by Beverly Bird
He never listened, she thought. He just kept talking. “Ah, hell, Liv, I did it, too.”
She looked at him again sharply. “Did what?”
“I started this just to make you pay for the lie. To rock the complacent little world you’d locked me out of. I wanted everyone to hate you, too, wanted to advertise what a rotten thing you’d done to me all those years ago. But it’s not about that anymore.”
She knew it wasn’t. She’d seen it in his eyes whenever he looked at his child.
“Let’s take a ride,” he said.
She glared at him. She looked around for something to dry her eyes with, then gave up and just grabbed a handful of the mare’s mane and buried her face there.
“I’m not going to ride, after all,” she said finally. “I just wanted to get away from you.”
“Well, I followed you.”
“I hate horses.”
“I know. I meant in my car. We’ll give Vicky some time to cool down.”
She seemed to think about it, then she tilted her chin up. “Okay. But I still hate you. All I’m conceding is that maybe I’m glad you just earned a few demerits from her.”
Hunter nodded, satisfied. “That’s my girl.”
“There has to be something I can make,” Liv fretted in the kitchen two weeks later.
Kiki blew out her breath and planted her hands on her hips. “We go through this every Thanksgiving. There’s not.”
“I’ll do the mashed potatoes.”
“You leave lumps.”
“I’ll bake a pie.”
“Not in my kitchen, you won’t. Don’t you remember the time you blew up the chocolate layer cake?”
That had been memorable, Liv thought, sitting at the kitchen table. It had been for Vicky’s sixth birthday. She still wasn’t sure what she had done wrong, and Kiki—with all her scientific wisdom—was clueless, too. But she’d put something in the batter that she shouldn’t have because it had exploded all over the inside of the oven. It had taken them a week to scrape out all the little brown pieces.
“Why are we arguing about this again?” Kiki asked. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d just stay out of the cooking end of things.”
Liv rubbed her forehead. “I need to keep as busy as possible under these current circumstances.”
Kiki was quiet for a long time. She came to the table and pulled out a chair for herself. She sat and chewed on her lip. “Where’s Hunter?” she asked finally.
“He and Vicky are in my sitting room, watching the race. It’s the last one of the season.” It was Sunday, and she’d been exiled from her own rooms, Liv thought.
“Well, that’s cozy,” Kiki commented.
“It would be cozy if I was there, too. But I’m not.”
“If he’s watching races, then maybe he’s starting to chafe.”
Liv thought about it and she knew in her heart that it wasn’t true. Since they’d taken the drive that afternoon of their last major fight, he’d mellowed. He’d said his piece and he’d dropped it—that was his way. It was behind him now. He just wouldn’t tangle with her anymore.
But Vicky’s accusations still made her ache. And so did Kiki’s complicity.
“Why did you make him that sandwich?” she blurted.
“I didn’t. I just gave him the fixings for it.” Kiki sat back in her chair. “Is that what’s been eating you all these weeks?”
Liv lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
“I was finding weird things missing from the kitchen.”
“Like what?” Liv was startled. “You said you couldn’t find any evidence that he’d been using it.”
“Right.” Kiki waited.
Liv frowned. “So what was missing?”
“Half a tray of deviled eggs. Six of my cinnamon miniquiches and a dozen oysters.”
Liv felt her heart sink. The oysters were the giveaway. “Vicky.”
“She was taking him food.”
Liv put her head down on the table. “Oh, my God.”
“Everything that was missing was high on her hit-list of favorites. And I knew she wasn’t starving. Not unless the frozen food companies suddenly went out of business and you’d stopped feeding her. Liv, I had to step in. She was taking it on her own shoulders to make things easier for him so he wouldn’t have to go out to eat all the time.”
Liv sat up again. “I should have known you’d only do that for Vicky,” she said hollowly.
“Is that an apology for doubting me?”
Liv hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Then I’ll be honest. I also did it because he looks really fine in those black jeans.”
