Out of the blue, we all started laughing. Denny and Gwen joked about the freeway congestion, air pollution, and road rage. I thanked them countless times for their prayers and for their aid. They had brought us back together, and I was so thankful I could have melted. After a while they left us alone and headed over to Rubin's for the night.
Tru had gone to bed by the time we heard Nova's story. “He said he was getting into a band that had already been signed,” she said, the waver in her voice more like a choked-back sob. “But he didn’t tell me how these guys were into needles and stuff. Next thing you know, Marvin's hooked really bad. He passed out, Mom. Somebody called 911.”
“What about you? You need help too?” I looked at my fingers. Jesus gazed down from his portrait on the wall. Everything magnified as I awaited her answer.
“No way,” she said. “I’m not crazy. I hate needles.”
I let my breath out. My Nova, the girl who brought home stray cats and helped injured birds, was still in there. I smiled to myself. “Honey, what are you going to do now?” I forced calm into my voice. “I mean what do you want to do?”
She sounded angry. “I hope I never see Marvin again. I’ve been sleeping outside for two days, and I’m cold, wet, and starved … and scared, Mom … real scared.”
“Oh, Nova.”
“I’m so glad to be home with you.” She was sobbing now, her voice small and thin.
“Are you sure? You could go stay with your dad.” I wanted her to decide without pressure from me.
“Right. Dad really has time. And I detest Victoria. No way, Mom.”
Finally, she stopped crying and sighed deeply. Her eyes looked sleepy, and when I tucked her into bed, she fell asleep almost immediately. Her breath was rhythmic, slow, and relaxed. I lay awake, thanking God again and again for returning her to me. His angels had done a good job, I said, and I knew Dad would have been pleased. I drifted off, staring at the ceiling, where Nova's glow-in-the-dark plastic stars still reflected a universe of their own. They had been there all these weeks, faithful as their real counterparts in the central Oregon sky.
28
In the morning, George summoned me to his office. I dressed in that prissy navy skirt again and noticed that instead of binding at the waist, it now hung loosely on my hips. Maybe all that jogging had finally paid off.
I packed Tiny's truck with my father's box, the photos, journal, and the artifacts and slipped Nova's glass angel into my pocket. It felt warm to my touch.
“I don’t mind driving you, Muri,” Tiny said. “In fact, I’d just blend into the woodwork, like a chauffeur.”
“I appreciate that, Uncle Tiny, really. But this is something I need to do alone.” I turned to Lutie. “I could use lots of prayers, though.” My legs shook uncontrollably.
I thought she might cry then, but she only muttered one of her glory be's.
“Why can’t I come?” Tru looked angry, something rare for him.
“I’ll be back by this afternoon, Tru. Try to understand.”
He let out a groan. “Whatever.” I could tell that my next teen adventure wasn’t far away.
Nova had eaten, showered, and slept for hours and hours. But she awoke long enough to wish me luck. “Mom, I’m sure you’re going to win.” She hugged me and kissed my cheek and dived back into bed.
On the road to Murkee, I held onto the vibrating steering wheel of Tiny's pickup and weighed the pros and cons. Since Lutie and Tiny were no longer in danger of losing their home, I didn’t have to stay. After all, I had found what I’d been looking for. The legacy of Joseph Pond was a part of me now.
Besides, in spite of Dove's offer to get the library started again, I was certain there were more job opportunities in Portland than Murkee. I might have to get certified in elementary education, but my chances of finding a decent job would be higher in a larger town. I squinted hard against the glare of the overcast skies, but today no hawks circled. The clouds had woven themselves together into a heavy blanket.
What about Linc? He might want, no, he would relish, any opportunity to make our lives miserable. Tiny and Lutie were part of the community, but we were still outsiders. Leaving would be the safest thing for the kids. In spite of my heroic thoughts about becoming a conservationist and preserving the wilderness, I wasn’t exactly a cowgirl.
“But I love it here,” I heard myself say. I couldn’t make up my mind.
