The glare that he received from Melissa when he returned didn’t need any words along with it to let him know that she was neither happy with the extra time that he spent in the bathroom trying to get the smell of the fuel off of his hands nor of the fact that he had basically told her to fuck off earlier.

Good, he thought. That will keep her quiet for a while. Satisfied that he would at least have a few hours of peace to enjoy his last morning in Arizona, he put the car into gear and pulled back onto the highway heading south toward Interstate 40. The sun touched his left shoulder and warmed his cheek as they traveled through the desert toward the mountains to the south and west near Flagstaff. By the time they reached Williams and turned onto Interstate 40 to head east, Melissa was asleep.

“Thank God for small miracles,” he whispered when he looked over at her.

She was still strikingly attractive when she was asleep. It reminded him of the early years of their relationship when she was so beautiful and pleasant to be with. She was excited by his artistic skills and loved going camping. She loved nature; she loved to feel the breeze in the open spaces and the feeling of living free. He marveled at the fact that someone who hated change so much had made such a drastic one.

She had become the darling of the accounting firm in Tulsa and had moved rapidly into a supervisory position. Her new position demanded more of her time and energy and she began to give it more and more as well. It slowly ate away at the fragile person inside of her, helping her to find strength and belonging. As she poured more energy into her work, she moved further up the ladder of success and was asked to relocate to the main office in St. Louis, where she would take on an even more substantial role in the firm. Being much more transient in his way of thinking, as well as his means of earning income, Parke had encouraged the move; something he had begun to regret almost the moment they arrived in the gateway city.

He contemplated the changes to their lives, their relationship and, most of all, the bitterness that seemed to cover them just like the darkness over the canyon during the night. The impossibly blue sky, the mountains, the different shades of red in the landscape and the feelings of isolation, even while being surrounded by a moderate amount of traffic, mostly semis, as they traveled along I-40 seemed to soothe him and his thoughts wandered up the long canyons and into the mountains.

Each mesa top drew his eyes as he wondered if the thrilling ride of his dream had taken place on any one of them. In such a state of bliss, Flagstaff, Winslow and Holbrook all passed by before he was interrupted by a comment from the passenger’s seat.

“We are now in the middle of fucking nowhere,” she announced. “Who lives here?”

He tried to ignore her comments as they cut into the peace that he’d been having.

“I mean, would you seriously ever consider living in a place like this?”

“Actually, yes.”

He regretted the answer, but was too late to stop it.

“Seriously? You would live out here with absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go? Oh yeah, I forgot, you love nature. You’re just a painter.”

The stab at him hurt. Rather than allow it to lead them into another confrontation, however, he decided it was better to diffuse it all.

“I’m sorry that I yelled at you and slammed the door earlier.”

The absence of a reply made him turn and look to see if she had heard. When he looked at her, she forced half of a smile to her face and then turned her face toward the window.

She used to love wide open places. What had happened to her? What had changed her so drastically? Would she ever be able to break free of whatever had claimed her soul and had her entire being in chains?

“You used to love nature too.”

He broke the silence, still hoping the old Melissa might have a chance to break free and return to him.

“That’s before I discovered the real world, Parke!” she snapped. “It’s about time you discovered it too.”

Being turned away once more, he remained silent all of the way into Gallup, New Mexico, where they stopped to get something to eat. As they sat through their silent lunch, he studied the mountains to the northwest. Something about those mountains was drawing him to them, though he wasn’t completely certain what it was.

He made another decision when they were back in the car and on their way. A decision that, once again, drew the wrath of Melissa as he turned the car onto US Highway 491 and started north. The sound cursing that he received died away as she turned away to sulk once more; something she did often whenever he decided to stand up for himself and refuse to allow her to bully him into doing things her way.

The draw of the mountains, known as the Chuskas, had his heart pounding in a rather strange and completely inexplicable way. The further north and nearer to Chuska Peak he drove, the stronger the pull. The combination of emotions from the dream that he had the night before were vivid once more and he was suddenly able to recall the features of the beautiful woman’s face. “Naomi,” he said without realizing that the name had left his mouth.

“What?” Melissa snapped.

“Nothing,” he replied, hoping that she wouldn’t press further.

Why had he spoken the name? At the eastern base of Chuska Peak, he could see a small town beginning to form along the highway in front of them. As he traveled along, a sign letting him know that they had arrived in Tohatchi went by; quite obviously, they had reached the lands of the Navajo Nation, though the sign which had announced it earlier had little effect on his consciousness. He attempted to pronounce the name as he slowed upon entering the town, well aware of the 4x4 Navajo Police vehicle waiting for someone who was in a much bigger hurry than him to pass through the quiet town.

Off to his left, he noticed a sign above a gray, cinder block building that read, “Tohatchi Trading Post.” Something stirred inside of him, calling him toward the rugged-looking building. He turned the wheel toward the pothole-rich, hard-packed space that served as a parking lot out in front of the store.

“Why are we stopping?”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

The urge to stop and enter the store had completely taken over.

“This is Indian territory, idiot. We’re probably not safe here.”

“Then stay in the car.”

He unhooked the seatbelt and reached for the door handle. Melissa didn’t budge.

“Why do you insist…”

Closing the door behind him cut off whatever rant she had begun. He focused on the front door of the building and the pull the trading post had on him. When he entered, it appeared pretty much the same as any ‘Trading Post/Souvenir Shop’ in the Southwest. Genuine Navajo rugs were for sale, though these appeared to be much better crafted than many that he’d seen and the price listed on them told him that they were indeed “the real thing.” He browsed for a few moments among the goods offered and then made his way toward the glass counter where jewelry and such was displayed.

“Ya-tah-ay,” the heavyset man behind the counter said as he approached.

The greeting was spoken in the sharp, interrupted way in which the natives said it, rather than the way white people tried to mimic it.

“Hello,” he replied, taking the large, offered hand. He was too intimidated to even attempt to return the same greeting.

“If you want a closer look at anything, let me know.”

His voice had a deep and powerful quality to it and his face beamed. He has a happy spirit, he thought, though never in his life had he ever had such an odd thought cross his mind. His throbbing heart had not settled in the least; in fact, it seemed to have gotten worse inside of the trading post. His eyes looked through the glass at the assortment of handcrafted silver and turquoise jewelry on display. The art was exquisite and the prices on the pieces were well beyond anything in his budget, but he continued to allow his eyes to move over them feeling a mysterious bond to them.