by Dianne Drake
“Where can I get them?”
The big question. Certainly no place on Hawk. Rising Sun was the largest town and it didn’t have a good medicine supply in its meager pharmacy. Maybe up at Fort Peck, or over in Billings? That was the problem out here. Nothing was convenient, not even a vitamin tablet. And if it wasn’t convenient, it was probably forgotten. “Look, I’ll find them and bring them when I come next week.” Then the Red Elk children would take them until the supply ran out, and Betty wouldn’t ask for them again because she was a proud woman who didn’t like to inconvenience others.
So many little stopgap measures going nowhere. And the only doctor was always on the run and too busy to finish off all the details, the ones that weren’t critical.
Climbing back into her Jeep, ready to drive another twenty miles to see her next patient, Joanna thought about Chayton Ducheneaux settling himself into her bed. One thing was for sure—she wouldn’t have given it up to him if she had known he hadn’t come there to work.
Chayton glanced around the room. Small, basic. An efficiency apartment, only one that lacked real efficiency. Bare necessities, basically. Tiny kitchenette, tiny bathroom, a simple sheet strung across the room separating what appeared to be the bedroom, since it contained a bed, from the living room since it contained a chair. That was it, and Dr Killian was right. The bed had no sheets. They were folded in a pile at the foot, sitting next to a pair of…What the hell were those? Bunny bedroom slippers?
Picking up the bunnies, he regarded them for a moment, then dropped them to the floor. Either an odd welcome gift, or Dr Killian had left something behind. Meaning this was probably where she stayed when she was in the area.
He glanced around, looking for other personal effects, but the room was sterile. Shutting his eyes, Chay tried to focus on the sweet scent of Joanna, the one he’d caught just a hint of while she had been bent over and leaning halfway into his rental car. But nothing. Not even a lingering trace of her.
Not that he wanted a trace of her, because he had an idea that Joanna Killian, with all her expectations of him, was going to be just as big a bother as everybody else here, who would either snub him for not coming home to practice medicine or chastise him. “Why the hell did I even bother?” he grumbled, heading down the stairs on his way out to see his mother. Now was the perfect time since his dad would still be at work and Wenona would more likely be glad to see him when Leonard was away.
“Where’s DocJo?” a tiny voice asked.
Chay scanned the cramped waiting area at the bottom of the stairs and saw the waif kneeling in a corner of the room, clutching a generations-old Barbie doll. “Who are you?” he asked, already knowing he’d made a big mistake. Asking meant she’d answer, meant he’d be expected to do something. Treat her, take her home, figure out what she was doing there. Far too complicated for what he had in mind.
“Kimimela Rousseau.”
Chay smiled. A name like his, Indian mixed with French. The remnants of the French explorers who’d passed through over three hundred years ago comingling with the natives who had always been there. “Kimimela…”
“It means butterfly.”
“Well, tell me, Little Butterfly, what you need.”
“I need DocJo. She can fix my finger.” Kimimela held up her index finger for him to see. On the end was a tiny little cut, one with a speck of dried blood still clinging to it. “And I can pay,” she said proudly. Here at Hawk, not everyone could. “DocJo always fixes me.”
DocJo was probably Dr Joanna, he guessed. “Want me to take a look?” he asked, knowing he shouldn’t. But it was only a cut. Two minutes to take care of it, then he’d lock the door so no other little butterflies could float in. “I’m a doctor just like DocJo,” he added, maintaining his place on the opposite side of the room.
Kimimela frowned stubbornly at him. It was a look that plainly told Chay she didn’t believe a word he said. Smart kid, he thought. “Where’s your mother, Little Butterfly?”
“At work. She works for Mrs Wenona.”
“Mrs Wenona is my mother,” he said. “In fact, I was just going to see her at the diner. Maybe I could fix your finger then you could show me the way.”
