She has a side ponytail clasped in a barrette. She wears a sleeveless, white, mock-turtle neck top and a long, flower-printed skirt. Even though she looks like she stepped out of Lorna’s yearbook, her figure is not outdated.
“Hi, Hayden, you missed Sunday school.” She smiles at him and then me. She looks genuinely pleased to see us.
He says hello to her.
In the awkwardness that follows, she says, “My name is Leah,” and holds out her right hand. Is it possible for someone to shake hands like a ballerina?
“Oh, sorry,” says Hayden. “This is my friend, Baby.”
I’m glad for the anonymity.
“I am so pleased to meet you.” Her formality makes me sit a little straighter. These are classy people. I’m glad I put cover-up on the bit of bruise that’s still visible.
“Hayden, I brought you a plate of those brownies you liked.”
“Oh?” He looks like he is about to say something, but strains against it.
“I left them for you in the Sunday school room.”
She turns and I watch the pretty way her skirt flaps around her ankles. I steal a peak; Hayden is not watching her.
“Brownies, huh?”
“She made these gluten-free brownies. I ate several, but only because they didn’t have nuts. The other snacks had nuts.”
I look at his face. I like that he speaks directly, no assumptions. He stares ahead, tapping his right hand in that thumb-pinky way he does. There’s a slight indention under his mustache on his upper lip, a scar maybe. His haircut is precise, like his clothing, his movements.
I look back at his lip. I would love to peak under the mustache to see the scar better, to touch it. The hair edging his high forehead is baby-fine and lighter than the rest, the same color as his eye lashes: pyrite.
“You pulled me out of that building.”
“Yeah.”
He is golden.
Two men, one woman and the girl named Leah walk out onto the stage area. The woman sits behind the piano, and the shorter man stands at the glass podium. Leah and the other man walk to the microphones and spend several minutes adjusting them. The man at the podium starts to pray but it sounds like he is reading. Everyone gets real quiet and listens. The lady starts to play the piano. Hayden stands up and I remember Thom’s advice, so I stand too. In a minute everyone is standing.
Hayden opens a music book and turns to a song called, “It is Well.” It’s a pretty, old-fashioned way to talk. But Thom is right, I’m bored. My bedtime is approaching. There’s movement just off to the right and ahead. A woman sways; her face is in her hands. She weeps.
I watch her. I want to go to her and put my arms around her. How can she hurt so much? How can I give her comfort?
The next song isn’t so sleepy and the woman lifts her hands up next to her face. She still has tears, but she smiles. She’s really getting into the singing. I listen to Hayden’s deep, rumbling voice and watch the crying woman. There is beauty here. Close. I look around to see if anyone else notices.
Just in front of me, a pear-shaped woman elbows the gal she stands next to. She points to the crying woman, and they share a knowing look and a smirk.
Yeah, that crying woman should remember she’s in public.
The singing takes forever. I watch the second hand on a large clock. It’s faster than the beat of the music. Finally, they tell us to “greet one and another” and sit down. I hope they don’t use old-fashioned language the whole time. I read books like that, but it sounds out of context in real life.
Hayden shakes my hand and I laugh, but I don’t want to let go. I shake the hand of the “elbow” woman and then we sit. She pulls a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse and smears a huge drop on her hands. The cucumber-alcohol smell burns my throat. I wish I could ask her for some, because now my hands feel dirty.
Talking, talking, more talking. I’d rather be climbing into bed. The speaker, performer—whatever he’s called— he has a nice voice. But he’s so passionate, I wonder if elbow lady is nudging her friend when he gets into it.
Everyone laughs. If he says jokes, I need to start paying attention.
“…legalized prostitution in Nevada. Why, just in our neighborhood there are places where women take off their clothes for money.”
Hello. I’m awake.
Hayden looks at me with his eyes wide and apologetic. I don’t want his sympathy. I’m okay with what I did. I was in control. True, I didn’t want Thom to know about it, but that doesn’t mean anything.
Apparently, all the ills of society stem from the degradation of sex, pornography and stripping. All this from a guy I could totally picture in the Wild Lily. What’s the big deal with sex? People have been doing it since they crawled out of the slime. What I wore to dance wasn’t anything different than I see on every beach, every magazine and grocery store isle. I’m sure this guy swims, or is that evil too? Maybe he doesn’t even take his clothes off to shower.
I can’t wait until we can leave. I should never have come. I concentrate on my breathing—it’s become difficult again. Everyone stands and starts toward the doors. Hayden grabs my hand to lead me. It’s so calming to touch him.
Leah weaves through the clusters of people congratulating themselves on how little sex they have.
“Don’t forget the brownies,” Leah calls.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Run and get them, I’ll wait with Baby. I want to invite her to group,” Leah says.
I try to tell him no without words. I scream, plead and cajole with my eyes.
“I’ll be right back, Baby.”
I sigh for a response. His warmth drops my hand.
“Are you free on Tuesday nights?”
There’s no way I’m coming back to church again. “Well, I need to look for a new job.”
“It’s an all-girls group. So much fun. Meets at my house.”
She doesn’t even know me.
