Mother To Be

by Cheryl Reavis

  But, he wasn't about to ask Lillian Singer to come to Gallup, and soon, he had no excuse to ask, even if he'd been so inclined – which, of course, he wasn't. In spite of everything, he suddenly found himself feeling better – actually physically, and perhaps mentally, able to face a few things, like his job and his grief and his guilt. He sent Winston Tsosie, his other regular visitor, to bring his mother to Gallup to see him, and as much as he wanted to, he didn't ask the old man if he was still driving Lillian's fast car.

  Katie Becenti arrived at the hospital both rushed and worried – clearly out of harmony. It was yet another reason for him to feel guilty, because he'd certainly led her to believe that she could only expect something upsetting from him. His mother was traditional; it was vital that she stay in tune with her surroundings. She sat down on the chair by his bed, her weathered hands clasped in her lap.

  "Stay, Winston," he said in Navajo, when the old man was about to tactfully withdraw. "I want to tell my mother I'm sorry. I behaved badly in front of witnesses. It's only right that I apologize the same way."

  "It was the chindi of the one who died – " his mother began, careful not to say Mae's name.

  He held up his hand. "No," he said. "It was not. It was me. I held on to her and I wouldn't let go. I don't want you to worry anymore. I'm...all right now. My lung sickness is gone. My sadness is still here," he said, touching his heart, "but I...won't..."

  He didn't go on, and his mother reached out to pat his hand, saying nothing, because, unlike Lillian Singer, she knew how to keep silent when words would only make the situation worse.

  "I want you to tell my cousin to take my sheep," he said after a moment. "If he looks after them, he can have whatever money the lambs and the shearing brings. Tell him he can put them with his flock. And tell him to watch the ewe with the torn ear. She likes to run off and take half the flock with her."

  "You're coming back to Window Rock, then?" his mother dared to ask.

  "Yes, my mother, I am."

  "You will be the policeman again?"

  "Yes."

  She smiled. "It's the best thing for you. You don't have to worry, either. Your house – we took care of it. It's ready."

  "Ready?"

  "It won't make you sad now," she said.

  The doctor came in before he could ask any more questions, and his mother left. He had given her a task, and the very nature of sheep demanded that she see to it immediately. He had to wait until Winston's next visit to find out what he wanted to know.

  "What is this business about my house?" he asked the old man immediately.

  "You don't want to ask," Winston said obscurely.

  "I realize that – but you tell me anyway."

  "You're just going to be mad at her all over again," Winston warned him.

  "I'm not – " He stopped, realizing suddenly that Winston didn't mean Katie. "Who exactly are we talking about here, Winston?"

  The old man sighed.

  "You're not going to tell me Lillian did something to my house – "

  "Okay," Winston said agreeably.

  "What did she do?"

  "Now, son – "

  "Winston, what did she do!"

  "Nothing much. Talked to your mother. Talked to the tribal council."

  "She talked to the tribal council about – my house?"

  "It's the tribe's house, Johnny. You're not going to start coughing again, are you?" Winston asked.

  "Never mind about my – coughing! What did she do?"

  "She just told them what you said."

  "I never said anything – about my – house!"

  "Maybe you don't remember – "

  "Winston – !"

  "She got them to fix the house up for you, that's all. New paint – stuff like that. Whole lot of people helped. Many tribal police officers came, and Lillian's half-Navajo nephew by marriage, Will – the one learning to be the hataalii. He's a good boy. Works hard. Going to be a good medicine man. And Mary Skeets came, because she's the one knows how you don't like clutter. And your mama was there. She said what color paint to use – what things to move. It was all done in a couple of days. It's looking good, Johnny. The People respect you. They wanted to do this for you. Maybe you won't mind being in Window Rock so much now."

  "I cannot believe – !" He stopped. Of course, he could believe. Lillian Singer was in the middle of it. Lillian, who had no sense of what was intrusive and inappropriate whatsoever.

  "Maybe you going to like it, Johnny."

  "I'm not going to – like it."

  "Maybe you ought to rest now so you don't cough."

  "Maybe I ought to go find – Lillian Singer."

  "No, that wouldn't do your cough no good," Winston assured him. "You rest so you can get all the way well. And then you can see the house. You need to see it – before you get all pushed out of shape and start looking for people."

  But he wasn't going to like the house. Of that he was certain. How could he? He had just lost the only place he had left that was free of Lillian Singer's meddling. He hung on to his anger, nurturing it so that it was still viable when he was finally discharged. He made no attempt to go home – to his way of thinking, he didn't have one anymore. He went to the law enforcement center instead, startling the unflappable Mary Skeets for the first time in living memory.

  "Captain Becenti!" she cried loudly enough so that no one else in the building would be caught unawares. "You're here!"

  "I am, Mary, yes," he said in passing.

  "Good to see you out and around! You're going to your office?"

  He didn't stop to answer, and the clearly unsurprised officers he encountered in the hallway had obviously heard Mary's less-than-subtle Becenti alert.

  "Welcome back, Captain," they said in passing. He didn't stop for them, either, walking rapidly now and flinging open his office door.

