Angels Fall

color the exertion had put in her cheeks drained away. "Good spot for it, especially this time of year. Nobody on the trails this early in the spring—or nearly nobody. He lures her up, shoves her over."
    Brody leaned out a little, looking down. He'd already taken off his jacket, as she longed to do. "Long, nasty drop. Terrible accident, terrible tragedy."
    Despite herself, she was intrigued. "Why does he do it?"
    He only shrugged, broad shoulders in a denim shirt. "Mostly because he can."
    "There were kayakers on the river. They might see."
    "That's why they call it fiction. Kayakers," he mumbled and scribbled something on his pad. "Maybe. Maybe better if there were. What would they see? Body dropping. Scream echoes. Splat."
    "Oh, well. I'll leave you to it."
    Since his response was nothing but an absent grunt, she continued on. It was a little irritating, really, she thought. He had a good spot to rest and to take in the view. Which would've been her spot it he hadn't been there. But she'd find another, she'd find her own. Just a little higher up.
    Still, she kept well away from the edge as she hiked, and tried to erase the image of a body flying off the end of the world, down to the rocks and water below.
    She knew she was hitting the wall of herendurance when she heard the thunder again. Stopping, she braced her hands on her thighs and caught her breath. Before she could decide if this was the spot, she heard the long, fiercesome cry of a hawk. Looking up, she saw it sweep west.
    She wanted to follow the hawk, like a sign. One more switchback, she decided, just one more, then she'd sit in splendid solitude, unpack her lunch and enjoy an hour with the river.
    She was rewarded for that last struggle of effort with a view of white water. It churned and slapped at the fists and knuckles of rock, spewed up against towers of them, then spilled down on itself in a short, foaming waterfall. The roar of it filled the canyon, and rolled over her own laugh of delight.
    She'd made it after all.
    With relief she unshouldered her pack before sinking down to sit on a pocked boulder. She unpacked her lunch, and pleased herself by eating ravenously.
    Top of the world, that's how she felt. Calm and energized at once, and absolutely happy. She bit into an apple so crisp it shocked her senses as the hawk cried out again and soared overhead.
    It was perfect, she thought. Absolutely perfect.
    She lifted her binoculars to follow the hawk's flight, then skimmed them down to track the powerful surge of the river. With hope, she began to scout the rocks, the stands of willow and cottonwood, back into the pines for wildlife. A bear might come fishing, or she might spot another moose, an elk who came to drink.
    She wanted to see beaver and watch otters play. She wanted to simply be exactly where she was, with the peaks rising up, the sun shining and the water a constant rumble below.
    If she hadn't been searching the rough shoreline, she would have missed them.
    They stood between the trees and the rocks. The man—at least she thought it was a man—had his back to her, with the woman facing the river, hands on her hips.
    Even with her binoculars, the height and the distance made it impossible to see them clearly, but she saw the spill or dark hair over a red jacket, under a red cap.
    Reece wondered what they were doing. Debating a camping spot, she mused, or a place to put into the river. But she skimmed the glasses along and didn't see a sign of a canoe or kayak. Camping, then, though she couldn't spot any gear.
    With a shrug, she went back to watching them. It seemed intrusive, but she had to admit there was a little thrill in that. They couldn't know she was there, high up on the other side of the river, studying them as she might have a couple of bear cubs or a herd of deer.
    "Having an argument," she mumbled. "That's what it looks like to me."
    There was something aggressive and angry in the woman's stance, and when she jabbed her finger at the man. Reece let out a low whistle.
    "Oh yeah, you're pissed off. Bet you wanted to stay at a nice hotel with indoor plumbing and room service, and he dragged you out to pitch a tent."
    The man made a gesture like an umpire calling a batter safe at the plate, and this time the woman slapped him. "Ouch." Reece winced, and ordered herself to lower the binoculars. It wasn't right to spy on them. But she couldn't resist the private little drama, and kept her glasses trained.
    The woman shoved both