The Rope

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Thank you, Scott Sticha, not only for making the expanse of Lake Powell accessible but for finding the people who helped me so much. Thank you, Steve Luckesen. You were not only my guide but kept me company during the writing process in the character of Steve Gluck. I hope you enjoy Gluck as much as I enjoyed your intelligence and companionship. Thank you, Valerie Reynolds, for easing me through the technicalities of boating and educating the public on water quality issues. Thank you, Julie Smith, for picking me up and dusting me off every time I threw myself down and wailed, “I can’t go on!” Thank you, Nancy Christiansen, for being there when I needed you. Thank you, Mr. Paxton, for being Mr. Paxton.

Regis Candor took a swig of his beer and watched his neighbor, Jenny Gorman. She was sitting on the other picnic table, her feet on the bench, smoking a cigarette as Gilbert and Dennis swaggered into the square of grass and trees fenced in by seasonal housing. Park employee housing at the Rope was set out in two neat quads, two-bedroom duplexes on each of the sides, surrounding squares of defiantly green grass with four locust trees only slightly taller than Regis and not yet as big around as his wrist.

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