Glory walked to the fence, knelt down, and opened the lower latch, revealing the camouflaged hinge.
Juniper opened the gate from the other side and walked in. “Hey, Copper, guess I’m not the only one getting in trouble today. Oh, my gosh, how cool is it that you’re both packing heat? Did you ever see that movie Tombstone? Both of you could totally be in it. Joseph, will you show me your gun just once? I’d love to hold one, to see what it feels like, and Mrs. Solomon won’t even let me know where she keeps the shotgun shells. How was your Christmas? Did you get any good presents? How come you never came back to give me a photography lesson?”
“Juniper,” Glory said. “Go indoors.”
“No way. Joe’s my friend. He came to visit me.”
Joseph hobbled toward the gate, embarrassed for them to see his limp. “Nice to hear I have a friend. But I came to see your mom.”
“Why her?”
He held up the camera, feeling stupid. “To ask if I could photograph the tree today.”
Glory looked at him. “It’s forty-five degrees out, muddy, and the sun will be down in an hour. Why would you want to take pictures today?”
“I know, I know,” Juniper said. “Because when the shadows are long, the light’s better. That makes it the best time of day to take pictures.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said again, shifting his weight in an effort to escape the pain that crawled up his spine and squeezed. “Truthfully, I read the article in today’s paper, thought of the tree, and Juniper’s correct, this is the optimum time frame to shoot the tree. I should have called.”
“What article?” Glory said.
The shotgun was nearly as tall as she was, and Joseph wondered if she’d ever fired it. “The one in today’s Los Angeles Times about your chapel. Great publicity. You’ll get a ton of calls from it. Didn’t you see it?”
Glory pushed her hair back from her face and tied it in a bun. “The reporter said he’d call me if they ran it.”
“Eh, you know reporters,” Joseph said. “Deadlines.”
“Am I in it?” Juniper asked.
“There’s a copy in my car. You’re welcome to it.”
“I’ll get it!” Juniper was out the gate in seconds. It looked as if her hair had grown another inch since the last time he’d seen her. She’d grown, too. In the high desert of New Mexico, junipers were hardy trees the color of a pup tent. The dusty blue berries they produced were good for cooking venison and making gin, but not so many knew what his grandmother had told him: Plant juniper trees by your front door. No brujas can pass without counting the exact number of needles on the tree, and as everyone knows, witches lack patience. In this case, it was Juniper who lacked patience. She opened the car door and leaned over until she was on her stomach, reaching for the paper he’d left on the passenger side of the floor. Joseph smiled because kids did what they felt compelled to do without running it past manners first, and when they could no longer get away with it, life became a lot less fun. Glory rubbed her chin, one finger pressed against her mouth as if she were keeping something that wanted to come out penned up and vine-covered like the gate. Yet as soon as Juniper opened the paper to show her the feature article, Glory’s expression changed entirely. The hand pressed against her mouth went over her heart. The tension in her face departed. She no longer stood in her backyard reading a paper while two dogs flung themselves against the kennel door to get out. Lorna had told him on Christmas Eve that she’d never seen two people more in love than Glory and Dan. Glory was in the cupped hands of grief, reading the facts of her husband’s death typeset in a newspaper for the world to see.
After she stopped reading, she looked up at Joseph and she was a different woman, calmer, her anger tamped down like pipe tobacco, but still there. “Thank you for bringing us the article, Joseph. Go take your pictures. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do inside.”
“Can I go with him?” Juniper asked. “Please, Glory, please? I promise I’ll be back in time to set the table. Please? I want to learn to take pictures so bad.”
“Go ahead. But we’re going to talk later.”
“I can go? Really?”
A kid admittedly in trouble for something that sounded serious getting a reprieve? It was no surprise to Joseph. His father saved all the articles about Rico so that Joseph could read them when he was well enough. Glory Solomon needed that alone time to digest the newspaper story privately. She needed it more than she needed to keep a rein on her handful-and-then-some foster daughter.
