“Someday you’ll hate me,” Ama said.
“It’s natural. It’s how a girl becomes a woman.”
“What?” I said wrapped in my nine-year old skin,
Before disaster
that I thought was the dark red stain I discovered on my sheets when I woke,
and later became something they could not name,
Paid us a visit.
“I will never hate you, Ama.”
“I know,” she said.
“But it will feel like it to me.”
Then she said, “I’m saying it now, so we know.”
“So when the time comes, we’ll see it for what it is.”
“He’ll be handsome, I’m sure,”
She said changing the subject, weaving her dreams
Into the strands of my hair.
“And kind. Make sure he is.”
She laughed.
“Make sure.”
“Will I know him when I see him?”
“You will.”
“How will I know?”
“He’s the one in the corner.
The quiet one,
Who can see you,
For who you are:
The girl who walks with star people.”
(found wedged between the planks of the steel bridge)
Chapter 14
We drop the tree in the ditch and climb back up on the road. We urge Cinnamon and Yas to take us to Cassie’s. Cinnamon seems to sense Cassie’s fear and does her best to navigate the bridge while Yas storms the planks.
“Come on, Cass,” I call, encouraging her.
With her hooves back on solid ground, Cinnamon renews her legendary speed, and we find ourselves at the top of Cassie’s driveway in minutes. We dismount and walk the rest of the way down, uncertain of what we’ll find.
Handcuffed with his cheek pressed up against the cold white steel of the county cruiser, Maverick listens to Officer Madrid read him his rights.
Grandma Alice, wrapped in a hasty yard sale of jacket, hat, and gloves found close to the door, says, “Now wait just a minute. What are you doing?” She tries to catch Madrid’s eyes and takes a bold step forward.
“Just following orders, ma’am.”
“Robert,” she says reaching for the hand doing the cuffing. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers. And you,” she says, “are the last person to ‘just follow orders.’”
He slows down and begins to listen. The sun sinks, casting a deep golden glow across the yard. Madrid says, “Yeah, well, that’s different.” He turns his attention back to Maverick, “You have the right to remain silent.”
“Your mama, Patricia, wouldn’t think so,” she continues, honoring each letter of the name with its proper Spanish pronunciation. “She told the whole story in quilting circle.”
Sicheii pushes Norm in his wheelchair through the screen door and onto the front porch. Norm has his olive green down vest on over his red plaid shirt. His Levi’s cover the tops of his boots that rarely kiss dirt. Sicheii sits tall on the edge of the weathered wooden bench next to Norm. His hands are folded and his face a quiet force against the unknown.
“Alice, this isn’t the time to walk memory lane.”
“The first time you stood up to your father was right here on the ranch.”
Officer Madrid stiffens some.
“I’ll never forget his eyes,” Alice says, pressing forward. “He was full of himself and his 14-point trophy, just the rack, no meat.”
Madrid doesn’t respond.
“He thought Norm would celebrate with him… offered him a beer and everything.”
Still nothing.
“But he found quite a different story from Norm.”
Alice waits.
“When I asked about you, he said, ‘I’m leaving him out there. He’ll be a man by morning.’”
Madrid pauses and catches a glimpse of Norm and Sicheii, watching him from the bench. Then he says, “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
“I looked and looked for you, and you know where I found you?” Alice pushes, drawing herself closer. She won’t be satisfied until she reaches the man beneath the badge. “Asleep next to the carcass—remember? You helped me load him in Norm’s truck, and then we spent the day butchering it.”
“You have the right to an attorney.”
Alice touches the top of Madrid’s hand now, pulling his gaze toward her. “And because you stood by what you believed in, you fed your family that night and for several nights to come. I’ll never forget how she told it.”
Madrid returns her look, showing her some of the respect she deserves. “What does this have to do with him?” Madrid nods in Maverick’s direction. “We’ve got good information that Maverick is responsible for Sandy Maldonado’s murder.”
Maverick makes no response and maintains his silence.
“From whom?”
“I’m not supposed to say.” Then he says, “Loretta Britton.”
“You know as well as I do that girl will do and say
anything to get what she wants.”
Madrid considers her words. But they’re not enough.
“Your daddy was right. You became a man and a fine one. Your presence in our community shows me there is truth and justice in the world. And I’ll keep believing in you.”
Madrid shakes Alice’s hand from his. He considers Maverick’s cuffs for a moment.
“He’s a boy,” Alice says.
“Not according to the law,” he says. Then Madrid sinks back into his uniform, his official position behind the Grant County Sheriff’s badge, and works a silent Maverick into the back seat of the cruiser. The door snaps shut, and Maverick leans back in the seat, disappearing from view.
Madrid returns to the driver’s seat and settles into the vinyl. He pulls the door shut and secures his safety belt.
Alice calls through his open window, “Come see us tomorrow. Let’s have tea. Everything will look clearer then.”
