"I want to see my baby," Lillian said, trying to rise up on her elbow. It was entirely the wrong thing to do. The pain that shot through her midsection made her eyes water.
"Easy," the nurse said. "First things first, here. You get your plumbing to work, eat a little something, sit on the side of the bed for a while – in whatever order pleases you – and then we'll talk."
"I haven't even seen him yet!" Lillian protested.
"I know. And we're going to fix that. So which is it? Tinkle, bath or what?"
"You people are all alike," Lillian complained. "My sister-in-law is a nurse and she's just as hardheaded as you are."
The nurse grinned. "What can I say?"
Lillian impatiently suffered the indignities of being an invalid – primarily because she couldn't do otherwise. She didn't have the strength to do anything but complain.
Sloan appeared when Lillian had just finished her bath and was attempting to sit on the side of the bed for a while to meet phase two of the proposed trip-to-the-nursery criteria. She was doing all right – so far – as long as she kept her forearms propped on the over-bed table for stability.
But she was not happy.
"Where the hell have you been!" she said without really meaning to.
"Oh, I see," Sloan said. "It's going to be that kind of a morning, is it?"
"Sloan, I'm sorry. I – " She stopped, because if she didn't, she was going to ask her if she'd seen Becenti, and she didn't want to do that anymore. He hadn't stayed around, and that was that.
"I've been looking at your boy. He's stirring some. Vital signs are stable. They haven't had to put him on a ventilator. He's tinkled and had a bowel movement. Oh, and I don't think I told you, he's wearing a nice hat."
"A...hat?"
"A pink-and-blue one. To keep him warm. You're going to love it. Looks like a little lumberjack."
"A lumberjack?" Lillian said, and she was going to cry again. "What is wrong with me?" she said, wiping at her eyes. "And don't say it's because I've just had a baby and major surgery."
"Oh, I wasn't. I was going to say it's because you're so old."
Lillian laughed in spite of herself. She was still smiling when Sloan suddenly nodded toward the door.
Lillian looked around. Dolly Singer and Katie Becenti stood there, their faces impassive. Sloan greeted them both – her Navajo really wasn't half bad – then she took herself elsewhere. Lillian was left to face the two matriarchs alone. She reached for Dolly's hand, and then she waited, albeit impatiently, for one of them to begin the conversation. She couldn't help but think of their last visit to Santa Fe all those months ago. But, as tired and upset as she was, she made a concentrated effort to behave well now.
"My grandson is beautiful," Dolly said, hugging her tightly, and Lillian had to fight hard again not to cry.
"I haven't seen him yet," she said, her voice sounding small and strange to her. She hadn't seen the baby's father yet, either, but she didn't say so.
"What do they tell you about him?" Katie asked, and Lillian gave her Sloan's most recent report.
Katie listened silently. "What do they tell you about my son?" she-asked when she was certain Lillian had finished.
"Nothing," Lillian said, surprised by the question. "No one has seen him."
Katie looked at Dolly.
"My son goes off to be by himself when he's troubled," Katie said unnecessarily. "Like when he stayed at the sheep camp all that winter. You know that." The tone was kind. And Lillian felt the incredible urge to cry again.
"Do you think he's...gone there now?" she asked.
"No. His baby isn't there. Or you." .
They sat in silence again.
"My son asks for a marriage," Katie said after what seemed a long time.
"He what?" Lillian said – and got a warning look from Dolly.
"My son asks for a marriage," Katie said again. "He has no uncle to speak for him. You have no uncle to hear the offer. Your mother and his mother – we will do the talking for you and him. What do you say to marrying my son?"
"I say no," Lillian said, because she had been caught completely off guard.
"Why does she say no without asking to hear what he offers?" Katie asked Dolly.
"Because I – " Lillian tried to say.
"She doesn't mean it," Dolly said, looking at Lillian hard. Again. "And she doesn't say no. She's listening. Tell her what your son will give."
Katie looked doubtful – as did Lillian – but after a moment, Katie continued. "All his property," she said. "Everything he owns now or will own. He says to tell you he understands that you have to be away from the People. He says he understands it is something you need for your harmony. He says he won't try to make you live somewhere you don't want to be. He says he will come here. He says he can find a job with the county sheriffs office or something like that. But he asks if you will let his son come hack to the People every summer. He says he wants his son taught the Navajo Way, so that when he is a man, he'll know who he is, even if he chooses to live away from the People, like his mother. He wants your relatives to help teach the boy how to walk in beauty. These men, he names. Your brother, Lucas Singer, and your nephew by marriage, Will Baron, and Winston Tsosie, who was adopted into your family, and Jack Begaye, who is your other nephew by marriage. He says all of them are wise in their own way and will teach the boy well. He wants all of this for his son – and for any other children he has with you."
Other children? Lillian almost said.
"When did he say all this?" Lillian asked, whether it was her turn or not.
"The day he brought the cradle board to show me was the first time," Katie said. "And every time I've seen him since then. And this morning," Katie added.
"This morning?"
