by Sarah Black
Rafe appeared at Kevin’s shoulder. “Is that the baby bowl, Kev?” Kevin nodded.
Rafe put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder. “Pure love, man.”
“Baby bowl?” It was Jessica’s voice behind her. Mia turned. The girl had her long hair in braids today, with torn jeans and a T-shirt that left her belly bare. She had another scarf tied around her head. “What baby? Don’t tell me you got her pregnant, Kevin? Oh, wait.” She paused, a finger tapping her lower lip, and addressed Mia. “You wouldn’t really know, would you? If it was Kevin or Russ? Guess you’ll just have to wait ’till you see the color of its eyes.”
Mia put an arm behind her to hold Kevin back. She stared at the girl’s finger, tap-tap-tapping against her bottom lip. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “Do you really have long fingernails? What kind of a potter has long nails? I never saw anything like that.”
Kevin spoke behind her. “She’s not a potter. She’s not an artist at all. Paint by numbers is her sort of thing. She can’t manage anything more than that.”
Jessica leaned toward him, snarling, her face twisted with hate. “At least I’m not a sexual freak. What you’re doing is perverted. And now babies?” She turned to look at the bowl, and its quiet lines and perfection seemed to enrage her. “She doesn’t have the right to be a mother.”
Kevin growled behind Mia’s back, reached over her shoulder like he wanted to grab Jessica by the throat. Jessica darted back out of his way. Then she swung around, kicked out at the bowl, and sent it sailing off the shelf. It landed against a boulder of dark gray granite and shattered. There was silence as everyone turned to look at the shards. Robert started toward them, his face furious. Then Mia stepped forward and backhanded Jessica across the face.
* * * * *
“Russ, you saw what Jessica did! How can you say it was my fault?”
“I didn’t say it was your fault, Kevin. I’m not talking about Jessica at all. I’m talking about the way you acted when Robert tried to talk to Mia. You’ve got to stop acting like a jealous teenager every time another man gets near her. Mia is a grown woman and she doesn’t need to put up with this crap.”
Mia was lying on the couch in the living room, eating dumplings and listening to Russ and Kevin fight in the bedroom. Luke put a container of soup on the coffee table and left, giving her a little wave.
“You didn’t see how he was looking at her, Russ. Like he was a big, hungry cat and she was a pretty little bird on a branch.”
“Kevin, Mia is beautiful and her art is erotic. That’s all Robert knows about her. How do you expect him to act? Men are always going to be drawn to our lady. Are you saying you don’t trust her? You think she’s going to run off with every man who smiles at her and says he likes her tiles?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, that’s how you’re acting, brother. How do you think this makes her feel?”
Mia got up and went to the bedroom door. “You two better wrap this up. The dumplings are getting cold.”
Russ nodded and pushed past her into the living room. Kevin leaned against the doorframe. The color was up in his face, and his hair was back in a ponytail. Mia didn’t think she had ever seen him looking more beautiful.
“Hey, lady.”
She smiled up at him from the other side of the door. He stared at her. She thought he was trying to figure out what to say. Finally he just snagged her by the shirt and pulled her into his arms, bent his head for a sweet, hot kiss. Sorry,” he said, mouth against her mouth. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
“And I’m sorry about the baby bowl.”
He shook his head. “We can make a million more if we want, Mia. You and me and Russ. It wasn’t a fluke. It was so good because we’re so good. So we can do it again. But ...” He hesitated. “I felt something crack in my chest, right when it hit. Like the spirit in the bowl was hurt, or broken. I don’t know. I sure wish ... Well. I wish I had done something different. I don’t know what.”
She nodded. She felt utterly distraught over the loss of the bowl, like she had been kneed in the gut, but there was nothing else to say about it. Jessica was going to be kicked out of the program. Robert had been watching when she destroyed the bowl. But Mia could still see its lines and curves, the perfect translucent green. She closed her eyes. She would see that bowl in her mind on her deathbed. Maybe it was floating somewhere, waiting to collect their ashes.