“I’m just going to ask you straight out, Joe. Why do you limp?” Juniper asked on their hike toward the oak. “I mean, I noticed it at the pirate wedding, and at the Christmas party, but it’s way worse today. Did you sprain your ankle? Sometimes a sprain hurts worse than a break. Do you think using a cane would help?”
“My legs are fine. I’m out of shape is all. When I couldn’t reach the bottom latch, I did a foolish thing, climbing your fence.”
“So are you in pain?”
“A little, but I can handle it.”
“Do you want some aspirin, or ibuprofen?”
“No, thanks.”
“So if it doesn’t hurt killing bad, then why are you gritting your teeth?”
“I’m gonna take a wild guess here. Your hobby is asking questions?”
“Only rich people have hobbies. How else can a person find things out if they don’t ask questions? Now tell me about photography. What is your plan with the tree? Do you like the ‘lonely tree’ kind of composition, or are you looking for the patterns the branches make?”
“You know something? Sometimes being quiet and observing teaches you more.”
Juniper pulled her jacket tighter. “That is totally something a cop would say.”
“I already told you, I’m not a cop anymore.”
Juniper pointed her finger at his chest. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t one in your heart. You can’t unlearn how to look at stuff. Believe me, I know.”
Hoping for some quiet, he didn’t answer. They slogged a hundred feet or so over muddy ground. Joseph tried not to limp. Though aspirin upset his gut, he would have chewed up a dry handful just to take the edge off. Instead, he studied the tree. Ansel Adams would see a stark tree, with the sky as definition. Wynn Bullock would pose a nude woman by the tree and turn her into a wood spirit. Jerry Uelsmann would plant a human fist inside the tree and sheep floating across the sky. Joseph Vigil couldn’t see past anything other than branches that seemed to pierce the darkening sky so jaggedly you expected it to drip blood.
“The Christmas pictures you took came out great,” Juniper said. “My foster grandmother really liked them, so maybe you should change subjects from trees to people. I mean, under a tree’s a good place to sit for shade, but what else is there? They don’t do anything exciting except maybe once in a while get struck by lightning.”
He spoke without looking at her. “This isn’t any tree, Juniper. It’s Solomon’s Oak.”
“Stop right there because I’ve heard all about it being magical and improbable and good luck and having a spirit and all that. It didn’t help when Mr. Solomon got sick, did it, and his family took care of it all these years so you would think if it was going to help anybody, it should have been him.” She placed one hand on the trunk and twirled around, getting her shoes even muddier, demolishing any interesting patterns the rain had left behind.
“Can you be still? We’re burning daylight. If I get the picture I want, I won’t have to come back again or annoy your mother.”
“Okay, okay.” Juniper tucked her arms under her armpits for warmth. “If I stand still, I still get to talk, right?”
“No, you may not. Not for a few minutes. Be silent.” Joseph took several pictures from a distance, then he zoomed in his lens for close-ups. The rutted bark was home to dusty green lichen. Up close it looked as if someone had ripped the fabric of the universe, and the tree had no choice but to continue its journey. But he couldn’t communicat
e its height. “Stand next to it,” he said.
“But I thought you only wanted pictures of the tree.”
“You’re only in the picture to be perspective.”
“Thanks a lot.” Juniper stood there, hands in her pockets. “You know what I think? I think your back hurts more than you let on. I think it’s a good thing you brought me along, because what if you hurt yourself on that fence and we were maybe out of town and you needed help getting up? It’s kind of like riding a horse in the woods by yourself. Dangerous.”
“Hey, did I bust you with your mom?”
“No.”
He turned around to go back to his car. “Then cut me a break.”
She hurried up beside him. “I will if you stay for dinner. It’s my night to make the salad.”
“Somehow I doubt your mother would be up for that.”
“But you’re my friend.” She stuck out her lower lip. “I could really use the support.”
“Why? Are things not going so well? You looked pretty happy at the Christmas Eve shindig.”
“I got suspended for fighting today.”
“Fighting, as in fists?”
