Lucy pointed.
“They called Dad Rook because he was bad at chess.”
Mara began laughing too.
Owen’s mythology collapsed one more inch.
Good.
Lucy sat beside the tree.
After a while she asked:
“Was this exactly where?”
Hammer pointed down the road.
“About two miles.”
“Take me.”
They went.
The location looked offensively ordinary.
Road.
Rock.
Trees.
No visible sign that a person had reached the end of his life there.
Lucy removed her helmet.
Wind moved across her face.
“Where did he fall?”
Hammer showed her.
She stood there.
“Did you know?”
“What?”
“That he was dying.”
Hammer looked toward the pavement.
“I knew he was in trouble.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Was he scared?”
“Yes.”
“You told me that when I was eight.”
“I remember.”
Lucy looked toward the canyon.
“Did he ask to go home?”
Hammer closed his eyes.
“No.”
“What did he ask?”
“To keep going.”
Mara’s face tightened.
Hammer continued.
“I said no.”
Lucy looked at him.
“You stopped him?”
“Yes.”
“He got angry.”
“He said the whole point was choosing when to stop.”
“I told him choosing didn’t mean being stupid.”
“What happened?”
“He tried to stand.”
“He couldn’t.”
“That was when I knew.”
Lucy swallowed.
“Do you regret bringing him?”
“Yes.”
Immediate.
She stared.
“But he wanted it.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to stop him.”
“Yes.”
“So why?”
Hammer looked toward her.
“Because regret doesn’t always mean you think you chose wrong.”
Lucy frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Mara understood.
She looked toward Hammer.
He continued.
“I’m glad he wasn’t alone.”
“I’m glad I held his hand.”
“I’m glad he saw the canyon.”
“I still wish none of it happened.”
“Those things fit together.”
Lucy looked toward the road.
Then she took the brass key from her jacket pocket.
Number 17.
She had carried it for eleven years.
Hammer noticed.
“What are you doing?”
“The locker’s empty.”
“Yes.”
“I moved everything home.”
“Yes.”
She crouched beside the little metal rook.
Placed the key next to it.
Mara stared.
“You sure?”
Lucy nodded.
“Seventeen did its job.”
Hammer looked at her.
Then away.
His eyes had filled.
Lucy smiled.
“You’re crying.”
“Wind.”
“No wind.”
“Altitude.”
“You live in Flagstaff.”
Hammer muttered something rude.
Mara laughed.
They left the key.
For years it remained beside the rook.
Weather darkened the brass.
Dust gathered.
Eventually weeds grew around it.
No one collected it.
That mattered too.
Not every relic needed preservation.
Lucy went to college.