Madrid smiles in the side view mirror and shakes his head. Grandma Alice has a stubborn love.
“I knew it,” Chad says, as the screen door slaps shut behind us. He stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, reeking with superiority.
“No, you didn’t,” Grandma Alice says, poking a hole in his know-it-all balloon.
Chad deflates and opens his mouth to say something else, but Alice is quicker. “He’s no different from you,” she says. “So, you can climb down off that high horse.” She places her boots on the doormat and slides out of her jacket.
Sicheii and Norm sit calmly at the table now, sipping from their mugs as if holding the center of the universe in their palms. And Cassie and I join them.
Cassie and I look at each other. This is new.
“See, it’s like this,” she says, turning on Chad while tying her apron on. “You lost your mom in a terrible car accident that not a single one of us wants to remember.” Sicheii and Norm nod in agreement. “And thank the good Lord you were young.” She busies herself in the kitchen again, shaking her head. Then she stops and fixes Chad with a stare full of ferocious love. “I know you don’t remember her or that day, but every child, including you, carries their mother on their skin.”
Her words, their truth, push past the protective layer that gets me through each day. Tears form in my eyes as she looks past Chad and Cassie and settles her gaze on me.
“What does that have to do with anything?” he says.
“There is no good reason why each of you bears the burden that you do. Going through this world without a mother’s love…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she snaps her gaze back on Chad, raising her chef’s knife from the parsley she was cutting to make her point. “The only difference between you and Maverick is that you have a father with a good head on his shoulders, a deep love for you, and with deep pockets to match. So watch it.”
Chad is quiet now. Grandma A finishes cutting the parsley.
&nb
sp; I realize she’s not mad at him. She’s mad at the Almighty. And you can’t get between a person and their relationship with God.
I’ve been inside for several minutes now, but I can’t shake the chill. The image of Maverick’s face pressed up against the hood of the police cruiser remains. We’ve all had our doubts. But something about his vacant stare under Madrid’s hold pushes me to think there may be something to it.
Chad glances up at Cassie. She looks away. Her disdain is all over her face.
“So we left a tree out there that would look great in here,” I say, changing the subject.
“I’ll get it, “Chad volunteers. And he’s out the door before anyone can say anything more. I follow him out, knowing it will take two to retrieve it. Cassie stays behind.
Outside in the full dark, the cool rises. In the glare of the porch light, I dig deep in Yas’ saddlebag for Sicheii’s long-handled flashlight. In the wisps of light that reach the barn, Chad is trying to tack up Beau. I turn my lamp on him.
“Thanks,” he says.
“Sure,” I say coolly. I know I should be pissed at him too, but something Alice said has me curious. “Do you miss her?”
“Who?” he says, throwing the saddle on top of the blanket.
“Easy, boy,” I say, holding his muzzle close and whispering in his ear. “Your mom.”
“No,” he says carelessly.
“Why?”
“I don’t remember her. I was three,” he says, tightening the straps around Beau’s belly. He startles some as Chad pinches him a bit on the skin.
“Easy there,” I say to Chad.
“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”
“You must remember something.”
“Would you get off it?”
“Okay. Okay.”
Then there’s a great silence. The barn owl hoots. His claws scrape the tin roof.
Chad hooks the reins on Beau’s halter on one side, and I reach to help. He pulls back.
“I just wanted to…”
“Well, don’t,” he says, hooking in the last rein. He throws the leather strapping up to the saddle horn.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
“Nothing.”
“So you do remember her,” I say.
“What’s it to you?” he says, raising his voice. Beau side steps him and corners Chad and me in the stall. His eyes lose their light, “You wanna know the last thing I remember? I remember her swerving… because of me. Because I insisted on bringing my Lego Marvel jump jet in the car. And then I insisted on showing her it can fly, while she was driving. I couldn’t just leave it alone, Ahzi,” he thunders.
What do you say to that?
“After that there was silence, glass and blood, and hands grabbing at me. I remember,” he says. And then, “I remember a lot of things, but I don’t have the heart to tell Alice.” The grip of the memory eases. He unlocks the gate to the stall and leads Beau outside.
I know I should say something, but nothing seems right.
Up on the driveway the snow falls, still. I mount up on Yas and keep my flashlight trained on the road ahead. It’s cold and getting colder. Chad scares me. I’ve never seen his light give into darkness like that.
Chad, behind at first, comes up to ride next to me.
“I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” he says.
“About what? Your mom?”
“No, about Maverick.”
“Oh,” I say.
Then he says, “You know he’s not good enough for you.”
“And you are?” I say, giving him a side-glance and a testy grin.
Then he says, “Yeah.”
“What?!”
“No, it’s not like that,” he says. He reins up Beau and comes to a full stop.
“What’s it like then?” I say, turning to face him. Yas blows hard, impatient, bewildered by why we stopped.
