“I think so, too,” Bernie said. “A very good man.”
“You leave now. When Sister comes home, I will let her sleep here.”
Mrs. Darkwater had gone to her daughter’s house and wouldn’t be home for another hour. Mr. Darkwater said he was sure his wife would be happy to stay with Mama. In the meantime, he would come over, but could he watch ESPN? The Darkwaters didn’t have satellite TV like the setup Bernie and Chee had installed for Mama.
Mama didn’t like sharing her house with someone else’s husband, especially when the package included turning the TV to sports talk. “I’ll do it so you won’t be so concerned about me. But I’m not fixing dinner for that man.”
“No. Of course not. I’ll make something for both of you right now.”
Bernie warmed up canned soup and found the makings for peanut butter sandwiches and an apple to slice on the side. Then she sat at the kitchen table and wrote a note to Darleen:
Sister,
I had to go to Santa Fe unexpectedly with my husband to visit our friend there. I’m sorry we can’t talk tonight.
Your drinking is interfering with your agreement to help with Mama. I’ve watched too many lives ruined by alcohol, including our father’s. I see pain in you. I don’t want to argue anymore. Please think about how we can make this better. I love you very much.
She folded the note and put it on Darleen’s pillow.
Bernie drove Chee’s truck to Santa Fe, and the trip took forever. Chee, wearing a new white shirt with pearl buttons, his best jeans, and freshly polished boots, seemed relaxed and energized at the same time. Focused. Strong.
Once she’d passed Farmington and Bloomfield, the dark road grew quiet except for the whine of the boxlike semis. She drove through the evening at a steady nine miles over the speed limit without conversation or the chatter of the radio.
She thought about the lieutenant, placing him inside a circle of love and healing, remembering all the people she knew who knew and respected him and adding them to the circle. Largo, Bigman, Wheeler, her friends and colleagues on the Navajo force, the Border Patrol, where she’d worked briefly, other law enforcement officers. She widened it in her mind to include their families and those who cared about them. The exercise always helped her set aside negative feelings, restore her thoughts to peace.
She remembered her promise to the lieutenant and silently renewed it. Ellie looked like a viable suspect, if they could find her.
By the time she reached Cuba, the last of the long June sunset had faded. She noticed the cars and trucks under the lights in the parking lot at El Bruno’s, and it reminded her that she should have fixed a sandwich for herself along with the ones she made for Mama and Mr. Darkwater. Chee, she knew, wouldn’t eat until the ceremony was done. She stopped for gas, a Coke, and a bag of peanuts, noticing that the arrival of evening brought the expected cooler temperatures, one benefit of living at high elevation. Then Bernie continued through town, past a block of timeworn storage lockers behind a chain link fence. She noticed a scattering of boats and RVs parked there, too. She imagined Slim Jacobs and Ellie Friedman nestled together in one of the little rooms on a mattress, candles and a joint or two adding to the experience. The image made her chuckle.
“What are you so tickled about?” Chee asked.
“I just pictured our mysterious appraiser and that old cowboy together in their little storage-locker love nest. A redneck version of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Incense swirling around, Slim naked except for his boots and that battered old hat. The garage door stands open, and they’re enjoying the view of rusting camping trailers instead of New York City.”
Chee laughed. “Cowboy hippie lovebirds.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you came with me.”
Bernie squeezed back. “You’ll do fine. Your heart and mind are on the right path. You are helping someone who has asked for prayers for all the right reasons.”
She glanced at the darkness outside the windows for a few moments, then told him about showing her mother the photos of the Hosteen Klah weavings.
“They mesmerized her,” Bernie said. “I would love to show her the rug at the AIRC, but I’m not sure she can sit in the car long enough to get to Santa Fe anymore. I wonder if they’d let me take a photo of it—then I could make a big print and give it to Mama. She’d like that.”
They stayed on NM 550, driving through land belonging to the Jicarilla Apache, Jemez Pueblo, and Zia Pueblo. They entered the edge of suburban sprawl outside Rio Rancho. They sped past the junction for the Santa Ana Casino and Tamaya Resort, headed through the outskirts of Bernalillo, over the Rio Grande, and onto I-25 north for another forty minutes. When they saw the glitter of Santa Fe from La Bajada, Chee called Rev. Rodriguez. He met them outside the CCU.
“You made good time,” Rodriguez said. He had talked about the ceremony with the staff. There should be no problem. They would have as much privacy as possible with a minimum of interference, as long as Leaphorn remained stable.