Mia settled on the couch and let Russ pull her up and into his lap. She leaned back into his arms, her head resting against his big shoulder. Kevin flopped down on the other end of the couch and pulled her feet into his lap.
“All right,” he said. “I suppose I’m acting jealous.” He stared down, then slid the slippers off her feet. He reached to the coffee table for the little tube of foot cream. “Sandalwood-rose,” he said, squirting a dollop of cream into the palm of his hand and rubbing it into the ball of her foot.
“We ought to send some pieces to this gallery showing Robert mentioned,” she said. “We could use some name recognition before we launch Sexpots. I bet he asked you, too, didn’t he?” Kevin’s face looked like a storm cloud, but he nodded. “And maybe you need to come home with me.”
He looked up at Russ. “We’ve got our MFA show to get ready this week, Mia.”
She sighed and nodded. “Then just promise me you’ll stay away from her if you can, Kevin. That girl’s not right.”
Russ tightened his arms around her. “I’ll watch out for him. And you watch out for you.” He glanced over at the coffee table. Four large tiles were spread out on a towel. The glaze was a golden, clear ash that broke across the carvings. The carving on the tiles showed people making love, men making love. The tiles that showed all three of them, they were in the kitchen. Those tiles were private, and belonged just to the three of them.
Russ studied them. “They’re very tender, Mia. I think you’re a romantic. But it’s up to you. You can send them to the gallery, along with the new ones we’ll fire at home next weekend. Or you can sell them to Robert. How much did he offer?”
“A hundred bucks for all four. But I think it was because he felt bad about the baby bowl.”
“It’s robbery,” Kevin grumbled. “He knows what he’s getting here.”
“I’m going to sell these four to Robert,” she said. “Then I’m going to take that hundred bucks and use it for a down payment on an antique oak wardrobe for the cabin.”
“A what?” Kevin has stopped his foot massage, and she wiggled her toes to get him back on task.
“A wardrobe. Like a closet.”
Kevin and Russ both stared at her as if she had gone insane. “You put your clothes in it. On hangers.”
She left them to drive home Sunday afternoon. She dreaded the drive that would take her away from them, dreaded walking alone into her cold and empty house. It was one thing if that’s all you had, all you knew. It was something totally different to have a home, warmth, love, and then have to leave it. For the first time, Mia seriously considered leaving her job to move in with them full-time, and work together to make the pottery studio work. But by Wednesday morning, she had settled back into her workweek routine. What felt different to her now, she mused, pulling her truck into the parking lot by the art studio, was the warmth inside herself, as if a hollow place under her heart had been filled.
The principal caught her before she got to the door. “Mia.”
“Hi, Phil. What’s up?” She usually only saw him during staff meetings, and she was usually ignored, since students didn’t have to pass standardized state tests in art in order to graduate from high school.
He ran his hand back over his balding head. “I’m not really sure. I got a call this morning from Dr. Whitehorse, the Executive Director. He said he wanted to see both of us before classes start.”
“Okay.” Mia studied his face. He looked worried. “Phil, do you think something’s wrong? Is it about the community firing?”
He hesitated. “I d
on’t know, Mia. Come on. I’ll drive.”
They drove across campus to the Director’s office. The receptionist buzzed them in. Mia looked down at her clothes ‑‑ jeans and a sweatshirt, with a denim apron. They were throwing on the wheels today, and that was always messy. If she had known about a meeting, she would have dressed a little more appropriately.
She shook hands with Dr. Whitehorse, who motioned her to a chair. There was a woman in the room as well, dressed in a beautiful ivory crepe suit. She was the School Board President, Jane Benally. What in the world was going on?
The director was shaking hands with Phil Gordon now. Dr. Whitehorse was a handsome man in his late forties, dark hair and dark eyes. He was well respected in academic circles for his scholarly works in bi-cultural education. He sat back down behind his desk. “The School Board President and I received written communication suggesting you are engaging in an illegal and deviant sexual relationship with two men. Simultaneously,” he clarified. “That the three of you are living together, and plan to continue this relationship. The letters suggested that this behavior is inappropriate for a teacher, and that, with your sexual deviance, your position of influence over the children was morally questionable and dangerous.”