“We’re discussing a way for girls to remain under the roof of their father, covered by their father, until they go under the roof of their husband.”
Is she even speaking English? I turn and walk away without looking back. When I get to Hayden’s truck, I remember the door is locked. Dually checked.
There are girls like Leah, and there are girls like me.
I need to get away. I look at the building and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I am dirty. I am cursed. I know for sure now that I have a spirit over me. It’s my fault Brita was killed. Evil is with me. I need to walk.
The sound of gravel under my feet soothes me. Each step takes me farther from that place. They can’t protect themselves from girls like me, so they huddle together. At least there are not any footsteps following me this time.
I don’t know where I’ll go. It’s too far to walk back to the reservation, but as long as I can get to town, maybe Raenah will pick me up. Ugh. Her Rabbit’s still broken. I need something to hit. Instead, I run. Fortunately, the road slopes down. Momentum keeps me going, but I’m so out of shape and weak from the feeling I had when I looked at the church.
Tires crunch the gravel behind me. I stumble back to keep from getting hit. Ground strikes my elbows, hard. The pain shoots through to the healing wound on my cheek. I can’t breathe. Something is on my chest. I’m going to die. I’ll die on the side of this road.
Hayden squats over me, his arms move to surround me. He shushes me. Sunshine strokes my hair. I smell his sweat. I’m spent, poured out like the last drop of Thom’s vodka.
“Do you get a lot of panic attacks?”
“Is that what that was?”
“Yeah, I think.” He pulls me to my feet.
“No.” I hear a car and have the same sensation that I’m going to die, but this time I feel distant from the previous fear, like I’m only reading about it. “It’s your church.” I try at humor to lighten the look on his face. I feel like I want Hayden to lean in and hold me more. I hate the feeling.
&
nbsp; “I’m going to take you home.” He tries to walk me to the car, but I don’t want to be coddled. I want to be stronger than that. I’ll never let this happen again. I wish I was in control.
We hardly talk on the way. The benefit is: I don’t have to listen to him describe refinishing his truck.
“Do you drink coffee, tea, or soda?”
“Soda.” Are we still on a date?
Hayden pulls into a gas station just outside of the Indian colony. I sit in the truck, still tired.
“Come on, let’s get something to drink.” He holds my door open for me.
I follow him. He chooses orange juice. I can’t find grape soda, so I copy him and get juice, but mine is purple. Hayden pays, and we walk outside to a splintery picnic bench by the road. The smell of gasoline punctuates the crisp air.
“I’ll take you home when you feel better.”
I don’t want to talk about what happened, so I don’t answer. He opens his juice and drinks half the bottle before stopping.
“About the sermon—” He takes a breath then falls silent.
“It’s not like you don’t know what I do.” Why not help him out a little? I know all men like the thought of a woman taking off her clothes even if they say they don’t. I give him a look to let him know. What will he say to that?
“But it isn’t right.”
“Why?”
“Because it should be private, holy, between only two people.”
“So you want to own your woman. She can only dance for you.”
“Not own.”
Hayden swirls his juice around in his bottle and I listen to the cars zooming by. If he doesn’t want to own a woman, then why should it be so private?
“So you wouldn’t go get a drink at a club and watch a dancer?”
“Well, it isn’t real.”
Hayden’s right, it isn’t real but the money is good. At least it was.
“It’s just a service, entertainment. A show,” I say.
“No, it’s not. It means more.”
I realize my leg is tapping a ridiculous speed under the table.
“So you agree with the…what did you call it? Sermon? That dancing steals souls from children, it’s a horrible sin?”
Hayden laughs like he doesn’t think it’s that funny. “Yeah.” He snaps his tongue and watches traffic, thinking or avoiding the answer. “So you heard him talk about sin. What did you think about what he said after?”
I shrug too quickly.
“You didn’t hear anything else, did you?”
I stand. “I feel better, thanks for the juice.” And we both pretend like I drank some.
Chapter 7
Normally, Lorna does nothing but complain about the cops on the reservation. They’re just guys hired by our tribal council, men who don’t know anything about us—Thom and me. So I’m surprised by the spread she’s laid out on the table. We never eat like this. The glass dining room table and mismatched chairs are transformed into a bistro. The table has plates, cups, forks, knives and napkins already arranged. There are even spoons. What could she possibly serve that we will need to use spoons?
Hayden compliments her into giggles and excuses. My brother takes Hayden outside and they lean under the hood and talk truck. It feels like Super Bowl Sunday.
Lorna doesn’t want help in the kitchen. I didn’t even know she could cook. Normally everyone fends for themselves, every meal. I hear the engine fire and watch Hayden and Thom leave. Hayden speeds; he shows off in the way only a guy with a truck can.
I walk outside. Raenah sits on her porch, wrapped in her blanket.
“Hey,” I call to her. “What’cha doing?”
“I guess I was hoping one of my kids would show up for a visit.”
I almost say “have fun,” but I catch myself. In nine years, I have never met her kids. I head over.
“Looks like a nice young man you have there.”
“He’s not ‘my young man.’” But he is golden.
“Oh, he just wanted to hang out with your family?” A guffaw pops out of her when she suggests this.
“I guess.” I can’t help but smile.
