“I did it because I wanted to,” she whispers.
“But would you do it if you didn’t have to?” He tugs her to her feet and into a hug.
Instead of an answer, what comes out of Ripley’s mouth is a childlike “I don’t want to lose you, Daddy.”
“I know, baby.” He’s stronger than he was even two months ago, his posture straighter, his arms pressing more firmly across her back. “Do you remember asking me about death when you were little?”
“No.”
“You might’ve been five. I explained that dinosaurs died a long time ago. A day or two later, you nailed me with a million questions right at bedtime: ‘Are you going to die, Daddy? When will you die? Will you be a fossil?’ ”
“Oh, wow. I do not remember this at all.”
“I do,” her dad says dryly. “Back then, I told you I’d be around for a long, long time, until you were an old lady. Now that you’re…” He pauses.
“Twenty-eight.”
“It’s hard to remember,” he complains. “When you have kids, you’ll understand. Anyway, I don’t have to tell you there are no guarantees. The cancer could come back next year or I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.
“What I want for my life, and for my little girl’s life, is meaning. Purpose. Joy, Pip. I want you to have some control over how you spend your time and who you spend it with, because those are the most important things in a good life. Ifyouwant to be a paleontologist, that’s great, but don’t do it for me.”
“Idowant it. But I don’t know if I’ll ever have it. Once Will gets through with me, and once James Smithson’s name is on my fossils…”
He makes a thoughtfulhumph.“I hate to see you put those two men in the same bucket, Pip. One of them tried to add his name to your work. The other tried to help you, but he couldn’t change who he was.”
James Alfred Smithson,she hears in that low, rasping tone.One does wish to get out from under the legacy of it all. From time to time.Ripley presses her face against her dad’s chest, her forehead touching the long, raised scar under his shirt. His heart beats directly underneath his breastbone now. The surgeon said this would happen, that his organs would shift to fill the empty space where his right lung used to be. Steve Adams’s heart is at the center of his body now, the way it’s always been at the center of his life.
Her dad strokes her hair the way he used to do when she was small and couldn’t sleep. Maybe the way he did that night whenshe asked him when he would die. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to let you stay stuck here for too long, Pip. I may not be perfectly healthy, but I’m getting better.Ifthe cancer comes back, we can figure out what to do. For now, you need your own life, and I do too.”
Her own life. This is a great idea in theory, but Ripley’s already screwed up two chances at her own life. It’s not as if lives are like fossils in Hell Creek, so numerous you have to be careful not to trip over them, all waiting to be picked up.
The sound of tires on gravel draws her dad’s attention. “Were you expecting someone?”
“No,” Ripley says, swiping at her eyes before going to the window. She peeks outside and sees a wiry, older, slightly bowlegged man climbing down from the cab of his battered truck.
“Oh! This is super-weird, but I think I know this guy. I mean, I don’tknow-know him, but I sort of ran into him in the hardware store one time…I’ll see what he wants.”
Ripley steps out the front door. “Hi,” she calls. “Can I help you with—” She blinks in confusion at the figure exiting the other side of the truck. “Matteo?”
“Hi, Ripley,” Matteo says, closing the truck’s door, then absently giving it an extra shove, like he’s known its quirks his whole life. “I hope you don’t mind that we came in person instead of texting, but”—he sends a provoked look at the rancher—“my granddad felt pretty strongly about it, so…”
“Thisis your grandpa? I mean, uh, this is your grandpa!” Ripley corrects herself, holding out her hand. They don’t look much alike—the rancher’s eyes are a faded blue, not Matteo’s liquid brown, his skin pale and ruddy instead of warm tan. But there might be a certain resemblance around the eyes.
“John Foster,” the older man says, clasping Ripley’s hand in afirm shake. “My daughter Susie is Matteo’s mom. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Matteo.”
“Granddad,” Matteo says, agonized.
“All right, all right, I’m embarrassing my grandson again, I guess. But I do appreciate it. Anyhow, we have something for you.”
Ripley waves her hands in front of her chest. “Oh, that’s so sweet, but gifts are really not necessary. Matteo did good work. You should be proud of him.”
Matteo shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It’s not that kind of something, Ripley. Do you think we could come in?”
38
September 12:
First Day of the Annual American Paleontology Society Meeting
