"Are you feeling better?" J.B. asked.
"I still hurt," she said.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"No," Lillian said. "I believe you've done quite enough."
"Oh, you're mad at me," J.B. said. "I always make you mad."
"I'm not mad. I'm just...I don't know what I am."
"As long as I've already upset you, I think I've got something you should know."
"What?" Lillian asked.
"I don't know how bad you need whatever money Stuart is paying you – "
"The point," Lillian said. "Get to it."
"He's been advised to seek other legal counsel."
"Good," Lillian said. "He has my blessing. I hope he does it promptly."
For some reason this pleased J.B. immensely. She sat there for a while, not talking.
"I just love that," she said finally. "Listening to the baby's heartbeat. Isn't it just the greatest thing?"
"Yes," Lillian said. "It is."
"So how come you didn't want me to tell Becenti?"
"Becenti and I are not – together."
"But you and Becenti are still having a baby. That's pretty together, if you ask me. I...think maybe you love him. You look like you do. You look like I do – whenever anybody mentions Stuart. Do you love him? If you do, I wish you'd tell me."
"Why?"
"So I won't feel so jealous all the time. I hate that. It's awful. Do you?"
Lillian found herself looking into J. B. Greenleigh's completely guileless eyes. She sighed.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay what?"
“Okay...I... Yes,'' Lillian said.
"Could you be a little more specific? This is kind of hard to follow."
"No, I couldn't! I don't talk about Becenti to anybody – except Fred, the cat. He doesn't care if I'm specific or not."
J.B. laughed, a lilting sound that must have swept Stuart Dennison completely off his feet.
"Did you do what I told you?" Lillian asked. "Did you talk to Stuart and not take no for an answer?"
J.B. sighed. "No. I...chickened out; I guess."
"Well, do it. Now's a good time. He's out of the frying pan and in the fire. He can be a jerk, but the only time I know for certain he rose above it was for you."
"For me?"
"Go pin him down," Lillian said. "Don't let him not tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"If he loves you. And don't accept any answer you don't like. Understand?"
"No," J.B. said. "But I'll do it. I think I'll do it right now. Barge in, throw that Sam person and Mary Ellen out – and get some things settled. Unless...you need me to do something for you. I can take you home if they discharge you."
"No. Gracie will do that. Go on. You won't have a better opportunity than today."
J.B. smiled her dazzling smile. "Okay," she said. "And thanks, little mama."
Becenti was late getting back to the law-enforcement building. He was tired and more than a little aggravated. There was nothing like a meeting with a government agency – in this case, three of them – to make him wish he was back being a patrolman on some reservation side-road instead of having to deal with all the bureaucratic nonsense that came with his current position.
But he realized as soon as he walked into the building that he might soon wish there had been a longer meeting. Both Lucas Singer and Mary Skeets followed in behind him from the front door to his office, and both of them were far too agitated for his comfort level.
He waited until he was behind his desk before he allowed them the opportunity to ruin what was left of a really bad day.
"Okay, what is it?" he asked.
"Lillian – " they said in unison, then looked at each other as if they were both surprised to find themselves in the same chorus, much less singing the same tune.
"Lillian what?" he asked when neither one of them continued.
" – is in the hospital," Lucas said.
" – is on television," Mary Skeets said.
"Well, which is it?" Becenti said, close to becoming alarmed.
The instant replay wasn't much better.
"Mary, you go first," he said.
His suggestion caused Lucas to fidget.
"I just saw Lillian on television," Mary said. "On the six o'clock news."
"She's in the hospital," Lucas argued. "She can't be on television."
"Well, she was. Stuart Dennison is being indicted for something, and Lillian was standing right there with him. I saw her."
"I talked to somebody from Santa Fe. She called around noon – " Lucas said, still arguing.
"Who?" Becenti interrupted.
"She said her name was J. B. Greenleigh. She said Lillian had to go into the hospital and she – this person with the initials – wanted to let her family know. She didn't say what was wrong – "
"Actually, she wanted to let Captain Becenti know," Mary put in. "She asked for him when she called. You were out of the office, sir."
Lucas ignored her. "I came in to tell you I need to take some vacation time. I'm going to Santa Fe – "
"No, you're not," Becenti said. "That's all, Mary," he added to clear the room.
"Why not?" Lucas demanded.
"Because I'm going. The message was for me. I need you to look after things here. That's all, Mary!"
"Well, all right" she said, but she wasn't happy.
"Lillian doesn't want to see you," Lucas said.
"Then she can tell me that when I get there. I'm going to Santa Fe. You're staying here. Period."
* * *
But he couldn't find Lillian. None of the hospitals had a Lillian Singer listed as a patient. He remembered Meggie Begaye and her troubled pregnancy. She'd had to be sent to a hospital in Albuquerque. He finally decided to go talk to the woman who worked for Lillian, and he drove to her house. A boy about ten years old answered the door.
"Is Gracie at home?" Becenti asked.
"Yeah, but she's busy – she's got her hands in bread dough."
"Who is it?" Gracie called from somewhere inside the house.