"Yes. Last night, he sent Joe Bill Toomey's boy to get me and bring me here. And your mother. Toomey's boy drove the car fast so we could get here quick. This morning I talked to Johnny again so I would remember all he said and I wouldn't get it wrong."
Lillian didn't say anything. She looked at her mother – who smiled.
"What do I tell my son about a marriage?" Katie asked.
"She'll need time to think about all this," Dolly said.
"No. No, I don't need time to think. Tell Johnny I need to see his face when I answer."
Becenti sat in the waiting area, staring at nothing, hearing; nothing. He was exhausted; his mind numb. And it didn't; help, knowing that his mother and Dolly Singer were still talking to Lillian. He imagined all kinds of protests on her part. He fully expected that she wasn't going to want him, regardless of the concessions he was willing to make. Winston had been entirely right. A man trying to marry a woman he thought didn't want him suffered for it.
He looked up because someone stood close by – Lucas's wife.
"What's going on?" Sloan asked. "What are the big guns up to?"
He didn't try to pretend that his mother and Dolly had only come to see the baby. He knew exactly what Sloan meant. "I'm trying to get engaged," he said, deciding that there was no reason not to tell her. He didn't know whether she approved of his marrying Lillian or not – given her husband's position – but if she did, he wanted all the help he could get.
She sat down on the closest chair, but she didn't say anything.
“They've been talking a long time," he said after a moment.
"Well, you never know. That might be a good sign. I've just come back from visiting your son. You brought the turquoise for him, didn't you?"
"Yeah. It's still there, then."
"One of the nurses taped the chain to the side of the incubator," she said. She abruptly smiled. "Where he can see it."
They sat for a time in silence.
"This waiting is killing me," he said abruptly. He stood. "I have to go see her."
"Good luck, Johnny," Sloan said, using his given name for the first time in all the years he'd known her.
The door to Lillian's room was closed still. He di
dn't hear any raised voices. He stood outside for a moment, then pushed the door slightly ajar. Lillian lay sleeping – probably from the sheer exhaustion of their mothers' visit. He hit a pang of guilt at having subjected her to this. Surgery, the birth of a baby, and the matriarchs would be too much for a strong person, even Lillian. He went in and quietly moved a chair close to the bed and sat down. Someone had sent her a huge bouquet of exotic-looking flowers. He didn't look at the card. He didn't have to. The arrangement had Stuart Dennison's heavy hand all over it.
He watched Lillian sleep, thinking how beautiful she was, marveling at the number of years he hadn't even noticed.
Well, perhaps he had. But it had been different then – for him and for her. Now, nothing about her escaped him. He loved her. He even loved her stubbornness.
He wanted to touch her; he didn't want to wake her. But she opened her eyes suddenly, and she reached for him. He leaned forward, taking her hands, because he was afraid of hurting her.
"Hold me," she said, her mouth trembling. "Johnny – "
He put his arms around her then, burying his face in her; neck, savoring the warmth and the feel of her. He didn't say anything, and neither did she. They clung to each other, until she finally moved to see his face.
"Sloan says he's beautiful," she whispered. "Is he?"
"Very beautiful. And loud. Little-but-Loud, is what they call him down in the nursery."
She smiled. "I want to see him so bad," she said.
But her smile faded.
"What are you trying to do, Johnny?" she asked sadly.
"I'm trying to marry you."
"You're trying to ruin your life, your career. Everything – "
"No, I'm not – "
"Your mother never should have sent me up there to that hogan."
He could argue with her about that. Her arrival had been unwelcome at best, and he would be the first to admit it. But it had changed both their lives – and made a new one.
"Lillian – "
"Your mother asked me that day she came to my offive – 'What is he if he's not a policeman?' I understood exactly what she meant. Being a tribal cop isn't what you do. It's what you are. Even I know that."
"It's my choice, Lillian, if I leave the tribal police. And it's what I'm willing to do so we can be together – "
She gave a sharp sigh. "Have you been talking to Sloan?"
"About this? No. Don't cry," he said, because she was very close to it.
"You just don't understand," she said.
"Then help me. I'm listening."
"Giving up everything and coming to Santa Fe – for me – and my so-called career is – " She put her hand over her eyes for a moment. "I can't let you do that, Johnny."
"It's my decision," he said.
"Then I can't be the reason for it."
"Lillian, I want us to be together. You and me and our boy." She was right. He didn't understand.
She wiped at her eyes. "My career isn't worth that kind of sacrifice," she said, and she told him about Stuart Dennison's claim that he was responsible for her success. Becenti listened without comment, amazed that Dennison could have been so stupid and so callous as to tell her such a thing. He had to have known about her sense of pride, and he had to have not cared. And Becenti could see plainly that Dennison's "looking after her" had been minimal. He hadn't prepared her cases for her, hadn't gone to court with her. He'd only directed people to her door. She had done the rest. She had done the part that mattered.
“I was living a lie," she said.
"No, you weren't," he said. "What's a referral? Nothing. You did all the work. And I know what they say in the tribal police."
"About what?"
"About you, counselor."
"What...do they say?"
