“I mean I’m really upset, and you don’t seem disturbed.”

I shook my head. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

“I’m sorry my reaction isn’t precisely like yours. However, you might just want to pull it together so that you don’t make Sarah any more scared than she already is. What do you think?”

Meg said nothing.

I shook my head again. Then I realized I thought that she might have been looking for a fight in order to not think about what was happening. I didn’t like it, but I had to admit that if true, it wasn’t a bad strategy. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I am worried. I don’t want to lose focus arguing over something like this.”

Meg reached up and touched my hand.

I could tell she hadn’t changed her mind about my reaction. I wanted to tell her that even in grief there had to be a diversity of form, just like with living organisms, but I didn’t. Thinking about analogous bullshit was my way of dealing with stress, and there was no need for me to make things worse by airing any of it.

Sayornis nigricans. A completely preserved tarsometatarsus was recovered with ten other bones from the 18–20 cm level. These may have been from an owl pellet. The specimen, 16 mm long, is in the size range of a female. It was compared to Sayornis saya, which is larger, and Contopus and Empidonax spp., which is smaller.

4

There was mention of Naught’s Cave in the journals of John Wesley Powell as he navigated the Colorado River. It was described as “but a mere cavity in the wall” that he observed but never explored, it being very likely that when he came upon it, there was no way to rest the boat while he investigated. It was more likely that he simply had no interest in entering it, it being “but a mere” cavity. No one knows why it came to be named Naught’s Cave, there being no record of any member of his party going by that name. I suggested once that he meant the name literally, naught as in nothing. Nothing Cave. And so perhaps evidence of his lack of interest. For me, however, the cave held great interest, became my work, my focus, in some way my world. It was the one place that I knew more about than anyone else. I wondered if everyone needed such a place, if everyone could have such a place, if my daughter would ever have such a place.

Even when I was at home, Naught’s Cave became a place where I hid from the rest of the world and life, my excuse being that I was working. My obsessive notes covered not only my desk but my person as well. Obsession was a trait that I employed conveniently, without much regard, but when employed it was earnest and complete, perhaps not quite the Platonic emulation of a desired quality, as that must have required an actual decision, but more a commitment born of simple weakness.