A Rock in Shifting Sands

Sorrel looked up from her journal. A few resounding thuds had interrupted the gentle patter of rain and the taps of tree branches as they brushed against her window. The postman. He was kind enough to knock, whenever she received mail, as sparsely as that was. She never checked otherwise.

​

It was not often to rain in the desert this time of year, and she sighed. If not for risk of life or limb in the possibility of getting caught in a flash flood, she would certainly be out now, wading through tall grass chest high, and batting her way through swarms of gnats in the name of science. Sorrel rose from her seat by the window and let her pen roll and then clatter onto the floor. It rolled some more, then wedged itself where it always did — between two floorboards a little too far apart, where ants and the occasional snake would enter to find her company.

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The hinges that covered her mailbox complained of rust as she raised the cover. She pulled out a small letter addressed to Dr. Sorrel Lee, and again listened to the hinges whine as the cover fell. A heavy mist had descended into the valley, and from where Sorrel stood on her covered porch, she could not see the great mountains that surrounded her. Instead, she observed the truck parked in the mud and pressed her lips into a line as she thought about getting it all unstuck the next morning. Walking to the far end of the porch, she wiped away the dampness on her wooden rocking chair and sat down. She flipped open a pocket knife and slit the letter open.

​

If Sorrel had been anywhere else, perhaps they would have simply given her a call. Well, they did, and they found her office in Newcastle empty. It surprised no one. They called her colleagues in St. George — "She hasn't been here in weeks." They called her colleagues in Flagstaff — nothing. They called her friends in Las Vegas — "Oh. Yes, she's around. Down in Overton. Is there anything we can tell her for you? We will tell her when she comes through again." "Ah, it's alright, we will contact her by post." 

​

Sorrel slipped the letter back into the envelope and muttered a quiet "Oh." She rocked backwards in her chair and reached into her pocket for a cigarette and lighter. The smoke mixed into the grey of the air, and she imagined for a moment that she was setting the world on fire.  She closed her eyes and let the letter and envelope fall into her lap. She hummed quietly to herself until the last of the ashes fell to the earth, then, she rose and turned back into her home. Home was a generous term: it was a rancher's cabin that he had no use for, far enough into the wild and close enough to disrepair that he let her occupy it for a pittance.

​

Sorrel closed the journal she had left open by the window and picked up her pen from the floor. She had not intended to spend many more days here in the cabin. Her next stop should have been north to St. George and a visit to The Narrows, but now she made for her bags in the corner and tossed her journal onto her neatly folded clothes in preparation to return south. "At least," she thought, "if the mud is still wet it won't be so bad to get out now."

​

The drive back to Las Vegas was quiet. The rain continued to patter against the windshield and her mind continued to muse. It would be a lot of steel boxes and concrete towers for the next few days, and she frowned at the thought of leaving her sandstone companions and desert havens behind. At dusk in the outskirts of Henderson, Sorrel pulled into a neatly trimmed driveway and stepped out. She always smiled doing that. She liked how comically small she appeared next to the Chevy. Her boots clicked on the slick pavement and the bushes along its edges sighed as she passed them. A warm light shone through the glass of the front door, and from the open window she could hear the running of water and clinking of plates and glass. She stood and listened for a moment. Thomas used to work with her, but now all his gear gathered dust in the yard, forgotten. Whenever Sorrel came by in need of a vehicle, he was more than happy to offer his, light-heartedly brushing off the favor, claiming that the poor beast needed to go for a walk anyway. He had found himself a wife a decade ago and found himself around the same time a nice tenure with the University of Nevada where, as Sorrel would say, "he sits on his arse all day and yells at kids." She smiled at the memory.

​

She approached the door and gave it a few firm knocks before she remembered the bell. A moments hesitation later, she pressed that too. The tap shut off and a figure shuffled towards the door and blocked the light. Sorrel waited and laughed softly as she heard the man drive his barking dogs back away from the door. It opened. The man seemed to fill the entire doorway. "Oh, welcome back. I didn't think I'd see you again so soon." He had a deep and rumbling voice that she likened to a thunderstorm on a hot summer day.

 

"Tom, hi." A young girl popped out from behind her father's arm. "And hello, Vera." Vera smiled sheepishly and wrapped her arms around her father's. She was of that age where children have all sorts of holes and gaps in their mouths. "Thank you so much for all of this, Tom. I'm in a bit of a rush, but I've tidied up the truck best I could."

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"Someone called a while back looking for you."

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"Yes, I got their word. You know, I hate to bother you now, it seems you are in the middle of supper."