Suddenly, a gleaming SUV with dark tinted windows nearly sideswiped me, and then swerved back into its own lane. I gasped as the guy shook his fist at me. I immediately prayed for some of Lutie's angels to keep me safe. I could almost see my aunt's smile—a smile that was a lot like my father's … and a lot like my own.
When I entered George's office he pulled on his suit jacket and looked dashing as the cowboy lawyer in his brown western-style outfit and shiny boots. He also wore an ear-to-ear grin. “Good news.”
I gasped and let out a whoop. “Tell me!”
George reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the photos Dad had taken. He pointed to one of the arrowheads. “See this one?” He paused. “Near as we can tell, this is the same artifact that's described in a forged document.”
Every citizen in Murkee must have heard. “Fakes,” I crowed. “Linc's documents are fakes.”
“I was skeptical,” George said. “But you were right. Our FBI guy dug up some improper documentation. The articles described were a pre-Clovis arrowhead and some sort of tribal stick for digging roots.”
I opened the bag and produced the fragile remnants, gingerly setting them, one by one, on his desk. Now it was George's turn to gasp.
“This one's called a kap’n stick,” I told him.
“Hold on, hold on,” George said. “The search warrant did its job. An entire room of Linc's house is covered with wall-to-wall artifacts.”
George sat down and leaned back in his chair. “More stuff than you can imagine. It’ll take weeks to sift through it all.” He outlined our next move. “The forged document will be enough to put Linc out of business. But the Feds are interested in the collector. He's the big fish.”
“This one,” I said, pointing to the camas basket. “In his journal my father wrote about this camas basket. I found it yesterday when Linc tried to pull down the fence.”
“We’ll get him for that too,” George said.
“What matters is that Dad knew this basket was special. When he suspected Linc was stealing from the site, he buried the basket under one of the oven doors.” Unexpectedly, loss spread over me like a wet blanket. Would I be able to make the fence as sturdy as before?
Then there was Linc. My neighbor had done terrible things, but now he’d lost everything: his reputation, his grandson to drugs, and his new Cadillac. Maybe he’d lose his freedom too.
“What will they do to Linc?”
George arched his eyebrows. “I’m glad we caught him, but in a way, nobody wins here. He's been a part of this community as long as I can remember. The FBI says they may allow him to plea-bargain in exchange for information on his buyers.”
“I don’t wish evil on Linc, but he's done a lot of damage.”
George nodded. “I didn’t think you could beat old Linc Jackson, but here you are. As your aunt would say, ‘A man reaps what he sows.’”
I sighed and gently spread open the basket's tattered edges. I lifted out the rock-like plug. “Dr. Denny says this is a real coprolite. It sounds awful, but it may be Dad's most valuable find.”
George examined the specimen. “Who would have believed that fossilized waste could be worth anything? But I doubt we can pin this on Jackson directly.”
I crossed my arms. “If Dr. Denny dates the site as pre-Clovis, won’t everything found out there increase in value?”
George laughed and helped me place the artifacts in their protective bags. “You’re as sharp as your Aunt Lutie.”
I smiled so hard that my cheeks ached. My father would have agreed. I could have kissed George,
but I kept my cool, knowing we’d need to get everything formalized before we could truly relax. I had learned that nothing out in the Oregon desert is a sure thing, especially where water is concerned.
Not that long ago, I would have given anything for a taste of suburbia. A golf course might have been extreme, but how about a movie theater or even a Safeway? Now everything around me had slowed down, just as my life had gentled out from its once frenetic pace. Most of the world had never heard of Murkee Creek or seen the expanses of sagebrush buffeted by wind and the ever-present red soil.
As I left George's office, I nearly knocked over Rubin, who stood leaning against the outside wall.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“Sorry I haven’t been around. I can explain. Later, though.” He hesitated, perhaps not quite sure what I’d do. Hurt melted away. I hugged him, and he hugged me back.
“I thought you’d bailed on me,” I said.
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
I reached for his hand, but he hesitated. “What's wrong?”