  Lucas Singer sat behind his desk – Lillian's brother, who obviously hadn't heard Mary yelling but who didn't look all that perturbed about being caught in the inner sanctum. He'd always admired that trait in Lucas. He thought it must be something Lucas Singer had been born with, that penchant he had to never admit blame for something until it was absolutely certain that the you-know-what had hit the fan. They'd had words about it more than once over the years. Becenti would admit that Lucas was a good officer, just as he would admit that his sister, Lillian, was a good lawyer. That didn't mean that they both didn't drive the people who had to deal with them to disharmony.

  "Welcome back, Captain," Lucas said, getting up. "You'll want to look at these," he said, shuffling a stack of papers and putting them back on the desk. "It's pretty quiet today. We may have an elderly couple – tourists – lost. They were supposed to be on a tour bus driving down through Lukachukai to Window Rock, but they weren't there when the driver did a head count – Or did you come in to work?" Lucas suddenly asked.

  "I'm here to work," Becenti said – anything to keep from going home. He sat down at the desk. In his absence, the chair had been readjusted and was now too low. "What else do I need to know?"

  "Well, nothing right now. As I said, it's quiet today."

  "What about those tourists?"

  "The bus driver's going to wait in Lukachukai while one of the patrol officers checks their last stop to see if he left them there. I'm thinking he did, and if they'll just stay put until somebody can pick them up, they'll be all right."

  "Okay. Close the door on your way out." He looked up from the stack of papers because Lucas didn't immediately leave but stood watching him instead. "Anything else?" he asked.

  "Ah, no, Captain," Lucas said, finally turning to go and closing the door firmly after him.

  Becenti sat staring at the papers, trying to get his thoughts together, trying to get himself into the problem-solving mind-set that had always served him so well. But he really didn't feel like being here. He didn't feel sick; he just felt...tired.

  He forced himself to read the top sheet of paper, and then
the next one. He was halfway through the third sheet when he realized that he had no idea what any of them said.

  Maybe some coffee, he thought. He was about to go get it, but someone knocked softly on the door.

  "In!" he said with a good deal more authority than he felt.

  The door pushed inward and Lillian Singer stood on the threshold. She came barging right in – black power suit, white silk blouse, blue topaz lapel pin – topaz, not turquoise – high heels and all. He sighed heavily, regardless of the fact that he had just given her permission to do so.

  "What are you doing back on the rez?" he asked bluntly.

  She smiled in that way she had. Chin up. A bit defiant. "Well, I had to put that horse back where I got it," she said. "Wouldn't do for an officer of the court to get arrested for horse stealing."

  "As I recall, horse stealing seems to run in the Singer clan."

  "That was Meggie and Jack when they were children – and neither one of them were Singers. That doesn't count."

  He made a small sound that neither agreed nor disagreed.

  "And..." she said pointedly to make him look up at her again.

  "Lillian, what the hell do you want?"

  "I want you to go ahead and get it over with."

  "I don't feel like playing games. What are you talking about?"

  "Well, Johnny, I thought I should come by here. You wanted to see me, didn't you?"

  "No," he assured her. "Believe me. No."

  "I thought you did. I thought you wanted to yell at me – maybe punch me in the nose. I know you're upset with me. And since I had to put the horse back anyway – "

  "Lillian, I'm busy."

  "Well, not very, according to Mary Skeets."

  "Lillian – "

  "So tell me what you thought of the house."

  He looked at her, incredulous that she would actually bring that up. "I haven't seen the house."

  "Would you like to go see it now? And please don't look at me like that, Johnny. It's a very simple question."

  "I cannot believe – " he said more to himself than to her.

  "You need to go see it, Johnny. And you ought not go by yourself. You need somebody to go with you who can explain the particulars."

  "Just who did you have in mind?"

  "Oh, that would be me," she assured him.

  He sat staring at her for a long moment. "You know, I am amazed that you ever reached the age you are now without somebody killing you."

  She laughed. "So are we going or not?"

  He sat there – immovable.

  "Do you know the way?" she asked.

  "I know where I live, Lillian," he said testily.

  She frowned. "Oh, did you think – ? You did, didn't you! It's not your house, Johnny. It's another house. For heaven's sake, why would you think we'd just barge in and redo your house?"

  "Oh, I can't imagine," he said sarcastically, trying to remember if his mother or Winston had actually said it was his house that Lillian and half of Window Rock had descended upon. They had spoken in Navajo, and unlike English, the language wasn't nearly so precise. It didn't have ten different words for everything. Sometimes there weren't any words at all.

  But that in no way let Lillian Singer off the hook.

  "I really think we ought to go now," she said. "Because if you don't, you're liable to have a hundred people pounce on you and then you'll have to go see it with a very big escort – all of them expecting you to be gracious. And we both know what a chore that would be. Probably half the Navajo police force and Mary Skeets and your mother and who knows who else, in a kind of – oh, I don't know – 'Welcome Home, Johnny' party. And I know how you'd hate that."

  "Is that a threat?"

