Free Come In and Cover Me by Gin Phillips Page B

anything, what’s the point of trying?”
    â€œBecause it’s fun. Because it’s what we have. But it’s a puzzle we’re trying to fit together knowing that we’ll never have all the pieces. We can’t avoid the blank spaces. They’re a part of it.”
    â€œI have to believe the pieces can fit together,” she said. “We owe them that—to tell the truth about them.”
    Paul had been listening carefully. “Do you believe there’s a truth?” he asked Silas.
    â€œSeveral of them,” said Silas. He looked back to Ren. “But don’t you think my way is less limiting?”
    â€œI think your way is ridiculous,” she said, and he laughed.
    If they were going to get any work done before sundown, they needed to get back to the site. When they turned back and stepped in the creek, Ren looked down at a school of minnows veering around her boot. She was not thinking about the relative sanity of his idea. She was thinking of what Ed had said about Silas not wanting to teach. The way he looked when he argued reminded her of professors, the good kind, at least—the look said if you don’t challenge me on this, you’re a boring sort of person.
    She’d never wanted to teach, herself. She didn’t particularly enjoy being questioned.
    The planks of the bench were poorly spaced, and she could feel the edges of the wood biting into her thighs through her cotton skirt. It had been silly to wear the skirt. Still, she had been covered in dust for weeks, hair either clean and wet and plastered to her head or dry and dirty and pulled into a ponytail. Her face stayed clean for minutes at a time. So it was only natural that for this one afternoon when they made the trip to Truth or Consequences for supplies and a good dinner, she would want to look like a woman, not an archaeologist, to look feminine and attractive to the extent that a skirt and lip gloss and eyeliner could signify those things.
    â€œLike the skirt,” Silas had said to her as they got in the van, not looking at her, and she had the unexpected thought that he seemed a bit shy. But then he turned his head and waggled his eyebrows, lecherously, goofily, and she was at a loss.
    They’d been in T or C for only half an hour. Ed and Paul had each made a quick phone call, then headed to the grocery store to start the shopping. Silas was walking—pacing, really—along the sidewalk behind her as he took care of his own phone calls.
    She was editing copy for an upcoming exhibit, which was not an efficient process by phone. Three short-lived desert colonies had coalesced in various bends along the Rio Grande during the late 1800s, and her first draft of exhibit copy was more than ten thousand words. The office manager, Sally, was reading the problem paragraphs aloud. Too much talk of spirituality. Not enough on agriculture. She needed to do this right, needed to prove that she could do her job long-distance. The museum board’s patience wouldn’t last forever.
    She glanced at Silas, who had called his parents. He was speaking to his father, whom he called “sir,” and asked about a fence Silas had apparently fixed on some recent visit. He nodded at the phone frequently. Then his mother took the phone, and he teased her about something to do with watching
Jeopardy!
She made him laugh. He told her he had a book he wanted to bring her the next time he came. When he hung up, he looked over at Ren, phone still open in his hand.
    â€œStill the office?” he mouthed.
    She nodded, rolling her eyes.
    â€œMy brother’s next,” he said. He punched in numbers and said, “Hello, young man,” into the phone.
    She tried to focus on the next paragraph Sally read. But she was aware of Silas asking someone named Skillet to record a game, because apparently football season was starting in two days.
    She hung up just as Silas was sliding his phone into his