Crown of Tears
an excerpt

Chapter 1: Jo

It was raining. Jo stared out the window, watching how the sheets of water obscured the colors of the trees and buildings. She wished she could hear the drops hitting the windows, but the glass in her office window was too thick. Shatterproof, she assumed, in case of earthquakes.

The rest of her office was just as functional. Grey fabric-covered cubicle walls provided a modicum of privacy (though not much protection in an earthquake, Jo thought) with ultimate versatility. The carpet was a dusky brick color, and every workspace was designed to make the most out of a small space. The locations of the computer jacks forced the occupants to face away from the temptation of the window, towards the empty space that served as a doorway. Most people made up for this by over-decorating, plastering the drab walls with children’s fingerpaintings, family photographs, and witty quotes and cartoons printed from the Internet.

Jo’s cube was nearly empty. Her computer sat neatly in the corner. The keyboard and mousepad tucked neatly under the desk on its own tray. To one side there was a mug holding a dozen blue pens, all exactly the same. An empty whiteboard hung on one wall; the other was almost empty, except for a few clear pushpins along the top wall. A shiny scrap of color occasionally glinted when cars passed by. The corner of a photograph.

Her computer pinged softly, and she glanced over her shoulder.

I know you’re there, read the instant message. Then: Don’t think logging in as invisible will fool me.

Jo shrugged, then remembered that the person on the other end could not see the gesture. She spun her chair around, turning her back to the window, and typed, I’m here. It’s raining.

No shit, Sherlock, came the response.

So I don’t think I want to go, typed Jo. And waited. Her phone rang.

“What do you mean, you don’t want to go?” demanded Rebecca. “This is the last one, Jo, and your last chance before it really starts to rain. The weather’s not going to get any better. It is October, after all.”

Jo shrugged again. “I just don’t feel like it. It’s cold and windy and I’d rather just curl up at home with a book. Can’t I” – she paused for effect – “take a rain check?” She waited for the inevitable snicker that bad puns always elicited from her friend. It did not come.

Instead there was a silence on the other end. Finally Rebecca said, “I understand, Jo. It’s not an easy thing, to close a chapter like this. But don’t you think you owe it to yourself to finish it? Wouldn’t it be a relief?”

“The waterfalls will still be there next summer,” Jo reasoned. “They’re not going anywhere.”

“That’s not the point! You took this on, for Emily. You should finish it and move on.” Another pause. “Dr. Cooper was asking about you today. She wants to know when you’re coming back to school. I didn’t know what to tell her.”

Jo didn’t answer right away. She turned back to the rainy view of the small park behind her office building. The silence on the other end of the phone was tense with impatience, but Rebecca was clearly waiting for a response.
“All right,” said Jo at last. “I’ll go. I suppose you have a point. You’ll pick me up?”

“Of course.” Rebecca’s smile was practically audible. She did not press Jo for an answer to her other question. She knew better than to push. “I’ll see you at seven tomorrow morning.” She hung up quickly, before Jo could protest the early hour.

*****************

The bell in her apartment rang at exactly five minutes to seven. Jo buzzed Rebecca in and opened her door a crack before throwing the last few things in her backpack. By the time Rebecca made it up the stairs to the third floor, Jo was almost ready to go. “What am I forgetting?” she asked as soon as her friend pushed through the door. “Water bottle, granola bars, band-aids, an extra pair of socks. I’m forgetting something.”

Rebecca handed her a cup of coffee. “I stopped at Stumptown on the way. Oh, and good morning to you too.” She took a sip. “Dry clothes to change into? We’ll leave them in the car. It’s not raining hard, but it’s a nice, steady drizzle.” She smiled wryly. “Another beautiful day in the Pacific Northwest.”
“I’ve got jeans and a sweatshirt in my bag.” Jo thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Oh, well. It will probably come to me when we’re halfway there.”

“Can’t be that important then, can it?” asked Rebecca philosophically. She took another sip of coffee. “All right, let’s go.”

“Hang on.” Jo disappeared into the kitchen. She popped the lid of her coffee cup and spooned three heaping spoons of sugar into the steaming coffee. She stirred vigorously, tapping the bottom of the cup with the spoon to make sure all the sugar was dissolved. When she was satisfied, she carefully pushed the lid back into place. When she turned, Rebecca was in the doorway, watching her with a disgusted expression.

