All she wanted to do was go home, or what passed for home while she was in Pima finishing her college internship before starting as an anthropologist for the Salt River reservation’s historical society. The border patrol officer paused, looking over what he had typed on the computer monitor. A sheen of sweat made his brown skin gleam despite the churning air conditioner. The stitched name on his forest green shirt read D. Mulhay, though he had not bothered to introduce himself. Where she came from that was considered very impolite. “Are we done?” she asked him. “Almost.” He scanned the form. “I just need your partner’s name.” “I was alone today.” Mulhay typed in the information and then glanced up, studying her in silence for a moment. “I don’t mean to tell you your business, Miss Altaha, but you shouldn’t be out there alone.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the window.
