Home at Chestnut Creek Page 16

  Which reminds me to enjoy yet one more “last”—cooking.

  * * *

  Six hours later, I leave work exhausted but smiling despite the emotional whiplash. After all, the day was more good than bad, and I’ll take that anytime. I shrug into my backpack and put on the gaudy flower-splashed helmet. I may only have couple more days here, but there is no food in the RV. Gotta stop at O’Grady’s on the way home.

  Home. Yeah, in my dreams.

  I wonder where Joseph went this afternoon. Not that it’s any of my business. I ease out of the alley and cruise around the square nice and slow. Partly because I’m freaked about a car pulling out, partly because I’m not exactly legal.

  O’Grady’s is one of those metal barn-type buildings. I pull up near the front, shut the bike down, pull off the helmet, and limp in. Whatever I get, it’s got to be small; not much will fit in my backpack. I stroll down the canned goods aisle to check out the chili.

  Carly stands at the end of the aisle, hands on an almost-empty shopping cart. “Hey, nice helmet, Sweet!” She strolls toward me, looking like a country fashionista (if there is such a thing) in heeled cowgirl boots and a swingy floral-print dress.

  “You up for rodeo queen again?”

  “Hardly. Thursday is my day out. Nana takes Faith to Bingo, and I get to catch up on chores. I know, it’s pathetic that I dress up for a trip to O’Grady’s, but such is the life of a mom.”

  But her face is lit up and her smile looks permanent.

  “Yeah, you look totally bummed about it.”

  She glances up and down the aisle, but there’s no one. “Don’t tell anyone, because if Jess finds out I didn’t tell her first, she’ll claw my eyes out.” She leans in and whispers, “I’m pregnant.”

  My heart gives a skip, and before I can stop myself, I’m smiling. “Oh, Davis, you’re such a breeder.”

  “I know. Isn’t it great?” She grabs my hands and giggles.

  “I’m happy for you. Now, lemme go.”

  “Sweet, you are not anywhere near as mean as you try to act. I lived with you for three weeks. I know.” She shakes my hands, then lets go.

  “Shut up. I am too mean.”

  She grabs the sleeve of my jean jacket. “Come on, we’re celebrating. I’ll buy you a hot fudge sundae at the Stop & Shop.”

  “I gotta get going.”

  “To an empty RV? Fish went to the rez, so you won’t even have his company. Come on.”

  So that’s where he is. I pushed him to it, but I’m not sorry. The way he’s talked about his family, I know they won’t be anywhere near as hard on him as he has been on himself. I’m so glad for him. I let Carly drag me to the corner of the store where a couple of plastic tables and chairs stand before a deli case.

  She parks her cart. “Sit. I’m buying. Chocolate or vanilla?”

  “Vanilla, thanks.” Amazing how easily that word slips out of my mouth. It used to cut, but it’s like the days here have worn off the sharp edges. I put my little plastic basket and my helmet on the bench seat and sit.

  Carly’s back in minutes with two cups. “I admit, I’m using you as an excuse. I’ll have to watch my weight soon, so this could be my last splurge.” She sits and tastes a spoonful. “Hmmmmmm.”

  “You have cravings already?”

  “Nah, I just love ice cream.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” I don’t give myself treats often, and this is awesome.

  “So, why are you riding before we go to the DMV and get you legal?”

  She looks so much like a ditsy diva, it’s easy to forget that Carly Davis is no dumb bunny. I focus on my sundae. “Gotta practice. Besides, Joseph took the truck—”

  “Okay, Sweet, we’ll do this again.” She heaves an exasperated sigh. “People who open up to you—tell you a secret about themselves, they are showing you they trust you. If you want to be friends, or deepen the relationship, you have to open up to them.” She pauses, spoon in the air, and waits.

  I weigh my options. It’s a risk, but she’s going to sit there dripping ice cream, until I tell her something. She’s been good to me. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I have two secrets, and I want to keep them both. But she won’t buy an excuse, or a wimpy reveal. I think a few seconds, then choose the one that’s less likely to put her in danger. I focus on my ice cream. “I kissed Joseph this morning.” There’s a choking sound, and I look up.