Things inside her rushed. Then dove. The ultimate betrayal. “You’ve got your eye on him now?” she squeaked.
“Oh, get real. I just appreciate the male form. Doesn’t mean I have to touch it.” Kiki stood again. “Anyway, back to Thanksgiving.”
Liv was perfectly willing to change the subject. “We could break our rule this year and allow guests.” It was the only day of the year they didn’t accept them, because it was Liv’s most precious holiday. It was the last one she’d spent with her parents and her sister.
The next day her family had all driven off for Sedona to enjoy what was left of the four-day weekend. Liv had stayed behind to go to a symphony Saturday night with her best friend, Julie. She’d never made it to the symphony because her parents’ car had gone off a cliff that Friday night in a driving rain. And shortly after that, she had landed on the Res.
There hadn’t been Thanksgiving there. Her grandmother didn’t honor it. It wasn’t a Navajo occasion. No matter that Ama herself had married a German and had loved him dearly. No matter that her daughter had married an Irishman and Ama held no grudges. Liv’s grandmother did not celebrate Anglo holidays.
During her years in Flagstaff, Liv had worked every holiday. But when she had come south to Jerome with Kiki and a toddling Vicky in tow, that had changed. It had become their day, revered and special, if poignant. No guests. Just the three of them and all the food Kiki could cook.
This year there would be four.
“Kind of late to be getting reservations now,” Kiki pointed out.
“We have a waiting list,” Liv replied. “If I put it out on the Web site—”
“Liv. Thanksgiving is Thursday. There’s not enough time.”
“People from town—”
“What are you afraid of?”
She took a deep breath. Why did everyone keep asking her that these days? “That Hunter is going to ruin it,” she said baldly.
Kiki thought about that. “He won’t. But you might.”
It was too close to what her daughter had accused her of two weeks ago. Liv felt her heart cringe. “Dinner will be tense. I don’t want that for Vicky.”
“You don’t want it for you. Look, it’s not going to be a banner year. There’s no getting around that. But Vicky will sail through it. She always does. Let’s just make the best of it, and leave the cooking to me.”
She wasn’t going to win this argument, Liv realized. She stood from the table. “Okay. But if I throw the sweet potato casserole at him, it’s your fault.”
Kiki nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
At half past eight on Thanksgiving morning, Liv found Hunter in the dining room when she went to dig the good china out of the breakfront. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around with a baffled expression.
“Where is everybody?” He frowned at the sideboard. “Where’s the food?”
“Empty house today.” Liv thought of fleeing, of coming back for the china later. But Kiki got testy if it was dusty. And Vicky wanted to watch the Macy’s parade in a little while. Her only chance to wash the plates was now.
She sat Indian-style in front of the breakfront and opened the doors. Civility, she reminded herself. “Didn’t you notice everyone checking out yesterday?”
Hunter rubbed his jaw. “Yeah. I thought that was odd on a Wednesday. There�
��s no one?”
“I close on Thanksgiving.”
“It was never an important holiday to you.”
Liv looked up at him. It seemed impossible that there was actually something he didn’t know about her. There’d been a time when he’d examined every angle of her soul. “It never had a chance to be when we were together.”
“So now you send everyone home for the day and revel in it?”
“Yes.”
“When will they come back?”
“We have several check-ins tomorrow.”
“What about breakfast today?”
She choked on a laugh. “No cinnamon quiches left?”
She watched his face change. He looked almost abashed. “How’d you know about them?”
“Kiki figured it out.”
“Do you know about the oysters?” he asked warily.
“She said some were missing.”
“That’s all?”
Liv nodded slowly, wondering what he was getting at.
“Oh, well. I’m going to run into town for something to eat.” He turned away.
“Freeze.”
“That might work with an eight-year-old, but not with me.” He kept walking.
“What about the oysters, Hunter? I know when you’re hiding something.”
