I know you can.But I can’t let you go in there.
Meg
NOAH!
Noah
MEG!
Meg
We’re not done talking about this.
He had no doubt they weren’t.But he wasn’t budging on the matter.
Meg
How are the stitches on your arm?
Noah
I may have popped one.
Meg
I expect to see you here before closing.
He sent back a GIF of Han Solo offering a salute.
Meg
Don’t think that your excellent use of a Star Wars GIF will make me forget about the cave conversation.
Noah chuckled and pocketed his phone.
He knew it made sense to let her go with them when they returned.Made logical, practical sense.
But when it came to Meg, nothing made sense.
The memory washed back—how close the rock fell today, the sound of it crashing down.The dust that had choked them.
He shuddered at the idea of Meg being with them, of her caught under falling stone.
He refused to even think of taking her back there.
Not tomorrow.Not ever.
She couldn’t put it off any longer.
If Meg was going to take the job in Pennsylvania, on the schedule they wanted, she needed to talk to Virgil.
She made her way down the long hall of the ranger station, her footsteps muffled on worn carpet.The walls were lined with black-and-white photos of rangers working at the canyon from another era.She stopped at a solid wood door with a frosted glass window andVirgil Jonesstenciled in black letters.She lifted her hand and let it hover, poised to knock.
If she did this—gave her notice—there would be no turning back.
Her phone vibrated against her hip.She pulled it out.
Noah