Phil started sputtering next to her, but Mia locked eyes with Jane Benally. Mia had always liked her, in the casual way of people who didn’t really know each other very well. The woman raised her hand, and Phil fell silent beside her.
Mia looked at Dr. Whitehorse again. “I am in a relationship with two men. Simultaneously. And we are forming a family. They’re both artists in grad school at NAU.”
She could see Phil pulling away from her, staring at her in shock. “And the other allegations?” Jane Benally asked, quietly.
Mia ground her back teeth together. Her stomach was boiling, her throat closing, iced over. “It is ludicrous to believe my personal relationship affects my work as a teacher. I’m not sure I have an influence over the children, but I do not believe my family is inappropriate, or that who we are influences the workplace or is anyone else’s business.”
The director tapped a pencil gently on his desk. “I would be inclined to dismiss these sort of allegations, Mia, but they aren’t the first. Your neighbor, Mrs. Miller, has also filed written complaints with the school board and this office, alleging various inappropriate, public, sexual behaviors at your house. When her complaints were not answered by your firing, she requested a housing transfer. I would not normally share with you the information that Mrs. Miller’s ex-husband carried on a very humiliating and public affair with the art teacher who lived in your house some thirty years ago. I believe it has been a policy to not put any lovely young women in the house next to her, but I see we slipped up with you. But you managed to live there for nearly five years with no conflicts. These complaints are very recent in origin.”
Mia nodded. “Yes, I lived just like her for many years. But then I fell in love, and I chose a different path.”
“Thank you for your honesty. We need to discuss this, Mia. While I would accept your rights to privacy in this matter, parents do have some rights as well, to determine the character of the people who teach their children. We will let you know what we feel is the best decision for our school, and our students, regarding your continued employment here.” He studied her face. “As a tribal school, we have complete discretion in this matter. There are no federal or state laws that guarantee your rights as an employee on this part of the reservation. You will recall the clause in your contract that stated the employee will do nothing of a nature that is a violation of Navajo cultural beliefs. Wait for us in the outer office, please, Mia.”
She stood and nodded. The School Board President stood and offered her hand, and Mia shook it, but her principal wouldn’t meet her eye, his jaw clenching and unclenching rhythmically.
Mia left the office and took a seat in the reception area. The receptionist busied herself at the computer. Mia concentrated on breathing calmly, in and out. Morally questionable and a dangerous person to be around children. Was someone suggesting that her relationship with Russ and Kevin made her a sexual predator? How could anyone confuse what the three of them had together with the violence that harmed children? Breathe, in and out. Stay calm.
Phil pushed open the office door and walked out through reception. He didn’t look at her or speak to her. She stood, and the director beckoned her into the office and closed the door. She remained standing, and he went back behind his desk and stood as well.
“I trust you as a teacher, Mia. I do not believe your personal relationship or family in any way makes you morally unfit to work with children. You have brought much to this community through your passion for art.” Mia felt his words like a little ball of warm in her stomach. “However.” His face was troubled, and his eyes studied her with concern. “This is a very conservative community. Your choices will never be accepted, or allowed here. Parents will not want you teaching our children. If this information gets out to the community, and I fear that could easily happen, you will not be able to continue to live safely here. I’m going to allow you to resign today, and give you two weeks to be moved out of your house and off the reservation. I would suggest you try to go as quickly as possible. I will give you a recommendation for employment, Mia. I believe this is the best course of action for the school and the community. Your needs are, unfortunately, secondary to the needs of the organization and community as a whole. I hope you can be more successful in another setting. Perhaps a university, with adult students.”
She nodded, her tongue frozen, and signed the resignation letter he handed her. Then she turned blindly for the door. The receptionist had the speaker on her desk open, and had been listening to what was being said in the office. Mia walked out past her without a word.