  She’s coughing into her napkin. “When you start flinging, you really let lose!” She leans forward, a glint in her eye. “Spill.”

  I stir the goop in the bottom of the cup. “No big deal. We went running this morning, and I turned my ankle.” Funny, how I’ve hardly noticed it today. “Joseph put salve on it, and…well, he was rubbing my foot, and for some reason it turned really sexy.” I shrug. “Couldn’t help myself.”

  “Oh. My. God. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  At her smug smile, my put-down radar pings. “I’ll have you know, he kissed me back. You think I can’t have feelings? Or did you think I was gay?”

  “No, of course not. Don’t go all starchy on me; I’m just surprised, since, after his grandmother died, he only dates—”

  “I know.”

  “He told you? Wow. That says something.” Her eyes narrow. “So, what did you share with him, after he told you?”

  “N-nothing.”

  She raises one auburn eyebrow. “Then you haven’t told him you’re leaving?”

  “What?” Shock flash-freezes my bones.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo. You told me once that ex-con wasn’t spelled s-t-u-p-i-d. Well, country girl isn’t spelled that way, either.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Don’t go. Your beginning was a bit rocky, I know, but people are starting to see through to the real you. You could have a home here, Nevada.”

  Her sad green eyes make my heart heavy. She really is a friend. “Don’t you think I would if I could?”

  She tips her head. “This couldn’t have anything to do with a guy in a fancy Lexus, could it?”

  Adrenaline kicks in, and I’m on my feet before I know it. “What?”

  “Moss told me some guy asked him about you.”

  “At the café?” I can’t help it. I shoot a look around.

  “No, out at his place.”

  “What did he tell him?” I’ve got to get out of town. Now.

  “Nothing, of course. You’re a city girl, so you may not know. We may gossip about each other, but no one’s going to tell anything to a stranger.” She frowns. “What is it, hon? You know I’ll help if I can.”

  And put her and her little family in danger? Nuh-uh. No way. “Thanks for that. But all you can do is keep quiet about all this.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. Though if you care for Fish, it’s only fair you tell him—especially after this morning. Your leaving will hurt him.”

  Not as much as a bullet. If I told him, he’d go all protective, and…it wouldn’t end well. “You don’t understand.”

  “How could I? You’re as stubborn as a New Mexico mule. You’re going to have to trust someone, sometime.”

  The back of my neck stiffens. “Look, I know you need all this ‘sharing’ crap, but I don’t.” I can hardly hear over the thoughts in my head. At the very least, I’ve got to get a plan together for leaving. Tonight.

  “I’m not talking about you, Nevada. I’m talking about the guy you supposedly care about.” Her lips thin and she puts her hands together on the table. “I know the damage that keeping secrets can do to a relationship. Heck, you were there for part of it. You saw how it almost destroyed us. Save yourself some heartache and tell him.”

  When I realize the words waiting to come out are about my drug cartel problem, I close my mouth. I can’t tell her. I can’t tell Joseph. I can’t tell anyone.

  “Does it help you to know that I want to tell you?” This is as close as I dare come to spilling the truth.

  She smiles the saddest smile I
ever saw. “It does. I know it’s the best you can do right now.” She pats my hand. “I’m going to pray that whatever it is you’re afraid of, resolves itself soon.”

  * * *

  Joseph

  I survey the dusty roads of the rez from my rooftop vantage point. I’m grateful Ma put me to work as soon as I got here, because it gives me something to do to calm the twitchiness that hit the minute I pulled onto Diné land. I’ve fixed a leak in the kitchen sink, got the generator working again, and—

  Bang.

  —the roof is now watertight. Though the whole thing needs to be replaced soon, or it’ll be leaking again. I’ll do that before the harvest this fall. I tuck the hammer in my pocket and wipe my face with my bandanna. Ma does better than many here, thanks to her job at the trading post and the money I give her. At least she has electricity, though water still has to be hauled from the tank at the windmill.