He stepped through the door and paused. “Is there anything open in town on Thanksgiving?”
“You’ll probably find something, but you might be better off throwing yourself on Kiki’s mercy. Or maybe Vicky will share her cereal. Like she shared her oysters.”
He rubbed his jaw. “Man, I hate those things.”
Liv started to understand. She pushed to her feet. “What did you do with them?”
“I threw them out.”
“You threw out oysters? Do you have any idea what they cost me fresh?”
“I’ll pay you back,” he said quickly.
“I don’t want your gobs of money!”
“You’ve got to get past this money thing, Liv.”
“I hate waste!”
“Yeah, well, I hate slime. And oysters are slimy.”
“Are you two fighting again?” Vicky demanded, ducking under Hunter’s arm to enter the room.
“No!” they shouted in unison.
She backed out again. “Man, you guys sound just like Mandy’s mom and dad.”
Liv felt her heart fall down into her toes.
“Well,” Hunter said finally when Vicky was gone. “That’s good, right? It’s healthy.”
She sat down unsteadily in front of the breakfront again. There’d been a time, she thought helplessly, when she’d wanted to be a parent with him more than she’d wanted air to breathe. “I’d keep those oysters to myself if I were you,” she said without answering. “Don’t tell Kiki. She does the books.”
“Uh, no. That probably wouldn’t be wise.”
He finally left the dining room. Liv forced herself to breathe—in, out, in, out—until her muscles uncoiled. She gathered up the china.
She didn’t see him again until after it was washed, the parade was over and they were gathered in the kitchen. It was another Thanksgiving tradition. They couldn’t exclude Kiki, who was up to her elbows in pie crust dough, so they congregated there. Liv was opening a bottle of wine when Hunter ambled in.
“Dad!” Vicky yelped.
The wine slid in Liv’s hands as though it had suddenly turned into a greased pig. She groped for it and caught it. She could feel Hunter’s eyes on her and she knew they were amused.
“Bet that bottle might cost even more than oysters,” he drawled.
Liv closed her eyes briefly. She’d been ready to face him over dinner, but this was too early. And she couldn’t send him away. How could she send him off into exile on Thanksgiving? She clutched the bottle against her chest and turned back to the table as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
Kiki moved from the oven, dropping a head of cabbage in front of him. “Don’t just sit there. Make yourself useful.”
Hunter eyed the cabbage warily. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Start shredding for cole slaw.” She deposited a steel grater and a bowl on the table. “Just rub it up against the rough side of that thing there. You’ll learn to cook yet before I’m through with you.”
Liv’s jaw dropped open in outrage. “You never let me help!”
“Mom.” Vicky sighed. “The last time you tried to do cabbage, you almost took off your finger.” She looked at Kiki. “Can I peel the carrots?”
“Go for it.”
Vicky whooped with pleasure and jumped up to go to the refrigerator.
Hunter looked at the bottle Liv was still cosseting against her chest. “I’ll take some of that.”
“Me, too,” Vicky said.
“Apple cider, squirt,” Kiki said. “Unless you can show me a driver’s license.”
Hunter started shredding cabbage. “You know, back on the Res you can drive at fifteen.”
Vicky ogled him. “For real?”
“Actually, you can do it at eight if you know how because there’s no cops around to tell you not to.”
“Don’t fill her head with that,” Liv warned, finally moving again for the corkscrew.
“Cool!” Vicky looked at Liv. “Can we move there?”
“Not in this lifetime,” Kiki drawled. “At least not with me.”
“How come you don’t like it there?” Vicky asked her.
“It’s hundreds of thousands of square miles of kitty litter. What’s to like?”
“But kids can drive there.”
“Your father was fibbing.”
Liv nearly lost the wine bottle again as she set it down to work on the cork. When had they all gotten so close, so warm? While I was busy wallowing in the past. She stabbed the screw point into the cork hard.
“Bet that taught it a lesson,” Hunter murmured.
