Canyonlands
Christopher Stanley
Jess, my wife, brings a cold beer out to the porch and squeezes my shoulder. She’s lost a little weight in recent years, and the colour is going from her hair, but when the setting sun catches her skin, she’s every bit as beautiful as she was the first time we met. I ask if she wants to join me, but it’s getting cold and she says she’ll wait indoors. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking about my brother, Cal, and how it’s time for me to let go.
We had an agreement, Cal and me. He could stay in our spare room, rent free, but he had to let me know where he was. Not the specifics, just an idea. Usually he’d scribble a few words on the back of an old envelope and pin it to the fridge. “Gone exploring, see you in three,” the note would say, or “Need some