“I can’t stay,” he said. A painful expression shadowed his eyes. “Come over later, will you?” I nodded, and he walked away.
Back at the trailer, Nova laughed about the coprolite, but no one mentioned Marvin. Had I been with less forgiving people I might have organized a lynch party for that kid. But as Aunt Lutie would later observe, “Just having Linc in your family tree is punishment enough.”
“You were right,” Nova said. “Denny and Gwen are way cool. Their church's outreach runs a meeting for homeless kids. Even if you aren’t sure what you believe, they pray for you. Did you know Gwen designs clothes too? She says I can come and learn glassblowing.”
I studied my daughter. She looked thin. Deep shadows encircled her eyes, and her cheekbones protruded. Her hair had grown out some; it was no longer orange or purple or green but a familiar and pleasant brown. The ice blue of her gaze was softer than I remembered. When she first hugged me back, she had smelled like the inside of Gwen and Denny's house.
I smiled at her. “Things will be better now, I promise. We’re a real family, just like Lutie said. No more fighting, all right?”
Later, Uncle Tiny told her she needed to fatten up. I could have warned him that any mention of weight would set her off. Like most other girls her age, Nova was convinced she was chubby, even though her jeans were loose.
In true Nova form, she grimaced at the lunch her uncle had cooked and refused to eat it. Tru acknowledged her with a “Hi, geek,” and sat down with a plateful of food. Within a minute they were at each other's throats.
“You’re such a pig,” she said. “Chew with your mouth shut, idiot.”
He displayed a half-chewed bite. “I learned it from Jim,” he said proudly, and Jim looked up from his bed beside the television set. “Bet you missed us, huh?”
“Gross. You and these disgusting pigs.” She shuddered dramatically. “You’re such a moron.”
“You’re totally, what-ever.” Tru mocked in a higher voice than his normal one.
“You’re so immature.”
It was a standoff, and they glared at each other, trying to come up with the consummate burn.
Tiny sat down between them and looked at Nova with that ever-present smile of his. His size alone forced an uneasy truce.
“You could always fix yourself something else, Miss Nova,” Lutie said from her recliner. She looked up at Jesus with a pleading glance and then went back to her crocheting.
“Fine.” Nova scooted her chair back loudly and flounced to the cupboard. Tru made a face at her as she passed him. I smiled. It was just like old times.
Lutie pulled on her yellow gloves. “And don’t forget, we got a ton of work to get ready for the bazaar. Rhonda Gaye is coming over this afternoon, so you two can get your entry finished.”
“Don’t you remember?” Lutie said. “Rhonda's been sewing on that outfit you dreamed up.”
“Terrific.” Nova said. She turned to make one of her dramatic exits.
“Hold on,” I said. “You and Tru pull kitchen duty. Lutie, give Nova your gloves.”
Lutie solemnly handed over the gloves, and Nova clucked her tongue. Tru just groaned and the two of them went to the sink and started a name-calling contest. At first I couldn’t understand how siblings who said they loved each other so much could bicker like that, but then I decided the put-downs were their way of saying, “Hey, I missed you.” At least they didn’t throw anything at one another.
When the dishes were finally washed, Nova stripped off the gloves and complained that her freshly painted nails were ruined. “Totally.” She put on a pouty look. I summoned her to the bedroom to tell her about my plans, and she trudged along behind me, no doubt convinced I was about to nag her some more.
“This is so not fair!” She yelled when I told her about my idea to move. The look on her face reminded me of the first time she’d tasted broccoli at age three, spit it halfway across the room, and clamped her mouth shut.
“I don’t understand.” I’d been so certain about this whole thing on my way to Portland. Now I wondered if the girl in front of me was the same Nova I knew.
Defiant, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you ask me if I wanted to move? How typical!” She clucked her tongue with the same disdain as her “whatevers.”
I used my best librarian's voice. “Tru and I like it fine here. You’re the one who hates it so much, the one who complains about Murkee being so ‘nowhere.’”