“You’re welcome to stay, to add your prayers,” Chee said.
Rodriguez said, “I will. Let me know what I should do, or not do. I don’t want to be in the way.”
Chee nodded. Bernie said, “Stand quietly. Send up your healing thoughts.”
Rodriguez said, “I have been praying for your friend there. I pray for everyone here and their families.”
“That’s good,” Chee said. “Every prayer is a blessing.”
Their favorite nurse was on duty in the ward. “He’s been restless all day,” she said. “I’ll check on him now, before you get started. Are you ready to walk down to his room?”
The lieutenant’s skin had a gray pallor. His eyes were closed, with dark circles beneath them, his breathing shallow. His body looked even smaller, shrunken in the bed as though the life force that plumped him up had leaked away. The displays on the machines in the little room moved to a steady, mechanical beat.
“Mr. Leaphorn, your relatives are here,” the nurse said. Bernie noticed that the lieutenant didn’t seem to hear her. The nurse checked the monitors and showed Bernie the call button. “Use this if you need me. I’ll be right outside at the desk. I’ve asked the aides to stay away until you’re done.”
“Thank you,” Chee said. “You’re welcome to be here with us.”
“I’d like to, but we’re shorthanded tonight.” Her eyes scanned the room with its expensive technology. “I’ve seen miracles that had nothing to do with medicine or our fancy machinery.”
Bernie, Chee, and Rodriguez stood next to the bed, surrounded by stands and equipment. Chee put his leather bag with the sacred items for the ceremony on a chair. He leaned toward the lieutenant and spoke softly in Navajo. “The people at this hospital told me it would be wise to come and see you now. Bernie is with me, and a good man who has helped us. I’ve come as you asked to sing for you. To ask for you to be restored to harmony, for your spirit to go once more in beauty.”
Leaphorn’s eyes stayed closed. Bernie reached for his hand, cool and bony.
Then, when the time was right, Chee began to chant in Navajo, softly at first and then with more energy.
Bernie listened to the old songs. They reminded her of songs she had heard as a girl at the ceremonies for her grandmother, her great-aunt, and, last year, for her mother’s oldest brother. The steady, gentle rhythm, the repetition, the beauty of the Navajo words that related the stories of the Holy People, soothed and transformed her. After a while, her chest felt lighter, her breathing deeper, more regular. Rodriguez moved subtly to the rhythm of Chee’s chanting. The chaplain had closed his eyes, and she saw tears that ran beneath his eyelids, over his cheeks, dropping gently on his shirt. In her own prayers she now included him, all the people at the hospital and their families, all the people in hospitals everywhere, all the ones who were sick, and all the people who loved them. Most of all, she
sent her healing thoughts to the lieutenant and to Chee.
She knew he had made whatever changes the hataalii he talked to instructed him to make. She also knew Diné who would criticize Chee for praying this way, without the sand paintings, without the other parts of the ceremony as prescribed by the Holy People. But times had changed. How could anyone with an open heart judge him harshly for bringing solace to a much-respected mentor, colleague, dying friend?
When it was finished, the lieutenant seemed more peaceful. His legs had stopped twitching. He lay quietly. Then he opened his eyes. He gazed at Chee, then at Bernie. He raised his right hand off the bed, his thumb and forefinger together, moving them from left to right.
They looked at each other, puzzled. Leaphorn moved his hand again, a subtle circular motion.
Bernie remembered. “Would you like to write something?”
The lieutenant nodded. She took her notebook and a pencil from her backpack. She put the pencil between the thumb and middle finger of his right hand. She opened the book to a blank page and held it steady for him. The lieutenant lifted his bandaged head an inch or two from the pillow, then drew two sharp peaks with a narrow valley between. He let his head drop, and the pencil rolled out of his hand.
They studied the mark.
“Is this a clue to who shot you?” Chee said.
Leaphorn moved his chin up and down ever so slightly.
“We will use this to solve the case,” she said. “Remember? I promised you I’d find out who shot you, and why.”
Leaphorn seemed to nod once more, and his eyelids fell shut.
Rodriguez asked if they would like coffee, a milkshake, something to eat from the cafeteria. Chee shook his head and put his hand lightly on Leaphorn’s shoulder. “I want to sit with him until the sun comes up.”
Chee looked at Bernie. “All those years, I thought this one was judging me, critical of me. I thought I never lived up to his expectations, never was good enough. Now I know that he was meant to be my teacher. I fell short only because of what I expected of myself.” She saw both exhaustion and peace in his eyes.