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"Oh, you are never a bother. Please come in."

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Sorrel dipped her head with gratitude and stepped inside. He closed the door behind her and turned to watch her as she unlaced her boots. He continued, "What did you need?"

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"Ah," she struggled out of one boot. "I would like to borrow your phone and a bit of your time." And then the other. "I'm going to need a lift to the airport if you've got it, and I need to call them back, too."

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"Oh?" He pushed past her in the hallway and wandered to the telephone in the living room. A small slip of paper sat by it. Sorrel followed, and the two black labs that had sat themselves so obediently in the hall got up and followed them too. "I've got their number written here. What have they got you running around for?" He began to dial.

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"They want me on a new project. I don't know how much more I can say, I'll be honest."

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He raised an eyebrow and handed her the phone. "Tell me more afterwards." Sorrel dipped her head as she took the phone from his hands and turned away to face the wall. Tom retreated upstairs, and the dogs trotted after him.

​

~~~

​

"Oh," Tom bent over the sink and raised his voice over the sound of running water. "I've heard whispers of it."

​

"Mhm," Sorrel responded. She was leaning low over a plate of his leftover meatloaf and rice and observing his granite countertop, admiring the grain and forgetting to chew. "These big companies back home saw the speed of American advancements in space travel and decided that they ought to go stick their grubby fingers into the stars."

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"As they have a habit of doing, with everything, everywhere." Tom quipped.

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Sorrel sipped from a glass of water and drew her fingers through the condensation along its outer side. She traced the outline of a fish, and then, dissatisfied with it, wrapped both hands around the glass and pulled downwards, leaving a ring of water on the countertop. "Yeah," she wiped her wet hands on her pants, "it was a surprise to see the letter came from Washington. It's a joint project, they said." She paused to put another bite of something in her mouth. "Generously funded," she added, peering at him out of the corner of her eye.

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"Hm. Oh, you're right, the caller was American." Tom shut off the water and turned back to watch Sorrel wrangle the last few grains of rice onto her fork. His beard quivered with amusement as her brows knit and she resorted to using her hands. "'A slot canyon scientist is slave to two things: inclement weather and institutional funding.' You said that once." He extended his hand to take the plate from her and turned back to the sink.

​

"It stormed today," she whined, "I couldn't do anything." Sorrel stood and made for a towel, but Tom plucked it from her hands before she could take it upon herself to wipe away the wet rings where her glass had sat. "And then the letter came in, and right now I feel very much slave to both of them."

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Tom chuckled in response. "So, what'd you say?"

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Sorrel leaned back against the counter and looked down, almost bashful. "Well, I told them they're crazy, then I told them I'd go." She looked back up and tilted her head to one side and let a nonchalant grin spread across her face.

​

Tom's smile slowly faded in turn, and the extended silence suddenly sobered the atmosphere of the room. "You're going to space." He said it like a statement, though she knew he was questioning her.

​

"Yes."

​

"Hm." He narrowed his eyes at her skeptically, then in a measured tone reserved for students he didn't quite like, he said, "I think this warrants some time to think about." As Sorrel opened her mouth to protest, he interrupted, "and the two hour drive from Overton doesn't count. I'll send you to the airport tomorrow. Why don't you stay the night." Tom's delivery was entirely flat, and Sorrel knew she would not be going anywhere tonight. She swallowed and remained silent, for she was beginning to feel like a reprimanded child.

​

Maisie, having put Vera to bed, tiptoed down the stairs. Sensing something wrong, she slowed as she reached the end of the hallway. "What's this then?"

​

Tom scoffed, "Sorrel's just had another one of her brilliant ideas." He glared at Sorrel to remain silent.

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"Brilliant?" Maisie approached to stand by her husband.

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"I mean awful."

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"Oh, it can't be so bad," she said cheerily, then directed her attention towards the woman. "Where did you need to fly to?" she asked.

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"Washington. I've got a meeting to go to," Sorrel said quietly.

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"Now?"

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"No," Tom cut in. "Tomorrow morning, it's late now."

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"Oh! Perfect." Maisie closed her eyes in a smile and danced over to where Sorrel stood on the other side of the kitchen island. Sorrel feigned annoyance but laughed softly. Maisie did so love to style her friends, and every presentable article of clothing Sorrel owned had been left in England. As hard as she tried to refuse it, Maisie fussed over her for an hour, lamenting the grey hairs she left un-dyed and her inadequate wear, so much so that Sorrel was forced to accept one of her old suit jackets. At the very least, leaving tomorrow gave her time to do her hair, and in the morning, Maisie was up bright and early with a curling iron. By breakfast, Sorrel's otherwise straight brown hair fell to her shoulders in generous curls. "Maisie!" She had exclaimed, batting the woman's hand away as she tried to turn down the collar of her shirt, "The way you fuss over me, you'd think you were my wife, not Tom's." Maisie had given her a dramatic pout in response and turned down her collar anyway.

​