  The sun is cooking my bare back, but the heat has baked out my body’s memory of cold winter winds. I’d like to stay up here all afternoon, but I’ve put off the reason I came long enough. I scoot to the edge of the roof and down the ladder.

  I go straight to the kitchen area, dunk my bandanna in the water bucket, and rinse off.

  Ma doesn’t look up from the spinning wheel, her foot pushing the treadle, her fingers flying. “You’re done?”

  “Yes. I’ll bring in water before I go.”

  “You’re not leaving already?”

  Knowing what I need to do doesn’t mean I have to hurry to it. I cross to sit in the butt-sprung sofa. “No, not yet.”

  “Are you shearing soon? I’m almost out of wool.”

  “Probably next week. I think we’re done with the cold weather.” She cards, spins, and dyes the wool from Grandmother’s sheep, then sells it to yarn shops throughout the state. She argued against the spinning wheel at first, claiming it wasn’t traditional, but when she saw what a time-saver it was, she put away her spindles. It’s yet one more reason she’s able to afford luxuries, like a car. “We’ve got four new lambs on the ground.”

  She glances up with a sad smile. “Your grandmother would be so happy. She loved those sheep. You must be exhausted, staying up for the lambings.”

  “I had help this year.”

  “You did?” The eyebrow I can see in her profile rises.

  “My renter, Nevada, helped. A lot. She killed a coyote the first night.”

  “Well. Sounds like she’s handy to have around anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The treadle stops, and she meets my gaze.

  “She’s a friend.” Except, that’s a lie. She’s more than that. And if this conversation goes on too long, Ma will sniff it out. She knows me too well.

  She spears me with a look. “What are you going to say to people who think that you’re turning your back on your culture?”

  Bull’s-eye. Ma always was a good shot. “You think I’m—”

  “I’m asking what you’ll say when others say that.”

  I launch off the couch. “It’s none of their damned business what I do. I’m as committed to the tribe as I ever was. Does that mean that I’m not allowed to date? I didn’t sign up to be a priest, for cripes’ sake.” I pace the five steps across the living room. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this, okay? I’m going to go get water, then I need to get back.”

  “You remind me of your grandmother. Down this trail lies heartache, Fishing Eagle.”

  I know my mother as well as she knows me. There’s something she’s not saying. “What about my grandmother?”

  “Didn’t you ever wonder why, when your grandmother was so respected, she was never on the tribal council?” She nods. “I wish she were still alive. She could give you wisdom about…never mind.”

  “Never mind? Really, Ma? You drop a bomb like that and expect me to walk away?”

  “It is not my story to tell. I only know what I heard from others. Your grandmother never discussed a word about it.”

  I love my mother. But at times like this she tries my patience. “Ma, you obviously know something.”

  “You might want to talk to Ben Tsosie.”

  I know that look. She’ll say no more on the subject. I sigh. “I’ll haul in your water.” I grab the two buckets by the back door and start the hike to the tank. The thought of living in the long shadow of the council is part of the reason I bought land outside Unforgiven when I got out of the Army. I wanted to go where people didn’t know me; who would judge me by who I am now, not for the mistakes I made as a teen. The rez is both small town and family, with the best and worst aspects of both. I dip the buckets in the well. It’s hard to stay where everyone knows your shame.

  But Nevada opened my squeezed-tight eyes. Not only because of what she said this morning, but who she is. She has no family, no home. No one to fall back on when things go bad. Seeing her grit and courage makes me feel ashamed and cowardly. My family is a part of me. The rez was my home. I want them both back. I lift the buckets. I’m going to do what I should have done long ago.

  I walk back in the house. Ma is where I left her, but the wheel is still. She looks up at me.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I’m going to see Uncle Sani and Atsa.”

  She stands and, bottom lip quivering, walks over to wrap her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. We stay like that a long time.

  “I know I should have done this long ago.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes shiny with tears. “Your grandmother would be so proud.”

  I wish I could be sure of that. In my dreams she doesn’t speak, but her face has a pinched look of disappointment.