“Darlin’, no one would spend time with Lorna unless they thought you were worth it.”
Raenah keeps me sane.
She begins telling me a legend about how the Washoe Valley was formed. She doesn’t mention the Great Spirit again. I rest in the chair next to her and close my eyes.
At the sound of Hayden’s truck I realize I’ve been sleeping. Raenah didn’t seem to notice. Thom is the one driving, and when Hayden hops out he balances a pink cardboard box. Thom looks guilty. I yawn, stretch and pat Raenah’s shoulder.
“Come back again soon.”
“I will, Raenah.”
Thom walks inside the trailer. Hayden waits for me with a goofy grin.
“What’s in the box?” It looks like it came from a bakery.
“It’s a surprise.”
We tease back and forth. Several times, he starts to open it and makes a face. I try to catch him, but he is fast.
“Apparently, somebody has a birthday this week.” He isn’t even winded.
“You bought me a cake?” My arms flop to my side. I’m glad I’m not holding the box. It would be too heavy—the gift, too much.
“I like cake. I figured you could eat it twice in one week so you could eat it with me.”
He assumes too much. I haven’t had cake on my birthday since I was ten.
Hayden sticks out his elbow, and I slide my hand into the crook of his arm. I wrap my fingers around the lump of his bicep. As we walk to the trailer, Raenah nods and smiles at me. I can’t help but smile back since his bicep fills my hand.
Lorna and Thom are arguing quietly when we enter.
“Time to eat.” Her voice is like a summer sunrise intruding on a Saturday sleep-in. We find seats at the table, like a family.
Another thing I didn’t know was how good Lorna is at directing conversation. She asks questions I would never think of. Hayden’s Brazilian mother and American father were missionaries. He grew up in Madrid, he’s fluent in Spanish. Lorna confirms this by conversing in Spanish, until I start asking questions. He is the only one of four children who did not become a missionary. He has no family in the States.
“So why did you pick Reno?” Lorna hates it here.
“A cop named Mel Chapmen.” Hayden smiles at me, and I notice the scar over his lip again where the mustache doesn’t quite hide it. “He came to Madrid on a short-term mission trip three summers in a row.” Hayden refuses Lorna’s offer of more food. “He suggested I visit him. I ended up staying.”
I’ve seen pictures of Spain, and I can’t imagine anyone trading a place like that for Reno’s high desert. The only thing that really survives here, without tending, is whatever sagebrush can grab hold of rock as it blows along.
We cut cake, but thankfully they don’t sing.
“How old are you?” Hayden asks, with a dab of frosting on his lip.
There’s a pause. Lorna scowls at Thom.
“She’ll be eighteen on Tuesday,” Thom answers.
“An adult.” An ‘adult,’ Lorna says, meaning: you’re on your own now.
Hayden studies me. His previous smile has become a rigid replica. He begins to alternate tapping his thumb and pinky against his thigh. Lorna asks a question, but Hayden and I continue our stare-down. I’m afraid if I look away, he’ll tell Thom about the Wild Lily.
“Why don’t you two kids take a walk?” Thom has interrupted his wife. I’m sure he’ll suffer for that when we leave, but he has a calm confidence about him. He stands and shakes Hayden’s hand.
Hayden follows me outside.
“What?” I turn and ask, as soon as we’re off the porch.
“Nothing.” He takes my hand and we begin to walk. After we pass Raenah’s, he adds, “You’re not eighteen yet.”
“You have a problem with that?”
He stops and looks at me,
but doesn’t drop my hand. “Yeah.” His brows are slightly lifted, as if surprised I would question.
I look at the trailer behind him. The yard has little bits of torn dog toys covering it.
Hayden lets go of my hand and takes two or three strides before I recover. I want to hold his hand again, but I don’t try.
“Is this just because of your religion?”
“What?”
“That’s why you’re mad—your church.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“You’re under-age.”
“I’ll be eighteen in two days.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I need money. I have to move out as soon as possible.” I sound like I’m whining when I mutter this. He starts walking back.
“The point is,” he speaks like English is my second language. “The Wild Lily broke the law. They’ll break others. The laws are there for a reason.”
I don’t want to admit this makes sense, because I’m the one who lied about my age.
Back from our walk, we both stare at the trailer. I don’t want to go inside; I want to continue walking with Hayden until I’m happy, even if it takes days…or we cross states.
“I’m obligated to say something, to tell someone.”
“Am I going to jail?” I meant it as a joke, but it comes out as a plea.
“As a police officer…I’m obligated…”
I hear movement at the door behind me. I grab Hayden’s shirt with my hands and come to him to whisper.
“Please. I don’t work there anymore.” I didn’t mean to lean so close. He must’ve leaned in toward me as well. My heart is beating faster than his. I know because I press against his chest. We could kiss. But I’m sure we won’t because he has left his arms at his sides—not moved to touch me at all.
I step away. Hopefully, my face is not as red as it feels. I lift the hair off my neck to share the weight of it with my hand and cool wind chills my back. He watches me. I let go and fold my arms.
“Don’t…” I tighten my crossed arms. “Don’t let your religion get in the way of this.”
Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) Page 4