it. “Do you understand me?”

He nodded. “We have to hurry.” Despite his throbbing nose, he was almost ecstatic. Why hustle all of us somewhere this early in the morning? They have plans…

His ecstasy faded when he met Grant, wrapped in a robe, in the hallway, with his daughter following close behind. “You came in awful late to be getting everybody up so early,” Grant said. “We’ve had quite a night. I don’t think I slept more than an hour…Danielle may not have slept at all.”

Danielle sat at the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of coffee, when they trooped through the swinging door. Her face was pale and she had been smoking; the brimming ashtray told a plain tale of a full night of cigarettes. “Such early birds,” she said unenthusiastically.

“We have to be going,” Arthur said.

Danielle raised an eyebrow. “We thought you’d stay awhile.”

“We thought so, too. But I spent last night thinking, and we should be…out of here as soon as possible. There’s a lot to be done.”

Danielle leaned her head to one side in query as Francine and Marty came into the kitchen. Marty smiled shyly at Becky; Becky ignored him, glancing between her mother and father.