“You’re my…”
“Friend?” I say.
“No,” he says.
“No? Then who are you?” I challenge. Still stinging from the insinuation that he is somehow better than Maverick, I wait for him to prove it. Something’s up.
He doesn’t answer—at least not with words. Instead he reaches for my hand.
I pull back. I don’t play when it comes to my best friend’s heart. He kissed. She told. Fair’s fair.
Then he says, “We’re more than that, and you know it.”
The truth is too much. At least, in the dark, cut by bits of starshine, no one can see it.
Ama, are you there?
What’s it like?
What’s it like to be freed of your twisted body,
Swept up and scattered on the wind?
Is it lonely?
Know what’s funny?
Did you know I can see you
At night?
Of course you do.
Everyone knows that’s when the stars come out.
(found in ditch on the other side of Cold Creek)
Chapter 15
Alice’s venison stew is in the final stages of cooking. The air is filled with the sharp scent of browned deer meat, potatoes, carrots, and onions simmering in a tomato broth spiced with laurel and rosemary. The perfume of fresh baked bread surrounds us.
“Sure smells good,” Norm says, inhaling his coffee, the stew, the bread.
There’s one thing I do know—Grandma A’s good cooking.
Grandma Alice sets a steaming bowl of stew in front of Sicheii and a side plate of hot bread, quickly followed by servings for Norm and me.
“Thank you,” Sicheii says, nodding.
Sicheii sits strong and silent next to me, a boulder wedged in the creek bottom while floodwaters pass. Norm sighs and says, “Ahzi, if there’s one thing I know, the truth is like dog poop. You can deny it all you want, but it’s still clinging to your boot.”
I laugh, “Gee thanks, Norm. Where’d you learn that one?”
“The great outdoors.”
I know he’s trying to make me laugh, but his joke heaps more doubt on Maverick and whatever it is between Chad and me. And in the place where I-don’t-care used to live I find myself wanting. I want to smell the scent of the wind in Maverick’s hair and taste the salt on his skin. I need to drive out the images of what might be happening to him in jail—and when, or if, it will end. Then I see it again, in my mind’s eye, the thick red paint pots in the snow, the scent of iron in the air.
Out of the blue, Sicheii says, “Some folks are upset.”
“That so?” Norm says.
“I was at La Tienda this morning getting some gas, and Doc Campbell was busy ‘defending the American West’ against Mrs. Freundenberger’s protests. It got nasty. He called her names—tree-hugger, lion-lover, coon-kisser. I left before any knuckle sandwiches were served.” Then he says, “She was mad. One of her dachshunds wound up in a leg-hold trap.”
“Trappers are the lowest of the low,” Norm says, “right down there with gold miners.”
“Well, don’t get yer panties in a bunch,” Sicheii says with a coyote grin on his face.
I practically spit out my soup.
“Sheepskin and buckskin are okay. For ceremony, you know,” he pauses, and then he says, “You have to watch for naaldooshii.” The last word fades too quickly from his tongue.
“What?” Norm says.
“Skinwalker.”
“Trapping for cash is different. There’s a fur buyer coming, and I bet folks are harvesting prime pelts for him.”
“That explains a few things,” I say, “like bobcats in broad daylight and top wire damage on the fences.”
Not sure what the use of saying that was. No sense in getting Norm worked up. But sometimes my thoughts just fall out. What I don’t tell them is the mountain lion story. That’s going too far.
“What?” Norm says.
“Bobcats,” I say.
“Plural?”
“Uhunh,” I say. Whoops.
“You think someone’s baiting th
em?”
I shrug.
“All I know is we’ve been seeing a lot more fur-bearing animals in broad daylight than normal.”
Somewhere between dog poop and boot heels the truth will come out.
Did you know
That someday, I’ll be older than you?
I’ll teach my little girl
To stoke the fire,
Dance with a singing dress, and
Watch for Spider Woman.
Will you be there Ama?
Then I hear her.
“I will.
You can find me dancing
With your ancestors
Among the stars.”
Can we dance with you?
“Not yet, my love. Not yet.”
But you’ll wait for us won’t you?
She laughs.
“Where could I possibly go?”
(found pressed up against the window pane of
Grandma Alice’s sewing room)
Chapter 16
In the stillness of the early morning, I wake. This is all I can take. I’m not like Sicheii. I can’t sit here, rock in my chair, and drink cinnamon tea. I need to know. Where is Maverick? And more importantly is he guilty of… of whatever it is. I need answers. The Christmas snow, piled high from the night before, lays goose down deep, reflecting morning rays in pink, blue and lavender light. I slip into jeans, a long underwear top, lined flannel shirt and field coat. I lace-up my snow boots against the cold and listen for Sicheii’s waking sounds. Alice’s stew and bread have him wrapped in a long winter’s nap.
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