“It was a total misunderstanding.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“I don’t know because I’m telling the truth. Sure, I’ve messed up in the past, but I only did the things I did for really good reasons. Like when I accidentally took some money, I gave it back. I gave back the pills, too.”
“Are you talking about street drugs?”
Juniper looked away. “Be serious. They were prescription, just not my prescription.”
“So why steal them?”
She sighed. “I was worried, okay? My real mom OD’d, and when I met Mrs. Solomon, she was so sad I thought she might try it, so I had to hide the pills. I should have flushed them. Then she never would have known. I was stupid not to think of that, but you know what they say, ‘All drains lead to the ocean,’ and drugs in the water are bad for the environment. But it sure got me in trouble.”
“I’m not convinced you should be talking about this to me.”
“Why not? You’re my friend. You’re kind of her friend. You guys danced. She’s nice. Dogs love her. She works really hard. I guess you can tell that without me saying. But I know lots of stuff that wasn’t in the article, like, her hair went gray when she was my age, so she’s not as old as she looks, she’s just tired from working and dealing with me and needs hair dye and a makeover really badly. Her dad died before she could have him walk her down the aisle at her wedding. Then her husband, who was like some kind of saint, died. Stay to dinner, Joseph, please, please, please?”
Joseph felt as if he’d walked into some kind of cubist-painting dream where goats floated by, and people jabbered in a language he didn’t understand, and the fractured parts didn’t connect. He put the lens cap on his camera. “I’ll stay for fifteen minutes and we’ll talk about photography, nothing else. You can get me a glass of water.”
“Excellent! Download your pictures right now on our computer. You can show me how you decide which one is the best. Or you could tell us all about your life, like when you were a cop and why you stopped being one.”
Joseph wondered if some physical act went beyond sighing because his entire body felt as if it were doing that. “How many times do I have to say this? I’m not interesting.”
“Dude, we don’t have a television or a stereo or even an antique Game Boy. Trust me, any story you tell will be more interesting than what we usually talk about, which is how often I mess up and what am I going to do about it. Especially tonight. Can’t you stay for an hour? I’ll make guacamole. Do you like potato chips or corn chips?”
“Either.”
“You don’t have a favorite snack?”
“Not really.”
“Liar. I bet I know what it is. Ruffles and onion dip.”
“I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Give me three more guesses. I bet you ten bucks I guess it right.”
“Have at it.”
“Teriyaki beef jerky?”
“Nope.”
“Olives stuffed with blue cheese.”
“If you were paying attention, you’d realize the lactose intolerance factor rules out cheese.”
“Salted peanuts?”
“I believe you owe me ten bucks, Juniper. I’ll take it in quarters if you have ’em. It’s laundry week.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t guess it. At least tell me what it is.”
“Sardines in oil.”
“Are you kidding me? That would give you cat-food breath. Does your girlfriend make you gargle Scope before she lets you kiss her?”
“Don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t want one.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
They walked toward the back porch. Juniper showed him where to scrape the mud off his shoes. “Guess I won’t ask you to help me pitch hay flakes to the horses,” she said, “but you can mix up the dogs’ dinner. Stapled on the wall above the kibble bins is the recipe. Cadillac gets a scoop of Platinum Performance Plus, and Dodge gets Serenity.”
“What’s that?”
“Joint protection for Caddy, and calming herbs for Dodge. If you ask me, that’s not working, but Glory says we have to give it a month.”
“Your dogs are lucky. I know people who don’t eat this well.”
“Oh, no. I’m the lucky one, Joe. Cadillac would do anything for me.”
Between the excited nickering from the horses, he heard her sweet-talking the one who had scared her silly.
“Hey there, Piper. Hey there, Piper man. Whatcha been doing, what is your plan?”
Joseph had to smile. That old saw about women and horses was true. He carried the dogs’ dinner bowls to Juniper and waited for her to finish with the horses. “From my stupid fence stunt I can’t bend down right now,” he said. “Otherwise, I’d be … ”
She took the bowls and grinned. “No problem. Thanks for helping me.”