  “You have been wandering a long time, son. Welcome home.” She gives me one last squeeze and steps back. “I want you to be happy, most of all. I want you to know, if a bilagáana makes you happy, she will be welcome in my home.”

  Whoa. That is not what I was expecting. I study her face. It’s a face that has seen many troubles, and many changes. I’ve underestimated my mother. I drop a kiss on the top of her head. “You know I love you, right?”

  Her lips curl in a satisfied smile. “And I love you.”

  I walk to the truck and sit for a moment, deciding which long-put-off job to tackle first. Family. Family comes first. The truck starts, first try, and I put it in gear to begin the long road back.

  The road isn’t long enough. A few minutes later, I step out of the truck in front of my uncle’s modular home. Atsa is listlessly swinging on a tire swing he’s too big for, his tennis shoes dragging in the dust. He’s gotten big. Hell, it’s been six years; what did I expect? He must be…fifteen, this last January.

  He looks up, squinting into the sun. Then his mouth opens in an O of surprise, and he jumps off the swing to run to the truck. “Fish!” He barrels into me and my back slams against the truck cab. “I’m so happy to see you!” He hugs me hard enough that I can’t get a breath.

  I pat his back. “Hey, Atsa. How you doing?” My voice cracks with emotion. In avoiding dealing with my past, I’d blocked out how much I love this kid.

  “Oh, I missed you so bad.” He backs up enough to see my face. “I asked Papa where you were, and he just said, ‘Gone.’ Where did you go?”

  I extricate myself and throw an arm across his broadened shoulders. So strange to see the changes: he’s tall as I am, and his face has hardened into a man’s. But his sweet mind will always stay nine years old. “I missed you, too, bud. More than you know. I had to go away. To the Army.”

  “You were a soldier?” he says in an awe-inspired whisper. “Did you shoot the bad guys?”

  “Nah. I mostly kept the heroes’ Humvees running.”

  “Cool.”

  “No, hot. It was in the desert.”

  He smiles his all-in smile at me, and I kick myself again for missing all those years.

  “You wanna play catch with me? I have a glove and everything. They let me be in the outfield a
t the baseball games. I’m good.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” I scruff the top of his head. “We will before I leave, okay? Is your dad around?”

  * * *

  Two hours later, I drive off, waving to Atsa and his father in the rearview. Turns out, my uncle forgave me years ago, and was giving me time to figure this all out for myself. My uncle also knew without my telling him how sorry I was, but he allowed me to say it anyway…because I needed to. We talked about old times, now times, and what’s really important.

  In the rearview mirror, dust kicked up by my tires obscures the road. “You were right, Grandmother.”

  Nevada was right, too. The truth I was running from was small. I invited Atsa to come out one weekend soon, to help me plow. I remember how sweet Nevada was with Lorelei’s mother; I bet she’ll love my cousin.

  I feel like I’ve been through my mother’s old wringer washer, but I have one more stop to make, and the outcome of this meeting is even less certain than the last. Ben Tsosie is a few years older than my grandmother. He retired from the tribal council a decade ago.

  It’s suddenly too hot. I crank the ignition and turn the fan on high. Gotta get the AC fixed soon, or I’m going to cook on my way to work, too.

  I’m half afraid to hear what Ben will tell me. What if it’s something bad about my grandmother? Something that makes me see her differently? Missing her is a badger in my chest, clawing to get out. No, if she has something to tell me, I’m going to listen.

  I turn right at the crossroads, driving deeper into the rez. My grandmother’s face floats before my eyes. “I wish we could talk, bił hinishnáanii. My heart is troubled, my mind confused.” No answer, which all told is probably a good thing. I don’t need to add delusions to my list of problems. “You were my compass. I know what I want, but not what is right.”

  And what I want is the feisty, stubborn, independent ball of energy that is Nevada Sweet—even if I shouldn’t. The truck bumps over the washboard road, and I raise the windows to block billowing dust.

  What if I just told everyone to go hang, grabbed her with both hands, and held on? What is the worst that can happen? My people turn away from me? My mother won’t. I’m not saying it won’t be awkward, introducing the two, but she loves me, and wants me happy. But the rest?