“Gah. I don’t understand how you can ruin perfectly good coffee like that,” she teased. Rebecca liked things simple. Black coffee, plain bagels, hamburgers with no condiments. Her hair was short, black and hassle-free. She never wore make-up, and Jo could not recall having ever seen her friend in a dress. At the same time, Rebecca carried herself with a confidence normally found in tall, slim women with red lips and stiletto heels.

Jo herself was tall and slim, but her confidence was of the academic sort. Though she had never been as vibrant as the friends she gathered around herself, she had not always been so awkward. Put her in front of a computer or a classroom, and she was all poise and grace. Put her in stiletto heels – or anything else that called attention to Jo the Person – and she would be as stiff and static as one of her sister’s beloved trees. And where Rebecca craved simplicity, Jo liked to surround herself with all sorts of creature comforts. They were a constant reminder that there were still good things to be enjoyed.

Unlike her office cube, Jo’s apartment was filled with knick-knacks, hangings, throw pillows, candles – all things that added a touch of luxury to a tiny one-bedroom apartment in downtown Portland. Only the mantle was empty; where one might expect to see photographs, there was only dust. Jo had packed all her photographs away the day Emily finally died.

Jo brushed by Rebecca and walked back into the living room. She sat on the couch to pull on her boots, fumbling a little with the laces. Despite her earlier reluctance to hike today, she felt a strange excitement rising in her. She felt light, like a burden was about to be lifted. This was an ending, the culmination of a year’s dedicated study. Find the Crying Man, her sister had begged, just before the sparkle faded from her brown eyes and she slipped into the coma that imprisoned her for a year. Promise me. I never found the Crying Man. Jo had nodded, blinded by pain and tears, mostly upside down and half strangled by her seatbelt. How could she not promise? It was her fault.

They took Emily away in one ambulance, and Jo in another. It was two days before she learned that Emily was alive, and another week until they told her that Emily was not likely to wake up. Their mother drifted in and out of Jo’s room, and presumably in and out of Emily’s as well. Jo was never sure. By the time Jo had recovered enough to see her sister, their mother had drifted out of the hospital, back to work, Jo supposed. As if her daughters, injured, had abandoned her like their father did.

Emily had been the nature lover in the family. When their father had run off (Jo was eight, Emily five), the girls and their mother coped in very different ways. Jo buried herself in books: literature, poetry, biographies, anything she could get her hands on. Her mother buried herself in work, traveling more and more as the girls got older. Emily, though, took to the woods behind their house. She knew every nook and cranny; she named the trees and spoke of them like friends. It was Emily who conceived the idea that she would hike all of the eighty or so waterfalls on the Oregon side of the Gorge. She was nine at the time. Nineteen years later, she was in a coma.

Jo sat with Emily day after day for months. She dropped out of school when her visits became too emotionally exhausting, and stopped visiting when she could no longer stand to see her lovely baby sister waste away. Gradually she spent more and more time at the library, trying to find any hints that would lead her to the Crying Man.

That her sister had been speaking of a waterfall, Jo was certain. But there was no listing for a Crying Man Falls or anything of the sort in any of the hiking books, or even in the literature about the history of the Columbia River Gorge. All she could find was a brief mention of an obscure Native American legend about a man who was betrayed by the woman he loved. In his grief and anger he dissolved into a cascade of tears, washing his lover down through the Gorge to the river, where she drowned.

Finally Jo decided that the Crying Man had to be one of the seventy or eighty recorded waterfalls in the Gorge area, and if she visited them all, she was bound to come across the one her sister was looking for. It sounded simple, but Jo had no true love of hiking, and many of the falls were off the beaten path, so to speak. After fighting her way alone through brush and brambles to reach one particularly difficult spot, she enlisted Rebecca’s help. Truth be told, it was a relief to let someone else take the wheel of the car. Over the course of a year, while a machine moved Emily’s breath in and out of her lungs, Jo and Rebecca fought their way from waterfall to waterfall, photographing each and every one in case Emily ever woke up.

But Emily had died in late September, on a day almost as warm as sunny as that day in the car, and Jo had simply – stopped. Oh, she went to work, she answered phones and directed messages, she made coffee and signed for deliveries; she was there, but she was not present. There was one waterfall left to visit, and Jo stood still, until Rebecca shook her out of her passivity.