“Your idea sounds worse,” she said through clenched teeth, “I’d rather die.”
Patience rushed out of me, so I took a deeper breath. “I’m doing this for you. I thought that's what you wanted.”
“You don’t get it, Mom.”
“What exactly don’t I get?” Now I felt like throwing something, so I jammed my hands into the pockets of my skirt. I tried not to look at my father's photo, whose eyes pleaded with me to fight no more with my sixteen-year-old rebel.
But instead of attacking, she sat down on the bed and picked at the bumps on the faded chenille spread. “Before I left, I thought this place was like eternal damnation. I’m like, ‘Great, I live in a dump with a weird aunt and uncle and a bunch of pigs. Perfect.’” She looked up at me. “But it's different now, okay? In Portland all I thought about was getting back home, and now we’re leaving?”
I sat down beside her, stroked her hair, and she didn’t pull away. “I thought it would make you happy.”
She groaned the way teenagers do when they know they aren’t getting through. “And there's something else,” she said. She unzipped her battered backpack and took out a small New Testament. “I heard you talking to Aunt Lutie about God. Were you for real?”
I groped for words that didn’t sound awkward. “I’ve had what you might call a spiritual awakening, yes.”
“I guess I don’t mind too much.” She smiled. “Denny and Gwen made God sound pretty cool.”
“God thinks you’re pretty cool, too,” I said, “and so do I.”
Nova grimaced. “I’m not a little churchy girl.” She held up her Bible. “I said I’d give God a chance.” She tossed the Bible onto the bed.
“You’re almost a grown-up now,” I said. “Nobody's trying to make you do anything.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes the familiar way I’d grown to love. “I didn’t mean to start a fight,” she said, and I thought I saw a tear in her eye. “I’m glad to be home. Really.”
I couldn’t say anything more. I threw my arms about her.
“Happy?” I managed to say.
“Being home makes me happy,” she said.
“Even with a pesky brother and weird relatives and pigs?”
She sighed again loudly but then smiled. “Don’t forget a nagging Mom.”
“Me? Nag?” I could have kissed her, but she was already out the door.
I sat there awhile longer and smoothed over the wrinkles in the spread where No
va had sat. So much for knowing what my daughter wanted; her mind changed about as often as the color of her hair. Her pleas to stay were not without conditions. She begged me to fix up the house and wondered if Tiny could build her a separate bedroom.
“Can’t you homeschool us?” she asked later. “I don’t want to be around a bunch of cowboys.”
“Out here we’re all a bunch of cowboys,” Tiny answered.
“Whatever.”
Somehow, when Nova explained her reasons for staying in Murkee, they became my own.
29
The pigs were penned up so they would stay out of trouble. They squealed their disapproval at not being allowed to roam all over the yard. Jim was caged with them and stuck his snout through the wire fence and looked woeful.
Tru bent down to scratch Jim's black hairy ears. “Can’t we take him with us? I’ll watch him, I promise.”
“I don’t think they let pigs wander around town, son,” I said.
My uncle crisscrossed several bungee cords to strap a boy's bike to the bed of the truck, a bike he’d assembled from his stacks of parts. It was for the child of a new family in town. Lutie wanted to know “what on God's green earth” he was doing back there and why we were taking a bicycle along.
“His name is Ryan and he's eight and he needs a bike. That's what Doc Perkins told me,” Tiny said, grinning. “There, I believe that’ll do it.” He jiggled the bike to make sure it was secure.
Nova stormed out of the house, a stack of sewing supplies in her arms. “I told Rhonda I’d be over an hour ago, Mom. Can you drive me?”
“In what? We don’t have a car, and Tiny's busy.”
Nova stamped her foot. “Whatever.”
Tiny and Tru climbed into his truck. Tiny said out the window, “I’d be tickled to give you a ride.”
I held up my hand. “You said you were going the other direction, Unc. Nova needs to learn to plan things.”
“Mu-ther.”
“It's not that far out of my way,” Tiny added.
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