Tritia sat in her chair, head tilted back, staring up at the sky. She loved to watch clouds, to lay back and enjoy their billowy transformations, ascribing concrete form to their temporary shapes. And nowhere were the clouds more visually dramatic than in Arizona. As a young girl growing up in Southern California near the Pacific Ocean, she’d had her share of clear days, of blue Rose Parade skies, but in California the cloud situation was either feast or famine. Either they were nonexistent or they covered the entire sky from horizon to horizon with a monochrome ceiling. Rarely did she see the huge shifting shapes she saw in Arizona, clouds so white against sky so blue that they looked fake.

“Trish!”

She sat up straight at the sound of Doug’s voice. His tone was unexpectedly serious, and her first thought was that he or Billy had slipped and fallen and broken something, but she saw with relief that they were both walking normally through the water toward her, not holding arms or wrists or fingers. She relaxed a little, though she noticed that Billy was not as excited as he had been earlier.

He looked… scared. She pushed the thought from her mind. “What is it?” she asked.

“You have to see it. Come here.” Doug stepped out of the creek toward her.

She stood, adjusting her shorts. “Do I have to?” she asked teasingly, but the only response she received was a slight attempt at a smile. Something was definitely wrong. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing serious.”

“What is it?”

“I have to show it to you. Come on.”

Feeling increasingly apprehensive, she followed Doug into the creek, holding tightly to his arm as the three of them walked over the slippery rocks upstream, moving through small banks of rapids, around bends. Tree branches swiped at her face as the creek narrowed.