Once she got outside she realized she didn’t have a ride back to her truck. She was standing there, staring blankly up the road, when Jane Benally came out of the office and walked up beside her. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
Mia climbed into her Jeep. The other woman studied her. “What I wanted to tell you, Mia, is that I hope you can stand strong, even when the whole world turns its face from you. Women have many choices today, but those choices have a price.”
Mia wiped the heels of her hands across her cheeks. It would have all been easier if they had been mean to her, or said hurtful things, so she could get mad at them. “I’ve been blessed with more love than any woman deserves in a lifetime. I’ll never voluntarily give them up.” She glanced over at the older woman. “Thank you.”
“You can walk your own road, Mia. But you turn your back on society, on society’s rules, and it comes with a cost.” She glanced over, her face sad. “Sometimes the cost is too great.”
Mia nodded, watching the empty red landscape roll past in the car window, wondering what choice this woman had made, and what it had cost her. And she thought of her mother, how she never took any risks, about anything, until her life was cold and sterile and safe. Maybe she was going too far in the opposite direction, but Mia would never choose that safe path, now she had felt the warmth of the other way.
They pulled up next to her truck, and Mia climbed out. “Thank you,” she said, leaning back into the open door.
“Show me your art one day, Mia,” the woman said. “I would be very interested in seeing it.”
Mia nodded, climbed into her truck, and drove home. When she got home she sat on her couch, staring blindly at nothing. What was she supposed to do now? Russ and Kevin were already on the way. They were coming to get her for the weekend. She picked up the phone and dialed Russ’s number. She caught her breath when she heard his voice, but it was just the message recording. She went blank. She couldn’t leave a message like this. “Um, Russ and Kev. Can you call me when you get this? I mean if you haven’t already left? Thanks.”
She hung up and went to her computer. Maybe a text message. She chewed on her bottom lip, not sure what to say that
wouldn’t panic both of them. Finally she typed, “Hi, guys. Something’s happened here, and I’m going to have to leave. I need to leave tonight. Can I come stay with you two? Call me when you get this, okay? But come as quick as you can.”
She stuck the cell into her pocket and went out to the garage studio, looked around. There was a row of carved, dried tiles on the work bench, ready for glaze. She felt a little steadier touching them. They were good, no question. She was the artist who had made these tiles. She was the artist.
Okay, time to pack. She opened the front door to get some boxes out of her truck, and Mrs. Miller was standing there. Mia didn’t think she had ever seen anyone looking quite so insane. The malice was flowing off her in waves, her mouth twisted into a jack-o’-lantern grimace with flecks of spittle on her chin. “Did you get what you wanted, Mia?” She shoved the papers she was holding into Mia’s hands. “The principal asked me to bring you these papers. He couldn’t look at you. He couldn’t look in your face and see the unspeakable things you’ve been doing. Around our school. Around our children. Did you get what you wanted? Boys, young boys in perverted sexual ...”
“Shut up.” Mia’s hands were balling into fists.
She opened her mouth, and Mia stepped toward her, suddenly furious, her fist raised. The woman shrieked, turned, and banged against the doorframe trying to get out of the house, and Mia realized she had come very close to punching her in the face. She raised her shaking hand to her face. What was she doing? She nearly hit that pathetic old woman?
Mia packed the tiles and her toolbox in the back of the truck, one box of her favorite pots and pans and Russ’s coffee cups, and a suitcase of clothes. She looked around the house. Maybe they could come help her move the furniture in a couple of days. Someone rang the doorbell, and she walked to the front door and opened it.
Mr. Benally was holding a cardboard box. “Mia. I brought your things, from your desk at school.”
“Thank you, Mr. Benally.” She took the box from his hands and looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes, and he took the box back and put it down and pulled her gently into his arms. He stroked her hair, murmuring sweet words in Navajo, and after a minute she rubbed her hands over her eyes and straightened. “I was afraid you would be angry with me. Disappointed, or ... You don’t think ...”