“They say they hate to see you coming – but if they ever kill somebody, you're the lawyer they want. And I can promise you, Stuart Dennison didn't have a thing to do with it."
She smiled, a bit tremulously, but it was a smile nonetheless.
"Did you hate to see me coming?"
"I can't begin to tell you how much," he said – and this time she managed a small laugh.
He was looking into her eyes. "I love you. I want to be your husband. I want the three of us to be a family. It's as simple as that."
"Johnny – "
"It's as simple as that," he repeated. "Now tell me. What are you going to say to my mother?"
She would have turned away; he made her look at him.
"You know what people are going to think," she said.
"What people?"
"All those people who are going to pass out from shock of hearing about a Singer-Becenti marriage."
"I think they did that already – when they heard a' the Singer-Becenti baby. Hearing about a marriage is going to do it for them."
"Johnny – "
"Do you love me or not?"
"I – yes. But – "
"But what?"
"Maybe we'll get on each other's nerves," she said.
"Maybe," he agreed.
"All the time."
"That's possible – but we managed to stand each other long enough to get a baby boy, so who knows?"
"Maybe I can't live on the reservation again and you can't live in Santa Fe. Maybe it just won't work."
"I already know what it's like living in Window Rock without you. I hated it."
"Maybe I – "
"Lillian – "
"I'm scared, Johnny!"
He reached for her again, and he held her tightly. He was scared himself, but not that they didn't love each other.
After a moment, he moved so that he could see her face.
"Are you too scared to even try?" he asked, his eyes searching hers.
She didn't answer him.
"Are you?"
She gave a wavering sigh. She couldn't quite say it but he was encouraged by the fact that she was trying.
"No," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, she smiled at him then, that mischievous smile he'd be waiting for, the one that was totally, completely Lillian. "You're probably going to regret this," she said.
"I don't doubt it," he assured her. "And I don't care."
"You don't?"
"No, Lillian, I don't."
"Well, then...Captain Becenti..." The smile broadened. "I guess somebody should tell your mother. You're... getting married."
Epilogue
Lillian stood on the patio watching the sun go down. She could hear all the noise from inside Lucas's house, the conversation and the laughter, the squeals of delight from the children. They were having another one of Sloan's nostalgia dinners – only this one wasn't an attempt to stave off-homesickness. This one had come about by popular demand, because somewhere along the way the Singer-Baron-Begaye-Becenti-Tsosie-and-sometimes-Nez family had discovered that it really did like grits and fried green tomatoes – and all the love that came with them.
She looked around at the sound of the screen door opening. Becenti crossed the patio to her. He was carrying a folded newspaper in his hand. He tossed the paper onto the picnic table next to her. 1
"Where's our boy?" she asked.
"On Winston's lap," he said. "But I'm not sure who rocked who to sleep."
She laughed and leaned against him, giving a quiet sigh when he put his arms around her. "Are you okay?" he asked.
She knew why he'd asked the question. Because of the small mention of Stuart Dennison on the evening news. Because after she heard it, she'd left the house and abruptly come out here.
"I was just...surprised, that's all. I didn't know Stuart was sick again. The last time I heard anything from J.B. he was still in remission."
"It's in the paper, too," he said. "I think you should read it."
She didn't want to read it. Stuart Dennison was dead, and she felt –
She didn't know quite how she felt. Sad, yes. For him and for J.B., whom he'd finally gotten around to marrying and who had appa
rently not taken no for an answer, after all. And for herself, she supposed, because, in spite of everything, he had once been an important part of her life.
She'd made no attempt to keep in touch with him after she and Becenti had married. Stuart had managed to get out of the land-deal scandal, without her help and with minimal damage to his career, but Lillian had been too busy with the baby and with teaching a law course to the Navajo Tribal Police part-time to really concern herself about what happened to him after that. She'd gotten a card from J.B. at Christmas, but that had been it. In fact, Stuart had almost never crossed her mind. Until tonight. Until she'd seen that brief report that he'd died.
She turned in Becenti's arms and put her head on his shoulder. She loved Johnny Becenti with all her heart and she hadn't regretted marrying him for an instant. She hugged him tightly. He wasn't a jealous man, but she still didn't want him to be distressed by her behavior.
He kissed her cheek, and then her mouth, and then he let her go.
"I'd better get back inside. The men are doing dishes."
"What men?" she said incredulously, and he laughed.
He picked up the newspaper. "You need to read this" he said again.
She took it, and after a moment, she moved where the light from the kitchen window made it bright enough for her to see.
She began to read. The article contained all the usual obituary facts – most of which she already knew and some of which she herself had been on hand to experience.
She stopped reading, wondering why Becenti had been so insistent.
"An' Wee-wee-ann!" Tad called through the sceen door.
"What, baby?" she said, turning around to see him. But he squealed suddenly and ran away, with Julia in hot pursuit.
She smiled and looked down at the paper again. And she finally saw it at the bottom of the page. The very last sentence.
"Dennison is survived by his wife, Junie Blair – J.B. Greenleigh Dennison, and his infant daughter...Lillian.
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