In the rocky tree-spotted upland meadow beyond Emerald Lake, he found a natural granite bench and laid out his lunch of two processed-American-cheese sandwiches and dried fruit, very much like what he had eaten on hikes in the valley as a boy. Facing the white plume of Nevada Fall, still a few hundred yards distant, he chewed crescents from a leathery apricot and brewed hot tea on a tiny portable stove.

Someone came up behind him, tread so light as to be almost undetected. "Excuse me."

He twisted his torso and stared at the blond woman. She smiled down on him. She was at least six feet tall. "Yes?" he asked, swallowing most of a mouthful of half-chewed apricot.

"Did you see a man here, a little taller than I, with a very black full beard and wearing a red parka?" She indicated the man's height with a hand held level above her head.

Edward hadn't, but the woman's worried expression suggested that it would be best if he paused to consider before answering. "No, I don't think so," he said. "There aren't many people here today."

"I've been waiting two days," she said, sighing. "We were supposed to meet here, at the Emerald Lake, actually."

"I'm sorry."

"Did you see anybody like him down on the valley floor? You came up from there, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I don't remember any men with black beards and red parkas. Or any with just black beards, for that matter—unless he's a biker."

"Oh, no." She shook her head and turned away, then turned back. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. May I offer some tea, fruit?"

"No thank you. I've eaten. I carried food for both of us."

Edward watched her with an embarrassed smile. She seemed unsure what to do next. He half wished she would go away; his attraction to her was almost painful.

"He's my husband," she said, staring up at Liberty Cap, shading her eyes against the hazy glare. "We're separated. We met in Yosemite, and we thought if we came back here, before ..." Her voice trailed off and she made a negligible shrug of her shoulders and arms. "We might be able to stay together. We agreed to meet at Emerald Lake."

"I'm sure he must be here someplace." He gestured at the lake and trail and the Nevada Fall.

"Thank you," she said. This time, she did not smile, simply turned and walked back toward the head of Vernal Fall and the descending Mist Trail. He watched her go and took a deep breath, biting into his second sandwich.

He stared at the sandwich ruefully as he chewed. "Must be the white bread," he told himself. "Can't catch a beauty like that with anything less than whole wheat."