"Tell her it's the tribal cop," Becenti said.
"The tribal cop!" the boy yelled.
"Who?" Gracie yelled back.
"Johnny Becenti."
"Johnny Becenti!" the boy yelled.
"Who?" Gracie yelled again.
"Fred's friend," Becenti said as a last resort.
"Fred's friend!"
"Oh!" Gracie yelled. "Tell him to come in."
"Grandma says to come in," the boy advised him.
Becenti stepped inside, wondering how many people in this world had ever been vouched for by a cat. "Which way?" he asked the boy, who had plopped himself in front of the television – upon which the unwittingly helpful Fred slept soundly.
The boy pointed over his left shoulder.
Becenti found Gracie in the kitchen, and she did indeed have her hands in dough. She was clearly a vigorous bread-maker. There was flour everywhere.
"I'm looking for Lillian," he said immediately.
"She's at home," Gracie said, still kneading the ball of dough. "Didn't you try there?"
"I thought she was in the hospital," he said, unable to hide his relief. "Or on television," he added, and Gracie laughed. "Well, she was. But she's at home now. I took her there a little while ago."
"She's...all right?"
"Well, she's felt better, Mr. Becenti."
"She didn't sign herself out of the hospital or anything, did she?"
"Of course not! Why would you think that?"
"Because she was on the six o'clock news with Stuart Dennison," he said. But he didn't say that whenever Dennison called, Lillian went no matter what. It wasn't much of a stretch for him to think she would leave her hospital bed to go do something he needed. He realized that Gracie was watching him intently, and he grew uncomfortable under her steady gaze.
"Stuart's press conference was about ten this morning," Gracie said patiently. "S
he went to the hospital after that. And they discharged her late this afternoon. Okay?"
He nodded. "Thanks."
"Are you going to go see her?" Gracie asked as he turned to go.
"Yeah," he said. "Unless there's some reason – "
"No, no," Gracie assured him. "I just wanted you to take her a casserole." She went to the freezer, then decided she had too much dough on her hands still. "Would you?" she asked him.
He opened the door for her.
"That one right there," she said, pointing with her little finger.
When he turned around, Gracie was smiling. "You're the one responsible for this," she said.
"Pardon?"
"For Lillian's baby. You're the father, aren't you?"
He didn't answer, and she didn't press.
"Take her the casserole. The instructions are written on the foil. Tell her to call me if she needs anything. Oh, and lake these keys," she said, pointing to a set on the counter with her elbow. "They're Lillian's. I had them so I could get in – so she wouldn't have to get up and come to the door if she's resting." He didn't take the keys.
"Or would you rather pick the lock?" she asked, and he couldn't help but smile.
"I guess she told you about that," he said, not precisely embarrassed, but not comfortable, either.
"She doesn't say much about you – but she did tell me that. And Mr. Becenti," she said when he was about to leave, "I'm so glad it's you and not Stuart Dennison."
The small candlestick lamp had been left on, but Lillian woke up for other reasons. Because she never slept for very long anyway. Because she was on the couch and she had been covered with a blanket she didn't have when she lay down.
And because someone very close by was snoring.
She rose up on her elbow. Becenti was sprawled in the easy chair, sound asleep.
"How did – ?" she started to say out loud, but she saw her keys lying on the coffee table. She quietly sat up so she could see him better. He had moved the easy chair closer to the couch, she supposed, to be handy if she wanted anything, but he was too dead to the world to be of much help at the moment.
She smiled, her eyes traveling over him. He looked younger asleep. And vulnerable. She could have reached out and touched his hand if she'd wanted, but she didn't. She was glad suddenly that J.B. had made the telephone call to Window Rock. And she was glad that Becenti was sleeping. She would have a little time, at least, just to look at him – before he woke up and they had to knock the chip off each other's shoulders.
I love you, she thought. And it was as startling as if she'd said it out loud. She had worked so hard not to dwell on that aspect of their situation. But it was true, and his self-imposed absence had only served to point it out to her.
She kept looking at him. There were scrapes and scratches on his hands and knuckles. She wondered what he'd been doing – not fighting with Lucas, she hoped. He'd had a haircut recently – she actually liked his unhip, pseudomilitary look. There was so much about him that pleased her. She loved that his reserved personality was actually rife with mischief and laughter. She loved that she could see a smile coming in his eyes a long, long time before it ever reached the rest of his face. She loved the way he looked at her – with desire and with respect. The thing that had been so hard to bear was seeing how much she hurt him.
I don't know how to be the person you want.
And she didn't know if she could change – or even if she wanted to. She wasn't in the least like Mae. Mae had been gentle and kind and quintessential Navajo. Lillian didn't bother with the Navajo Way, and she was a royal pain in the butt and always had been. Becenti himself had said so.
I can't give you what you need. I can only make you miserable.
That was the final truth, if she could just accept it. She gave a quiet sigh and looked down, her hands gently caressing her belly. The baby immediately stirred under her touch.
She looked up to find Becenti awake and watching. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Johnny," she whispered. "Where have you been?"