~~~

​

In the backyard, the artificially green water guzzling grass attracted all kinds of birds in the clear morning light. Sorrel stepped out in Maisie's freshly ironed button-down and listened to the birdsong. She turned to face the wind and breathed in the pleasantly cool breeze. It would not be long before the unrelenting sun rose high and sucked all moisture out of the air and heated the earth like an oven. She stepped back inside and greeted Vera, who was tiptoeing on a small stool to reach the bathroom mirror, adjusting the ribbons in her hair, tugging each one's tails in an attempt to make them even. Sorrel helped her with the final one then tousled the child's hair to a cry of indignation, ruining it all in the process. Sorrel laughed and put a hand on Vera's shoulder, guiding the both of them to the dining table, where Vera reached up and grabbed an orange and retreated into the hallway to get ready to go to school. The creak of floorboards alerted them to Tom's descent back downstairs. His beard was just slightly trimmed, and his peppered hair was combed neatly back. "I've got to send Vera to school. I'll be back in thirty, Maisie will take care of you." Tom picked up the keys to the van and ushered a still sleepy Vera into the hallway.

​

"You don't have classes today?" Sorrel sat down at the dining table and called after him.

​

"No, I don't teach Wednesdays," he yelled from the hall. The keys jingled and the door rattled closed.

​

Maisie merrily chatted with Sorrel through breakfast, good natured as she was, but inevitably the conversation turned towards the topic of her travel, and the tone again quickly turned sour. Maisie had always closely followed Tom's lead, taking similar opinions as her husband in all matters. "I'm excited for you," she had said, "but I don't know..." She hesitated to say anything more, and the exchange fell to awkward silences and banal subjects until Tom's return.

​

The door opened but did not fully close, and Tom positioned himself in the dining room entryway, with one arm raised and leaning against the door frame. He had not removed his shoes, anticipating leaving again soon, and the tiniest clump of clay now rested in the bottom left corner of the archway. It would keep the dust bunnies there company, until Maisie inevitably swept them all up on Saturday. "I was thinking in the car. You know, we're, me and Maisie, probably going to be gone by the time you're back."

​

"Yes, I know," Sorrel said, annoyed to be having this conversation again.

​

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had said it far too easily.

​

"Do you?" he challenged. Sorrel lowered her brows at him in response, and Tom continued. "I want good things for you, Sorrel. I still think you haven't thought about this long enough."

​

"I—"

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"Don't try to argue another night is enough."

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"That's, — that's not what I was going to say." She frowned at him, but sighed and softened her gaze before she continued. "It's like this." She gestured in the air, "I'd be on the leading edge of science, discovering new worlds, forging new paths. Isn't that exciting?" She let her mouth hang slightly open. "I thought you'd be excited."

​

"You think it's going to be like that TV show? You're going to be stuck, alone, for three years with the same 50 people getting into Lord knows what, and when you get back it'll be 2030. Do you realize it's crazy?" His voice was harsher now.

​

"2029," she muttered.

​

"You're crazy!" he shouted and pounded the side of his fist into the wall for emphasis. Both Maisie and Sorrel flinched, and Tom blinked at their responses and sighed. He let his gaze fall to the floor where it remained fixed, and he wore no expression on his face even as Sorrel narrowed her eyes at him to continue. She had never seen Tom so upset before, and as unbothered as she typically was, she was beginning to feel uneasy.

​

"I, uhm. I didn't expect you to take it so poorly." Sorrel said quietly, hoping that her feigned resignation would end the conversation.

​

"Sorrel," Tom had brought his voice back down to a normal speaking level, "you've always had this sort of whimsy, and this, this childish, youthful passion to go far and do great things but, just —" He seemed at a loss for words. "Is something wrong?" He looked up at her.

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"What?" Sorrel blinked in confusion.

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"If something's wrong you can talk to me about it, you know?" He searched her face, but she had turned away from him. "Maisie will listen too," he gestured towards his wife, "if you prefer her over me. I can't figure it out. Why you're so obsessed with this idea."

