Seventh Wonder by Renae Kelleigh

unspoken question.
    They remained linked as they walked up to the lodge. John chanced an occasional glance at Meg, wondering at her reaction. If she was unsettled by their public display, she didn’t let on: her grip was unwavering, her head held erect.
    They sat across from each other at a small table next to the window. The fog had lifted, but the lingering smear of vapor muted the canyon’s vibrant colors from scarlet to pink and from brown to bone, while in the distance, many miles away, the blue sky faded to milky gray.
    “Good morning, Mr. Stovall,” greeted the waiter. He stepped back and allowed John to usurp one of his duties by pulling out Meg’s chair for her.
    “Good morning,” he replied. He hadn’t yet grown used to being known. In truth, he missed the anonymity he’d borne so comfortably for the greater part of his life.
    He observed Meg as she spread her napkin in her lap and asked for grapefruit juice, continued to look at her as he ordered coffee, black for himself. He watched her eyes flicker from side to side, skimming the menu. Her eyelashes were long, nearly touching her eyebrows. Her hair fell forward, slipping from her shoulder to dangle in thick sheets around her face, and her full lips were parted, moving so slightly as to be easily missed as she read soundlessly to herself. He suspected he would never grow tired of studying her like this, appreciating her the way a scholar might Venus de Milo. (Or perhaps that wasn’t quite the right analogy, he thought. He doubted a scholar felt the same urge to touch the way he did when viewing the woman in front of him.)
    She glanced up, and he felt as if he’d been caught at something. Her apple cheeks flushed. “Shouldn’t you be looking at the menu rather than me?” she asked.
    “I already know what I want.”
    He was pleased to see his double meaning wasn’t lost on her.
    The waiter returned then, and they relayed their orders. John noticed with detached amusement the young man’s attentiveness to Meg. He was much closer to her age, and handsome enough in John’s own estimation - and yet she was entirely oblivious to his loitering gaze and the way his fingertips intentionally brushed hers when he took the menu from her hand. Something deep and buried throbbed within him, believing her response to his own touch would be far from blasé. He fought the temptation to test that theory.
    Meg sighed as she turned to look out the window. Even this he found fascinating: the way she twisted her entire torso and her eyes widened, as if she were seeing the canyon for the first time instead of the dozenth or the hundredth. Others became quickly anesthetized to its beauty.
    “Are other parks this beautiful?” she asked without looking at him. “I’ve never been.”
    “Some, in their own way,” he replied. “The Tetons are impressive. So is Yosemite.”
    “Why did you choose this one? Why here?” She turned back to face him, her eyes filled with a child’s spellbound curiosity.
    He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “My parents brought us here when we were children. It was my brother’s tenth birthday, so that would’ve made me seven and my sister five.
    “I wish I could remember what it felt like to see it for the first time. Memories fade. I’m left with this general sense of how in love I must have been, but I can’t remember the specifics.
    “What I do remember is our next to last morning here. My father and I were hiking at Roosevelt Point. There was another man there, and I can remember my father stopping to talk to him. I have this perfect image of my dad with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shirtsleeves pushed up above his elbows, talking with another middle-aged guy from Kansas. I remember it was Kansas, because my best friend was from Topeka. At that time, it might’ve been the only place in the world I was really aware of outside Connecticut.
    “Anyway, he and Dad said their goodbyes, and we moved on to