He stroked her face with the back of his fingers, and then he stood up.
“Next time,” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
Then his smile, that trademark smile of his which had made Tammy weak with infatuation when she’d first seen it, dimmed a little; its departure not signifying sadness, only the appearance of a certain ease in him, which his smile had concealed all these years. He didn’t need to try so hard any longer. He didn’t need to charm or please.
She tried to catch his eye one last time-to have one last piece of him, even now. But he was already looking away; looking at where he was really headed.
She heard him speak one last time, and there was such happiness in his voice, she began to cry like a baby.
“Dempsey?” he said. “Here boy! Here!”
She turned her head towards the light, thinking she might glimpse him even now, but as she did so, she heard-or thought she heard-the angel utter a word of its own; a seamless word, like a ribbon wrapped around everything she’d ever dreamed of knowing or being. It wasn’t loud, but it erased the sound of the sirens, for which she was grateful; then it moved off up into the darkness of the Canyon.
Knowing she was safe in the hands of those who would take care of her, and one, Maxine, who loved her, she followed the ribbon of the word up the flanks of Coldheart Canyon, skimming the darkened earth.
And as the woman and the word passed over the ground together, the creatures of the Canyon forgot their fear. They began to make music again; cicadas in the grass, nightbirds in the trees; and on the ridge, the coyotes, yapping fit to burst. Not because they had a kill, but because they had life.