Shoes tied and windbreaker zipped, Jo stood up and gestured to her friend, a sort of vague wave of one hand that might have been After you, but might also have been I don’t know what to say. Rebecca grinned and walked out of the apartment. As she started down the stairs, Jo suddenly remembered what she had forgotten. “Hang on a sec,” she called down. “I’ll be right there.” She ducked back into the apartment, rummaged around in a drawer for a moment, and pulled out a photograph. It was a bit crumpled, and a corner was missing, but she smoothed it as best she could and put it in the outer pocket of her backpack. She walked back out into the hall, locked the door, and followed Rebecca out to the car.

Traffic was messy on the interstate, but once they turned off onto the scenic highway, the roads were practically empty. The small gravel parking lot at the trailhead was deserted, which was hardly a surprise. The rain, while not blindingly heavy, was steady enough to keep most reasonable hikers away. Rebecca pulled right up to the trail map and opened her window to peer out.
“The map doesn’t say anything about any waterfalls,” she said, a hint of doubt in her voice. “Are you sure there’s one here?”

Jo thumbed through her notes. “It’s really only mentioned in a footnote, but I’m pretty sure this is the place. The Lily Creek Trail. There’s a small spring about three miles in that’s supposed to be rather pretty. As far as I can tell, Emily never saw this one.” A familiar lump grew in her throat upon speaking Emily’s name. “Let’s just go check it out.”

Rebecca pulled the car over to one side and parked. Jo pulled a pair of jeans and a Portland State sweatshirt out of her backpack, rifled through the remaining contents for a moment, then, satisfied, zipped it shut again. She cinched the hood of her windbreaker tight before she climbed out of the car. Looking around, it appeared that nobody had been to this particular trailhead for some time, at least since the rains began. The wet leaves on the ground were undisturbed, aside from the tracks of Rebecca’s car, and there were no footprints at the start of the trail. Rebecca checked the board again, making sure the trail was not closed for maintenance, and signed the logbook. She looked at Jo as if she wanted to say something, touched her shoulder instead, and started up the trail. Jo followed close behind.

The trail meandered up a series of switchbacks for a while. Jo tried to keep count, but she lost track at four or five, and from that point on gave up trying to estimate distances. The forest was quiet, and strangely dry under the canopy of heavy fir boughs. She was struck again at the eerie, almost fairy tale-like quality of the light. Moss glittered damply on the sides of trees and dripped from the lowest branches. Her legs burned with the effort of walking uphill without slipping on the slick leaves and hidden roots. In front of her, Rebecca seemed to be moving smoothly enough, and – not for the first time – Jo admired her friend’s easy athleticism.

After about a half hour, the trail began to curve more gently around the side of a bluff. Warmed by the steeper climb, Jo stopped to unzip her jacket and to suck on her water bottle. Rebecca did not wait; they were accustomed to each other’s rhythm and pace by now. Jo placed one hand on an enormous tree trunk and leaned into it for a moment. She looked up until she grew dizzy, trying to feel what Emily must have felt at moments like this. But what Jo felt was sore and winded, and the chill air was starting to work its way into her jacket. She zipped it up again and moved on, walking quickly to catch up with Rebecca.

The sound of a sudden intake of breath was Jo’s only warning. As she came around the bend, an ankle-deep cascade of mud and loose rock came rushing down towards her. She yelped and dodged to one side to avoid being tripped up.

“Sorry!” Rebecca called down. She halfway to her knees, clinging to a small tree, which apparently prevented her from tumbling into the mud. She pulled herself upright. “The ground is a little loose around here. Take care on your way up.” This time she waited for Jo to catch up.

For the next couple of hours Jo and Rebecca followed the trail. They spoke little except to point out obstacles and rough patches, which appeared more and more frequently. Finally, Rebecca stopped in frustration and put her hands on her hips. “What kind of trail maintenance do they do around here?” she snapped. “I figured my tax money would pay for something a little more reliable.”

Jo looked beyond where Rebecca was standing. The trail had more or less disappeared. A little ways off she could see a blue plastic diamond tacked to a tree, which she pointed out to Rebecca. “There obviously used to be a trail. Let’s see how far we can go.” She pushed past her friend and made her way to the trail marker. As she drew closer, she could hear the sound of rushing water.