Joseph waited on the back porch, inhaling the smells of his father’s farm. This was the time of year when daylight increased a few minutes each day. Farmers went nuts trying to decide when to plant. Winter was on its way out, but would take a few licks before it gave up. Memorial Day was the earliest you could comfortably plant, but if you waited until then, your crops might be too late for farmers’ market. Farming was like gambling. His mother’s apricot trees always bloomed too soon and got hit by a killing frost. She’d get up on a ladder and drape bedsheets over the flowers in vain. Standing still, Joseph’s back hurt worse than when he moved. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on his bed with icepacks. He counted how many hours it had been since he took his last pain pill and realized he’d forgotten his lunchtime dose. Genius move. Now it would take him a couple of days to get ahead of the pain.
“I love my dog more than anyone on earth,” Juniper said, walking toward the back porch. “My Cadillac Coupe de Ville!”
“He’s a good-looking animal.”
“Animal?” She looked at him as if he’d called her dog a mangy cur. “The Cad-man is my best friend. He’s so smart that he can find lost things. Whenever Glory loses her keys, she says, ‘Keys, please,’ and he finds them. You should see him herd the goats, only right now he’s not allowed because one of them’s pregnant. He sleeps next to my bed every single night.”
Joseph nodded at her convoluted story, thinking how tired down to her bones Glory Solomon must be at the end of the day. “Can I get that glass of water now?”
“Sure, just go on in. The cupboard’s to the left of the sink.”
He didn’t want to. It felt like trespassing. The back door opened into a laundry room with an old white washer and a newer-looking beige dryer. On the shelf above the appliances were detergent, bleach, and a tub of OxiClean. Next to them, a stack of folded cleaning rags. The door in front of him opened to the kitchen. It was out
dated and the cupboards could use refinishing, but what struck him was the tidy way every object occupied its place. On one counter sat cake pans, decorating equipment, and an industrial-looking mixer. He wondered if Glory was getting ready to make one of those cakes, like the pirate ship.
She gave him a look that asked, why are you still here?
Juniper walked in behind him.
“May I use your restroom before I go?” Joseph asked, and Glory pointed the way down the hall. Even with the door shut and the water running, he could hear them arguing. He cupped his hand beneath the water faucet and tried to swallow the pill, but it stuck in his throat, and he needed a second gulp to get it down.
“I invited Joseph to have dinner with us,” Juniper said.
“Without asking me? Juniper, what were you thinking? The house is a mess and we have work to do. I was planning on making tuna fish sandwiches tonight. That’s not a dinner to serve to guests.”
“It’s not like he expects a three-course meal. He’s a guy and they’re always hungry. Why don’t we have spaghetti? That’s a cinch to make.”
“If it’s so easy, then you make it.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Go ahead, then. Make it. Be sure you measure out the pasta for five people instead of two. Men eat more than women.”
“Jeez, Mrs. Solomon! Don’t you think I know how much spaghetti to cook? Once upon a time I had a dad. He could eat so much spaghetti that we had to cook two whole packages every time!”
“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. But don’t get the idea that Joseph being here gets you out of the massive trouble you’re in. It’s a postponement of our discussion, that’s all. In the meantime, think about what you did. Since you don’t have to be up early for school, I guess we can talk all night about why you got suspended.”
“It wasn’t my fault!”
“Tell me how am I supposed to believe that when you won’t talk about what happened?”
Mrs. Solomon? Joseph could hear the tears in the girl’s voice eclipsed by the anger in Glory’s. After the stubborn pill finally went down, he waited a few minutes to allow them to finish. He’d tell them he’d take a rain check on dinner. But while he dried his hands, he realized he shouldn’t have taken the pill if he wasn’t going to eat immediately afterward. Once the queasiness arrived, it was hard to quell. Already he’d had one bleeding ulcer from the drugs, and he didn’t want another. When he returned to the kitchen, he apologized for intruding. “If I could please have a slice of bread or a roll, I’ll be on my way.”
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