​

Sorrel's eyes had narrowed. "Well, this is — I already said it," she began, exasperated, "I am a geologist, I love rocks, you know that, but I've been doing the same thing for years, Tom, the same thing that I was doing a decade ago, even. And before that, well there were, you know, and pardon the pun, some earth-shattering discoveries in the field, but we learned and moved on and big deal. Well, we were hardly out of university. But this," she gestured in a sweeping arc upwards towards the sky, "this is so exciting, this is something so new, and I get to be a part of it." She paused. "It is right in front of me, it's been handed to me, how could I not take it?" Tom stared, and Sorrel answered her own question. "It's a step forward in my presently stagnated career, and it is perhaps the start of, oh, I don't know," her hands waved in the air and her eyes darted around as she spoke, as if she could find the words she was searching for on the dining room floor. "A new life," she finished lamely, and her hands dropped back down to her sides and silence overcame them.

​

She looked up to find that Tom wore a half smile of sarcasm upon his face. "Alright. Don't listen to old man Murray, he's full of wind and his advice is best ignored." Sorrel opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "Let's get Miss Laika to the airport now, yes? So she can skip everything and go directly to our funerals."

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"I—"

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"Shut up," Tom snapped, "and get in the car."

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Sorrel duly kept her mouth shut, and Maisie gave her an apologetic smile and mouthed that she'd call her as she passed her by. Tom did not offer to help Sorrel transport her things, and he instead watched her with a dull impatience from the doorway as she was forced to make multiple trips between the house, truck, and van. The ride to the airport was in icy silence, and multiple times at stopped lights she glanced over at her friend and colleague, hoping that he'd say something, or at least give her permission to break the silence. He never acknowledged her, and he had once only peered upwards at the rearview mirror and tapped a finger on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to turn green.

​

"You would not go if offered?" She startled him out of his thoughts.

​

"Ballsy," he muttered. "But God, no."

​

"No?"

​

"No." Suddenly, he grinned and let out a single scoffing laugh. "Hah! I could not throw my life away, leave Maisie and Vera behind. Leave my friends behind. It's selfish and it's suicide. Yes, it's what I think of you." His smile faded and he tilted his head to look at Sorrel, but she had turned away to look out the passenger side window. "We should stop talking. I'm in danger of turning the car around." Sorrel tacitly agreed and they completed the rest of the drive in resumed silence.

​

~~~

​

Sorrel narrowed her eyes as Tom left the main road to the terminals and pulled into the car park. The engine sputtered and shut off, but as she moved to exit, hoping to leave his presence as quickly as possible, he locked the door from the driver's side. Turning to glare at him, she manually unlocked the door and tried again, never breaking eye contact in the process, only to be locked in once more. "Oh," she said, "how petty," and she threw up her hands in mock defeat.

​

"Just wait a moment." Tom lifted one hand up from where it still rested on the steering wheel and brought it to his face in thought. Sorrel fidgeted with impatience and glanced repeatedly at the clock on the van's dashboard. He inhaled and let out a "hm" with his sigh. "Your head's always been in the clouds." He said it quietly, with no threat or accusation, but Sorrel bristled in response.

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"Oh, I see. God forbid a woman have ambition—"

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"No—" he interjected, firmly, and though he had not yet turned to look at her, his eyebrows had knit in frustration.

​

"Is that what it is?"

​

"No." He sighed again. "No. It's always 'science this', 'science that' with you. I don't know what ideas of grandeur of what sort of twisted personal fulfillment you're looking for up in the stars, but I am certain it is not there." He looked at her earnestly. "I can find you good connections at UNLV, you can settle nearby, it's not hard, Maisie and I would love to see you more often, and I'm sure you can continue visiting and working in Valley of Fire all you want."

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Sorrel looked back at him, and at length said softly, "You're very different, now, Tom."

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His face twitched and he snapped, "I recovered from being 20."

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She pressed her lips into a disappointed line. "I'm not a child, I know what I'm doing." Tom opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again. Sorrel looked him up and down and tilted her head to the side, softening her gaze along the way. "Will you let me out of the car?" He did not respond, but Tom restarted the engine to the van and, pulling out from the near-empty lot, he slowly drove them back around to the departures terminal. As the engine shut off once again, he made no move to unlock the door and no move to help her with her bags, but he likewise did not prevent Sorrel from herself unlocking the door and stepping out. Landing onto the sunny concrete curb, Sorrel thought of how small she must look next to the van as well, but she did not smile this time. She turned back to look at Tom, who was stiffly staring straight ahead. "If I invite you to the launch, will you come?" she asked quietly.

​

Tom narrowed his eyes and frowned at his dashboard. "Shut the door."