“’Becca!” In her excitement Jo used her friend’s hated childhood nickname. “I think we found it!” She tried to quicken her pace, but the pine needles under her feet were even more slippery than ever. She was forced to place one foot in front of the other with critical deliberation, and she could not afford to take her eyes off the nearly invisible trail. When the ground leveled out, and she could hear that she was close, she stopped and took a look at her surroundings.

The rain had stopped for the moment, but the air was still damp from the spray of a tall, narrow cascade of water that tumbled down the face of the bluff. Bright green algae and the greyer green of moss covered the face of the rock. The water landed in a very round pool, practically symmetrical, and flowed out and away from the trail; the pool was so clear that Jo had no real idea of its depth. As she drank in the sight, she was sure that this was the place her sister had so desperately wanted to find.

She felt lighter than ever.

Chapter Two: Rebecca

Rebecca entered the clearing around the waterfall, and Jo jumped. She seemed to have forgotten that Rebecca was there. Jo turned, a beatific smile on her face, and Rebecca’s heart twinged. They had had “that talk” sophomore year of college, in which they agreed that they were better off as friends, but Jo’s rare unguarded smile still made her breath catch in her throat. Rebecca swallowed and said, “So? Move your ass and let me get a photo.”

She pulled a heavy digital camera out of her bag and bumped Jo aside with her hip. Muttering about low light levels and the effect of the fine spray on the lens, Rebecca snapped a few pictures of the waterfall, then turned the lens on her friend. “Smile,” she said, her eyes hidden behind the camera. But Jo’s face had changed, her eyes squeezed shut in pain and grief. When she opened them, Rebecca was surprised to see an easing of tension, as if Jo had come to some decision. Which, it appeared, she had.

Shrugging out of her backpack, Jo extricated the photograph she had tucked inside at the last minute. It showed two girls in shorts and tank tops standing on the bridge over Multnomah Falls, one of Oregon’s most beautiful landmarks. One girl – Jo – smiled at the camera, but the other – Emily – was half twisted to look behind them. Her face was turned upwards, in her eyes a look of awe, possibly reverence, which was visible even at a distance. Even on a three by five glossy. Jo knelt down quickly, and taking a deep breath, dropped the photograph in the water.

It spun crazily, dipping under the surface and bobbing back up again, caught in a swift-moving eddy, before escaping and floating downstream. Jo followed it with her eyes, but Rebecca watched Jo. She expected to see one of any number of emotions on her friend’s face – sadness, relief, longing, bitterness – but Jo was lost in her own memories for the time being, and Rebecca glanced away, discomfited.

Finally she dropped down beside Jo at the water’s edge and dipped her fingers into the pool. “Brr,” she said, shivering. “That Crying Man must have been a cold one.” She hoped her quip would erase the contemplative look from her friend’s face. Jo thought too much, sometimes.

“If this is Crying Man Falls,” she continued, “then he would have been standing up there when he melted, or whatever it is that he did.” She pointed up the rock face to the source of the cascade, where a stand of scraggly trees seemed determined to flourish, despite the barrenness of the cliff. “The water would have washed down the face of the cliff there, and swept his girlfriend off that direction.” She followed the sweep of the water with her hand.

“Snowmelt,” said Jo, but she was not really paying attention. She gazed into the pool as if searching its depths for some answer.

“I think I’ll go up and take a look.”

Sometimes she could still surprise her friend. Jo gaped. “Up there?” she said, a note of incredulity in her voice. “You’ve got to be kidding. ‘Becca, you’re no mountain climber. There’s no path!”

But Rebecca was already poking around the base of the hill, looking for a way up. She pretended not to hear Jo’s exasperated sigh. “Come on,” she said, not looking back, hoping that she had jolted her friend out of her reverie. She brushed aside some of the wilting undergrowth to reveal a narrow ledge, barely a boot’s width wide, that seemed to hug the side of the bluff. “Come on,” she said again, and stopped.

Jo was still staring into the pool, but her expression had changed again. Like a summer storm, Jo thought, then flogged herself mentally for the sentimental thought.

Before Rebecca could react, Jo pulled off her coat and threw herself down on her stomach at the edge of the pool. She reached out one arm into the water as far as she could stretch, gasping in shock at the icy water. Whatever she was reaching for was too far. Yanking her arm out of the water, she rubbed it vigorously with her other hand. “Damn, that’s cold!” She sat up.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and glanced around. With exaggerated care she picked up a long stick and handed it to Jo with a mocking flourish. “I don’t know what you’re fishing for,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “but this might be a more efficient way to reach it.”