Chapter Eighteen
It wasn't what he'd expected her to say at all. She stared into his eyes. He wanted to touch her, but he made no attempt to do so. He had missed her so much, needed her so much.
"I've been waiting for you," he said in answer to her question.
"Waiting for – ? You told me to stay away."
"Since when do you ever do what I say?"
Great, he thought. They were going to pick up the argument exactly where it left off. But, surprisingly, she smiled.
"So why did you come?" she asked after a moment.
"I owe it to you. You drove me crazy when I was sick. I figured I should return the favor."
She laughed softly. It pleased him to be able to make her laugh. He had so much he wanted to say to her, so many things he wanted to know, but he was afraid nothing had changed, and he wasn't ready to hear that yet.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"I've been better," she said, echoing Gracie's report.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"No, I have everything I need – Gracie went to the grocery store for me."
"Are you hungry or anything?" He was happy to sit with her like this, precarious as the situation might be. But if she needed something, anything, he wanted to take care of it for her.
"No, I'm just – " She stopped and took a deep breath. "I just don't want to talk about... anything."
Their eyes met; hers looked away. He remembered only too well the last time she hadn't wanted to talk.
She shifted her position on the couch and leaned back, and an expression he couldn't quite identify passed over her face.
"Are you okay?" he asked. He reached out as if to touch her, but didn't.
She took another deep breath. "I – "
She abruptly leaned forward.
"Lillian?" he said, still not touching her.
She looked at him. "I'm...okay," she said, but her answer did nothing to reassure him.
"I'll be right back," she said abruptly, standing.
He stood with her. "Are you sure you're – ?"
"I'll be right back," she said again.
"Okay," he said, worried now.
She was gone a long time. He finally went looking for her. She was in the bedroom, sitting on the foot of the bed. She gave him a funny little half smile when he went in.
"I think I know how you felt," she said.
"About what?"
"About my coming to the hogan that time – when you were sick."
He didn't say anything, because he didn't understand the direction the conversation had taken. At all.
"You wanted me to go away and leave you alone," she said.
"Yes," he agreed.
"And I think you wanted me to stay, too."
"Yes," he said again. He could admit that – now. He sat down on the bed beside her. She reached out to take his hand.
"You know what really scares me?" she asked.
"What?"
She licked her lower lip and gave a wavering sigh. "You do," she said.
He laughed. "Lillian – "
"I am so afraid of needing you," she said in that earnest way she had sometimes. He'd first seen that side of her when she'd come to see him at the hogan, when she'd told him Stuart Dennison was marrying someone else.
"Would that be so bad?" he asked.
"Of course it would, Johnny. Don't you understand?"
"No," he said, truthfully. He had seen many sides of her complex personality, but he had no idea which Lillian this might be. "You're tired. Maybe you should lie down."
"I'm trying to tell you something," she said.
"Then tell me."
"I need to be strong, Johnny. I have to be. It's the way I cope with things. And most of the time I am strong – but tonight I – " She stopped. "Maybe it's just the pregnancy – or it's the other thing."
"What other thing?"
"Fm not makin
g any sense, am I?"
"Not much, no."
"I've never been any good at being coy – you've probably noticed," she said, squeezing his hand slightly and letting it go.
"A time or two," he said.
"So I'm just going to say it. I...want you to stay for a little while. It doesn't mean anything. I'm just a friend, asking for a favor. And that's all," she said, and he had the distinct impression she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "I feel so bad and I want to go to sleep – with you here. And don't ask me why, because I don't know why. I just – " She lifted her hands slightly and let them fall back into her lap.
"Okay," he said. "You lie down and go to sleep, and I’ll be here."
"I mean here here," she said, waving her hand over the bed. "So I'll know..."
"No problem," he assured her, wondering whether there would ever be a time in his life when he could consider her "just a friend."
She was looking at him so intently, as if she were trying to see if he meant it.
"Okay," she said, apparently deciding that he did. She reached to pull down the covers. He helped her get situated, then took off his gun belt and emptied his shirt pockets and lay down beside her. She turned so that she was facing him.
"You know it's the antibiotic talking – not me," she said, still trying to lower any great expectations he might lie harboring.
"Oh, I'm sure of it," he said. He reached out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Or maybe it's the fever. You know what fever can do to you – What happened to your hands?" she asked abruptly, taking one of his and looking at it closely. They're all beat-up."
"Oh – Lucas and I – "
"Don't tell me you had a fight."
"No, nothing like that. We had to take a rifle away from a man who'd had too much to drink. He wasn't happy about parting with it."
"Lucas or the man?" she asked, and he laughed softly. It was a reasonable question, given her brother's disapproval of him.
"You and Lucas are supposed to supervise," she said.
"Don't you have some nice Toomey types to do things like that for you?"
"The Toomey types were all on vacation or elsewhere. Lucas and I had to take the call. I thought you wanted to sleep," he said, because she was still looking at him so intently.
"I do. I'm just waiting for the baby to settle down." She placed the hand she was holding firmly on her belly. "See?"
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