  "No. Yes. Well, actually, what it is, is the truth. If you just go quietly right now, and take a quick token look at the place, then you can come back here and tell all those volunteers who worked really hard on the place how much you hate it and be done with it. That way, see, they'll know you're still the same old poop you always were, and you won't have to hurt their feelings in the middle of what is supposed to be a really festive occasion. It's so gauche to make those kinds of announcements when people are expecting pleasant company and something special to eat. Believe me, I know. So are we going or aren't we? I'll drive."

  "No, I'll drive," he said, because a Welcome Home party was beyond unacceptable.

  "I'll drive, too. You can follow me," Lillian said – because she was Lillian and therefore always contrary.

  He sighed and followed her out the door, catching a whiff of that soap again as they walked along. Even as annoyed as he was, he wasn't beyond appreciating that the scent was very...that it was almost...

  "Oh, leaving already, Captain!" Mary Skeets announced when she saw him, interrupting his pondering with an updated Becenti whereabouts report for the benefit of everyone in earshot. "You want me to say where you can be reached?" she asked, clearly hoping to find out where he was going with Lillian Singer.

  "I have no idea where I can be reached," he said testily.

  Mary cut her gaze to Lillian – who had the audacity to smile.

  "Right, sir," Mary said. "No saying where you went."

  "Did you put that horse back or not?" he asked Lillian as they walked across the parking lot.

  "I told you I did. I never lie."

  He laughed. "And thunder still sleeps," he said, alluding to the likelihood that she was feeling particularly free to play fast and loose with the truth, because there was no threat of being struck by lightning until after the end of May when thunder woke up again.

  "Everything was under control at your homestead," she said. "Your cousin was there and thrilled to take over your operation. The sheep were fine. The horse – your horse, I hope – came wandering in a few days ago. The Yei are all in their places and everything's right with the world."

  He had no comment regarding the Navajo gods being where they were supposed to be. He, regardless of his semi-traditional mind-set, knew that that could change at any minute, particularly with people like Lillian Singer doing their dead-level best to upset the natural harmony of the universe at every turn.

  She hesitated when he reached his vehicle.

  "You are going to follow me?" she asked pointedly. The sun was very bright and she had to shade her eyes with her hand to see him.

  "Anything would be better than that Welcome Home thing you threatened me with."

  "You never know, Johnny. You might like it. Really."

  He made a disgruntled sound, and she laughed. He got into the Navajo Tribal Police vehicle and started the engine, watching as she ran lightly across the parking area to her own car – high heels and power suit notwithstanding. She really was an attractive woman – especially for such a meddling hardhead. As far as looks went, it rather surprised him that she had been so unceremoniously "dumped." Her disposition, of course, was something else again. He wondered if she had been her true self with Stuart Dennison the way she was with him. Surely not, or the relationship wouldn't have lasted so long. It occurred to him suddenly that Dennison had come for her that day at the homestead. Perhaps she hadn't been "dumped" after all.

  He glanced toward the law-enforcement building. Lucas Singer – a very interested Lucas Singer – stood looking out the door. Obviously, the intense curiosity about what Johnny Becenti was doing with Lillian was catching. It suddenly occurred to him that Lucas must know that she had spent the night in his hogan. In fact, it must be all over the reservation by now, no doubt minus the part about Katie Becenti having paid Lillian to come to him.

  So, he thought. On top of everything else, he'd likely compromised her reputation if not her maidenly virtue, regardless of his having been so ill that he hardly remembered her being there.

  He watched her swing her long legs into her car. Who, precisely, was he trying to fool? He remembered, and he remembered well.

  He sighed heavily and followed her out of the parking lot. As expected, she dro
ve like a bat out of hell. It didn't seem to bother her in the least that she had a tribal police captain right behind her.

  He recognized the place where she took him, but only in a vague sort of way. He had been in this area for something or other at some time in his tribal police career, but he no longer remembered the reason. The prefabricated house she parked in front of was small and rectangular. The yard had a redwood rail fence and a few Russian olive trees growing. The driveway had been newly graveled.

  He pulled his vehicle in behind hers and got out. Lillian stood next to her car while she rummaged in her purse for something. The wind had died down considerably, leaving only the bright sunshine and a halfhearted promise of spring. But everything in his experience told him to expect at least one more good snow, just as it told him to be wary of this woman. Who knew what horrific thing she might have planned next?

  He waited for her to find whatever she was looking for, regardless of the fact that he didn't want anything to do with this house business. On the other hand, he didn't want some kind of obligatory party held in his so-called honor. He didn't doubt for a moment that Lillian could and would carry out her threat and arrange one. He knew that he wasn't all that popular with his subordinates, but he also knew that refreshments and a little downtime could be a big draw for people who had to work almost every weekend and holiday. No, he liked her alternate plan better than her party threat; he would go see the house and then come back and tell everybody he hated it.

  "Here," Lillian said, pushing a ring of keys at him. "One key opens the front and the back door – and there are two extras."

  He took them and walked toward the house, surprised that she didn't follow along after him.

  "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

  "No," she said. "If you're going to hate it on sight, it should be because of what it is and not because you don't like me."

  The remark caught him off guard, in spite of the fact that a smart woman like her would have grasped the situation a long time ago. He didn't like her, and she knew it. And that, as they say, was that.