“Don’t you know where it is?” Kimimela was beginning to show a little interest now. Her dark eyes weren’t shining quite so warily at him.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been…” He caught himself before he said home. This wasn’t home any more. Home was a nice, luxurious condo overlooking the lake-shore in Chicago. Home had a Jacuzzi, an exercise room, a game room. He looked around. One room in his home was bigger than the entire clinic. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I really need someone to show me around.” Back home, a child as young as Kimimela—what was she, maybe six or seven?—wouldn’t have been safe walking the street alone or talking to strangers. Of course, in Rising Sun, and even throughout the whole of the Hawk Reservation, no one ever thought otherwise. This wasn’t like the outside world. It wasn’t even like the rest of Montana. “Come on, let’s get it cleaned up so you can show me how to get to Mrs Wenona’s.”
It was a quick fix—a little washing, a little antibiotic cream, and a bandage. He found a blue one in Joanna’s medical supplies, with cartoon characters on it. As he applied it to Kimimela’s finger, he vowed that this would be the first and last medical practicing he’d be doing in Rising Sun.
“Don’t I get a sucker, Doc Wenona?” she asked, surveying her finger.
He chuckled. “Chayton. My name’s Chayton. And if you know where DocJo keeps the suckers I’ll be happy to give you one. In fact, if you can find them, I’ll give you two if you promise not to tell on me.”
Of course, Kimimela knew exactly where they were. She took the two she wanted and looked up at him as if he might up the ante to a third. What the hell. “Grab a handful, Kimimela. As many as you can get in one try.”
“DocJo says only one.”
“But DocJo isn’t here and I say it’s OK. OK?” A cheap thrill for a little girl who looked as if she was desperately in need of one. Her little hand scooped up about six suckers in total, and the look of pure excitement over catching such a glorious treasure was well worth the consequences if DocJo actually took such things seriously. Which she probably did.
“Now, do you have something for me?” he asked.
Kimimela nodded, pulling a quarter out of her pocket. She held it up to him, smiling. “See, I told you I could pay.”
A quarter. Certainly, he could have turned it down. Most people probably would have. But Kimimela had come there today with such pride he could do no other than send her away with her pride intact. “That’s exactly what I was going to charge you,” he said. “How’d you know that?”
Kimimela giggled. “I just guessed.”
“Well, you guessed good, Little Butterfly. Now, can I hire you to show me how to get to my mother’s diner?”
She nodded shyly.
“And how much am I going to have to pay you?”
“A quarter.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I just earned a quarter myself, so I have enough money.” He handed her the quarter, which she tucked back into her pocket. “Ready?”
In answer, she took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the door. Big mistake, letting the cute kid get to you like this. Keep away from it, Chay. This isn’t your life any more.
“Come on, DocChay,” Kimimela urged.
“Hurry.” Hurry, indeed. But toward what?
The lump in his gut told him he wasn’t going to like the answer.
CHAPTER TWO
HIS mother hadn’t changed much, Chay thought. No wrinkles that he could see from where he was standing on the sidewalk outside her diner. No gray hair. Still plump with a flawless round face. Wenona Ducheneaux looked exactly like she’d looked the last time he’d seen her, and he felt the pull at his heart over missing her. He had. Badly.
Eight years was a long time to be away and he was nervous abou
t stepping through the door because he couldn’t start over, and he couldn’t pretend this was where he’d left off years ago. He was the outsider now, the one who could bring tales of Chicago, New York, London and Paris to Kimimela.
Kimimela wandered on inside, but once the diner door was open Chay couldn’t budge from the spot where he was standing. Not yet. So he stayed at the window and watched his mother through it as he grappled to find the words a prodigal son would say after so long. It wasn’t like he hadn’t talked to her in all this time. He’d called her dutifully every month or so, sent her gifts and cards on all the right occasions, had even offered to fly her to Chicago any time she wanted to come visit him. But she wouldn’t, not without her husband. And Leonard Ducheneaux had shed himself of a son years ago.
“DocChay, you coming?” Kimimela asked from the doorway. “I already ordered us cola. And I don’t have to pay. Mrs Wenona never makes me pay. Do you like cola?”