Jo glared at her, but took the stick anyway and began rooting around in the gravel at the bottom of the pool. Now Rebecca could see what Jo was trying to bring up, or part of it. Whatever it was, it glittered in the swirling currents. Jo carefully wedged the stick underneath the object, and carefully levered it out of the sediment. She hooked it neatly on the end of the stick and lifted it out of the water.

It was a crown. More like a wreath, really. Fine strands of silver wire were interlaced in an intricate configuration; Rebecca could not quite grasp the pattern. Caught up between the strands were dozens of translucent shimmering stones of varying sizes, some as small as BBs, others as large as hazelnuts. Opals, perhaps? Or quartz? Rebecca had no idea. Jo turned it this way and that, and the stones sparkled, even in the gloom of the overcast afternoon. They looked like drops of water trapped in ice.

“It’s beautiful,” Jo breathed. Even Rebecca could appreciate the clean simplicity of the piece, despite its sumptuousness. “What on earth is it?”

Rebecca shook her head wordlessly. She took it from the other woman’s hands and ran her fingers along it. The stones were fixed in place, but she could see no settings; they were literally trapped among the silver wires. Her fingers tingled as they probed. Experimentally she pushed at one of the delicate wires, but it did not bend. Finally she gave the crown back to Jo. “You keep it,” she said. “Leave no trace, you know?”

Jo rummaged around in her bag for something in which to wrap the crown, but she had left her spare clothes in the car. Finally she wriggled out of her damp pullover, which she had worn over a rather threadbare t-shirt, and folded it around the fragile-looking object. Rebecca tossed her jacket over, and she zipped it on. “I’ll be warm enough when we get moving,” Jo explained. She up at the clouds, which were growing more ominous by the minute, then down at the trail. “We should go before it starts to rain again.”

“I still want to climb to the top,” Rebecca objected. “Let’s see if we can’t find a way up.” When Jo looked reluctant, Rebecca resorted to wheedling. “Oh, come on, Jo. It’s just a little further, and then we can go. I’ll buy you dinner?” She put on her most hopeful expression, and was rewarded with a shrug, which she took as acquiescence.

Jo had been right; Rebecca was certainly no mountain climber. But she was determined to find a way up to the top, where she could see down into the clear pool. As much as she hated to admit it, she was rather fascinated by the story of the Crying Man and his lover. She wanted to see the spot where the perfidious woman had stood and repudiated the man who loved her, before she was swept away by his grief. Something about the story appealed to the romantic in her, and her literary mind was already working on how to use it in her next writing project.

Carefully she stepped out onto the narrow ledge, one foot in front of the other, heel to toe. She was forced to turn her chest to the cliff face in order to keep her balance. She pressed her face against the stone and inched forward, using her hands for support. She could not look back behind her to see if Jo was following, but she could hear the sound of rubber soles sliding against rock, and assumed that Jo was back there somewhere.

The rock curved in a gradual bow around to the west. After the first few agonizing steps, Rebecca found that it was actually quite simple to balance; a little uncomfortable for anyone with hips, but certainly manageable. The ledge sloped upwards gently; as it grew steeper, however, it also grew wider. Soon she was able to face forwards again. Now she did risk a quick glance over her shoulder to see if Jo was there. She caught sight of one arm clad in a teal sleeve reaching around the side of the bluff. She thought she heard cursing, but decided to ignore it.

Eventually the ledge broadened into a track, and the track into a trail, somewhat overgrown, but still passable. At one time or another, this part of the trail must have been open to hikers, or at least to the bolder ones, but to Rebecca’s admittedly inexperienced eye it looked to have been a long time since anyone set foot here. By the time the trail switched and led her back towards the spring, Jo had come up alongside her.

“That was quick,” Rebecca remarked. Though still steep, the trail was now wide enough to walk side by side. “I didn’t expect you to sprint just to catch up.”

Jo peeked up at her slantwise and said, “I feel light. Unburdened. I think this was a good idea.” She put one arm around Rebecca’s shoulders and gave her a lopsided hug. “Thanks for convincing me to come.”