“Shut up.”
“No fighting!” Vicky warned, but then all her attention was on Hunter again. “Did you? Fib?”
“Sort of.”
“Tell the truth.”
“Okay. There’s hundreds of thousands of square miles of kitty litter on the Res, and a handful of Navajo Nation cops to patrol the whole thing. Bottom line is they can’t be everywhere at once. They can hardly be anywhere at once. It’s just too big. So it’s illegal to drive at eight, but you can probably get away with it, anyway.”
“Don’t tell her that!” Liv burst out again. “She’ll be packing her bags tomorrow! She thinks she’s eighteen as it is!”
“No, I don’t, Mom.” She looked back at Hunter. “Tell me more. Did you guys all know each other there?”
Liv felt Hunter’s eyes on her. She turned her back to him to finish with the wine. And the touch of his gaze kept stroking her skin, hot and close. “We were best friends,” he said.
There was a beat of silence. Kiki slid smoothly into the seam. “All of us were.”
Liv poured the wine and took it to the table. “Just in the beginning,” she said. “Then Hunter kept leaving.”
“Tell me about the beginning,” Vicky said, going to the sink to attack the carrots.
“There were always so many stars there,” Liv heard herself say. She glanced at Hunter. “Do you remember that?” Then she flushed and avoided his gaze. “I remember trying to count them.”
“How about when we convinced Fat Louie they were falling?” Hunter’s voice was vaguely husky.
She nodded and smiled.
Working with the pie dough again, Kiki hooted. “We bought firecrackers in Tuba City.”
“Who was Fat Louie?” Vicky asked.
“Big, old bully,” Hunter explained. “From the school. He was always telling everyone that he was descended from some shaman.”
Liv felt her mouth pull into a wider grin. “We all hated him. He was so obnoxious.”
“He tried to kiss me once,” Kiki confided.
“Yuck,” said Vicky. “Was he real
ly fat?”
“No,” Hunter said, “he was just a big dude. We only called him fat to get his goat.”
“He had goats?” Vicky asked.
Liv stroked her hair. “No, baby. It’s just an expression.” She looked around for something else to do.
“No!” Vicky and Kiki said in unison, following her gaze.
“Sit down and drink your wine,” Kiki advised. “You’re safest there.”
“How did you live that last year on your own if you can’t cook?” Hunter wondered aloud. “I never knew that about you.”
Because that last year on the Res, Liv thought, they’d been wildly, passionately in love. When he’d visited, they’d steeped themselves in each other. Their time together had been so precious. The last thing they’d wanted to do was spend it with her fixing them something to eat.
Before that, her grandmother had always cooked for both of them. Hunter had eaten at her hogan more often than not.
Vicky’s voice broke her reverie before her breath could catch at the memories. “Mom! You lived on your own when you were a kid?”
Liv sat down and changed the subject fast. What she had done that last year had been vaguely illegal, after all. “Between the three of us, we convinced Fat Louie that his ancestor’s medicine was hereditary—unless Spider Woman deemed him unworthy.”
“Who’s Spider Woman?” asked Vicky.
“A Navajo deity. So we went to Tuba City and we bought up all those firecrackers.”
“I bought them,” Hunter corrected. “You two never had a dime to your names. At least I had some cash from doing odd jobs.”
That was true, Liv remembered. But, oh, they’d all been so poor. And happy, anyway. “Okay, Hunter bought the firecrackers,” she allowed. “Then we lured Louie to this arroyo one night and told him to meditate to see if Spider Woman would accept him. We hid at the top and started throwing the firecrackers down in there. He thought the stars were falling in on him, that Spider Woman had rejected him.”
Vicky giggled. “That’s mean.”
“No worse than you putting that smelly cheese in Mandy’s book bag,” Kiki observed.
“I only hated her for one day!” Vicky protested.
“Where’d you get the cheese?” Hunter asked.
“Kiki’s refrigerator.”