“I love cola,” he said, finally taking her hand and heading through the door. Inside it was cool. Air-conditioning. Something new since the last time he’d been here. Back then the only cooling had come from overhead fans. He remembered how they’d clicked when they’d rotated. It was a loud, steady noise people got used to and ignored. They were still there, but not running, he noticed, glancing up at the ceiling. Somehow he almost missed the old familiar racket they’d made. “So, where are we going to sit?”
“At the counter. On the end. That’s my special place. And you sit next to me.”
The diner was bustling. It was lunch and the specialty, he noticed on the chalkboard, was bean soup and corn bread. Of course it was. Today was Tuesday. Tuesday was always bean soup and corn bread. He hadn’t had bean soup and corn bread since the last time he’d been here, and suddenly he had a taste for it. Funny how he hadn’t thought about it all these years, and now he could hardly wait to sit down at the counter and order a bowl. “Did you order cherry syrup in your cola?” he asked Kimimela as they made their way over to the counter.
“You can do that?”
“You bet you can do that. And it’ll be the best darn cola you’ve ever had.” His mother hadn’t noticed him yet. She was busy at the other end of the counter, taking an order. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two dimes. “When I was your age I could always get a free cola, but I had to pay a dime to get the cherry syrup. That was the rule.”
“Chayton!” Wenona’s squeal drowned out everything else in the diner and suddenly the place went deathly quiet. All eyes turned toward him and no one so much as moved. “I can’t believe you’re home. Is that really you?”
“It’s me, Weeko.” Beautiful. By the time he’d stood, Wenona had run around the counter and was flying into his arms.
“It’s been so long,” she cried. “And I didn’t know you were coming. Why didn’t you let me know?”
“I didn’t decide until yesterday.” Although he’d been thinking about it for a week now. “And it was too late to call. You were home by the time I made up my mind.” He bent down to give her an affectionate kiss on each cheek, then said, “I was having this huge craving for bean soup and corn bread, so I thought, why not? You’d be serving it today, and nobody makes it better than you.”
Wenona backed away, brushing a few tears from her cheeks. “I know you’re lying to me, but I don’t care. I’m just so glad to have you home again, it doesn’t matter why you came.” She glanced around the diner anxiously. “But this is a real bad time. Everybody likes to come in since I got the air-conditioner, and we’re really busy. Then I have to get home to your father. He comes home earlier from the ranch these days, and likes to have his supper on the table when he gets there. So maybe we could visit in the morning. Over breakfast? That is, if you’ve come to see me.”
“Of course I’ve come to see you. You and Macawi and a few old friends, if any of them are still around.” Some had gone to the cattle ranch, but many had gone out into the world, seeking other opportunities. That was the way now. Many left and, like him, didn’t return.
“And your father? Will you see him, too?”
The old wound. His mother lived ever hopeful that the wound would heal. He didn’t have that same hope, though. And as for seeing his father, Chay simply didn’t know. “I don’t think Dad will care one way or another that I’m here.”
“He might, Chayton. He’s gotten tired. Time has changed him in so many ways.”
Is that what Macawi meant? he wondered. “We’ll see, Mom. But I’m not making any promises. So, since I can’t sit and visit with my favorite girl in the world, could you at least rustle me up an order of your Tuesday special and get me and my other girlfriend here a cherry cola? It’s still a dime for the cherry syrup, isn’t it?”
“You’ve met Kimi?”
He nodded. “She came to the clinic, needed a little medical attention.”
“The clinic? Joanna’s medical clinic?”
“It’s a long story.” Eighteen years’ worth of ‘long’ that suddenly seemed even longer than that. “I would have stayed at Macawi’s but she’s renting her spare bedrooms to a few paying tenants—wives of workers at the ranch—which leaves me staying in the room above the clinic. I was getting settled when Kimimela came in and paid me for my medical services.”
“Then he paid me for my services,” Kimi chimed in. “And DocChay’s paying for my cherry syrup, too.”