“Anytime, sugar,” Rebecca drawled. She leered convincingly at Jo, who blushed and laughed. They walked along in silence for a few minutes. Rebecca realized with relief that this was the first time she had felt such a level of easy companionship with her friend since before the crash. Spending time with Jo lately had been like walking on a tightrope; she never knew what would throw her off balance. She felt a little smug, if truth be told. She was the steadfast one, the one who stayed through thick and thin. Few of Jo’s other friends – male or female – could say the same.

The trail ended abruptly at a dense stand of twisted pines. Rebecca stopped and looked around; Jo walked several more paces and came to an abrupt halt just before she knocked her head on a low branch. The rumble of falling water was clearly audible close by.

“I think it’s coming from in here,” called Jo, peering into the thicket. She pushed her way inside, squirming and wriggling her way between the tree trunks. Her voice sounded faint, muffled by the undergrowth. “It comes right up from the ground! There’s a bit of a… I don’t know, a cairn, maybe? A stream flows right out from under the cairn. It’s – oh!” There came a loud rustling noise and a sharp crack, then silence.

“Jo?” Rebecca called. “Are you all right?”

Jo did not answer right away. When she did, her voice sounded odd. “’Becca, I think you should come see this.”

A little alarmed, Rebecca forced her way into the thicket. She saw the stream immediately, and followed it back to a knee-high pile of flat stones. The water seemed to bubble up from the ground, like Jo had said, and poured out through the rocks of the cairn. Before she could study it closely, a flash of bright teal - Jo’s jacket – drew her attention. She pushed aside the buses behind the cairn and stepped into a perfectly round clearing.

Jo was waiting with her back to her, but when Rebecca drew close she turned and motioned with her hand. At the very edge of the clearing, right behind the cairn, there stood a man, or more accurately, the statue of a man. Carved out of smooth grey stone, the figure was tall and slender. His chest was bare, and both of his hands were held out in front of him, palms up, as if pleading, or showing his hands were empty. You have nothing to fear from me, his posture said. I am lost. It was in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his jaw. His eyes were closed, and his face –

Rebecca’s skin suddenly prickled. The tracks of tears on the figure’s cheeks were clearly visible. She took a step forward and lightly traced the dark lines. The stone was damp, as if the statue itself was weeping. With a strange, gasping laugh, she said, “I don’t believe it. We’ve found the Crying Man. The actual Crying Man. This is too much.” She had not really expected to find much of anything at all at the top; it was the story that interested her, not the actual events that formed the basis of it. In fact she was surprised to find that there may have been a kernel of truth to the story at all. Unless –

“Somebody must have put this here later on,” she mused aloud. “What do you think, Jo? But they couldn’t have dragged it up that trail. Or maybe they carved it here on site.”

But Jo did not answer. She was still examining the statue, her hands hovering just above the stone but not quite touching it. A curious expression flitted over her face. “It’s warm. The stone, I mean. How could that be?”
Rebecca touched the statue. It did seem a bit warmer than one would expect. “Hot spring, maybe?” She shook her head. “No, that water was ice cold. And it’s certainly not heat from the sun – it’s been raining non-stop for days.” She glanced up at the sky. “Speaking of which, we should head back down. Hang on, let me get a picture.”

She dropped her backpack to the ground and dug out the camera. She snapped one or two quick shots before Jo could move aside, then prowled around the clearing looking for the best angle. She tried to capture every detail – the exquisitely rendered curls, the outstretched hands. It was really a beautiful piece of work, and Rebecca felt privileged to have come across it, and a little proud that it had been her idea in the first place. What a fantastic end to Jo’s quest. Perhaps now she – and Emily – could be at peace.

A thought struck her. “Jo, let’s see that crown again.”

Shrugging, Jo pulled it out of her bag and unwrapped it. It glittered more strongly under the open sky in the clearing than it had under the canopy below.

Rebecca moved around to the front of the statue again, trying to find the right angle. “OK, now lay it in his hands. I think this will be a beautiful shot.” Jo did as she asked, carefully placing it in the statue’s outstretched palms. She made as if to step back, but hesitated, her attention caught by something she saw in the man’s face. Rebecca clicked away behind her, taking advantage of Jo’s preoccupation with the statue to take a few pictures of her as well. Jo never stood still for photos; she hated having her picture taken. But she was still searching the statue’s face and did not seem to notice Rebecca.

And then the ground dropped out from under them.