“Little Butterfly and I are on our first date,” he said, winking at Wenona. “The gentleman always pays for the lady’s cherry syrup. I leaned that from the wisest lady I know.” Chayton leaned down and kissed his mother lightly on the forehead. “It’s good to be here, Mom.”
He said the words, and for the most part he meant them.
Flu shots. Late August was a little early in the season for them yet, but Joanna took advantage when she had the vaccine available to her. And right now she had enough to get through most of those in Flatrock who wanted the shots. Not that everybody did because, truth be told, the majority of the four hundred people who lived here didn’t. But over the past few weeks her list had grown to a good number of people anyway, mostly the elderly, those with chronic illnesses and the children.
She looked at the modestly long line outside Mrs Begay’s house—Joanna had commandeered Mrs Begay’s front room for the clinic today. With a rickety card table and a metal folding chair, this was a much nicer arrangement than she’d had in Whitestone last week, where she’d been forced to set up on a sidewalk. Thank God it hardly ever rained in the Big Open, because she’d had to explain, almost with every shot she administered, what it was for and what it would do. It took hours, and in the rain it wouldn’t have been much fun. Especially since every one of them asked for a detailed explanation, not because they didn’t know what a flu vaccination was for—they did, since they got one every year there was a doctor on the reservation—but because Joanna still had to prove herself to them. Six months on this circuit, and she still wasn’t as trusted as she’d hoped to be. The good people of Whitestone had merely been putting her to the test with their questions—trying to decide whether or not they liked her.
Whoever had said this was going to be easy?
First person in line was Billy Begay, age ten. Joanna had his chart, a sparse leftover from the last doctor. According to the two pages inside, nothing about Billy seemed unusual. Normal, healthy, somewhat over his ideal body weight. He’d had measles and chickenpox. That was it.
“OK, Billy, this is going to hurt a little. Just a pinch. Look the other way and when I count to three…” Of course, she jabbed him on the count of two.
“Can I have a sucker now, DocJo?” Billy asked. “A green one?”
Automatically, Joanna reached into her goody bag, but something stopped her before she handed the sucker over to Billy. Age ten, and he was pudgy. Too pudgy. Six months on the reservation had taught her to be cautious, since about a quarter of the children here were at risk for diabetes. So, instead of handing him the candy,
she asked, “Do you get thirsty a lot?”
“Sometimes,” he said, his eyes fixed squarely on the goody bag.
“Do you play outside with your friends very much?”
“Uh-uh. I like video games better. And TV.”
“Hang on, Billy. I need to grab something real fast.” That nagging feeling was turning into a warning siren now. The youngest she’d seen with diabetes out here was six, and while diabetes at that age was unusual the statistics spoke volumes, and there was something about Billy that fit the profile. Grabbing a blood-sugar meter out of her medical bag, Joanna swabbed Billy’s finger with an alcohol wipe, did a finger prick then counted off the seconds for the results. Thirty seconds later, sure enough, Billy’s blood sugar was 240. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. Twice the normal level. “When was the last time you ate something?” she asked him.
“At lunch, a few hours ago. Then I had some cookies afterward for a snack. And a root beer. So do I get my sucker now, or what?” He was getting impatient.
All the sugar in him could certainly raise his blood sugar level, but common sense told her Billy needed better testing. “Mrs Begay, does anyone in your family have diabetes?” she asked Billy’s mom.
“My husband, but he takes care of it himself.”
Joanna knew what that meant. He ignored it. That had been a constant battle for her since she’d been here, treating so many people like Billy’s dad who “took care of it” on their own. “I need to test Billy for diabetes. His blood sugar’s high, and he fits the profile.”
“We’ll take care of him, just like we do my husband,” Mrs Begay said, smiling. “So if he can have his sucker now, we’ll move along so you can get to the others.”
“If he’s diabetic he can’t have a sucker, Mrs Begay,” Joanna stated. “It’ll make his blood sugar go even higher. Does your husband ever test himself?”