“I’d like some water,” Bernie said. “I’ll be back in a while.”
She and Rodriguez left together. In the lounge, a gray-haired woman snoozed in a chair with a book on her lap. The rest of the room was empty.
Rodriguez handed her a bottle of water from the little refrigerator and took one himself.
“You can rest here.” He indicated an empty couch with a swoop of his arm. “No one minds if people sleep. I can find a pillow and a blanket for you. Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“I’m going back to sit with the lieutenant for a while, too. I’m not hungry. Even though I’m tired, I feel better than I have since the lieutenant was shot.”
“Thank your husband for letting me stay,” he said. “That was strong praying.”
“I’ll tell him,” Bernie said.
But first she walked out onto the patio, appreciating the 2:00 a.m. stillness, the clear night sky, the beauty of people like Rodriguez and the hospital staff. Interesting, she thought. The bad thing that happened to the lieutenant had changed her opinion of Santa Fe from a stuck-up rich person’s town to a place with a heart.
She carried the bottle of water back to Leaphorn’s tiny room to share with Chee. He had pulled the chair next to the hospital bed and sat quietly, eyes closed. Leaphorn seemed to be asleep. Fatigue swept over her like soft fog. The nurse had left some pillows on the second chair. She curled up there and closed her eyes.
Chee awoke, stiff but clearheaded. He watched dawn’s faint, soft pink tinge the sky. He saw Leaphorn lying still except for a slight rise and fall of his chest with his breath. And Bernie, her feet drawn up under her like their visiting cat, her straight, coal-black hair falling over one side of her face, eyes closed. Beautiful. He rose as quietly as he could and left the room.
He noticed new nurses on duty now, told them good morning. He walked through the empty hallways to the lobby and outside into the parking lot to greet the sunrise. It was good to be alive, he thought. Good to be breathing the fresh morning air, watching the wispy clouds grow brilliant against the sky’s blue expanse. The volcanic Jemez Mountains, home to Los Alamos National Laboratory and dozens of archaeological sites, spread broad and tall on the western horizon, their navy blue peaks catching the early light. To the east, a sprinkling of houses as brown as the soil, rolling foothills dotted with native piñon and juniper and, beyond that, the slopes of the Sangre de Cristos.
It was rare that he rose before Bernie. He had never seen her as tired as she had been in the days since the attack on the lieutenant. He doubted that she’d had a full night’s sleep since she witnessed the shooting. Chee thought about the shape Leaphorn had drawn, wondering how it could be a clue. It could be a symbol for something or someone. Maybe he was drawing the valley in between, not the peaks, after all.
And then, for some reason, he remembered Mrs. Benally. Remembered that he had promised to take her to pick up Jackson in exchange for an interview with Leonard Nez. And he had to be at the Window Rock office by noon to meet with Agent Cordova, Captain Largo, and the delegates from the Arizona Highway Patrol who were working the Leaphorn case. If they left now, he and Bernie would have time for a nice breakfast somewhere.
He trotted back to the hospital room to tell her of the plan, thinking of hotcakes and bacon. His stomach growled with anticipation. He expected to find Bernie awake, perhaps absorbed in a book, but she was exactly where he’d left her, asleep in the chair. Leaphorn seemed to be sleeping, too, despite the noise of the machines. Then he noticed Louisa, sitting next to Leaphorn and holding the lieutenant’s hand through the hospital rail.
She noticed Chee, put a finger on her lips, and pointed to the door. She gently placed Leaphorn’s hand on the bed without waking him, and crept out to where Chee stood.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” Chee said.
Louisa hugged him. She was a little taller than Bernie and considerably softer. “I got here as soon as I could,” she said. “Life has been crazy, but I’m here now. Here to stay.”
“Do you know you’re still a suspect in the shooting?”
Louisa nodded. “I finally felt well enough to talk to that FBI guy on the phone yesterday. I told him I’d be at the Santa Fe hospital until Joe left, and that he could find me here if he wanted to talk more and that he could arrest me if he needed to after Joe got better or . . . or left us.” She stopped, and Chee saw her eyes glisten. “I would chop off my right arm before I’d do any harm to Joe. But you know that. They’re checking my alibi.”
Chee saw the exhaustion in her face, the yellow hue to her skin. She looked years older than the last time he’d seen her.
“Why did they have such trouble finding you? They even checked the flights to Houston.”
“I never bothered to legally change my name from when I was married a million years ago. I use my maiden name, Bourebonette, professionally. It’s just when I fly that I have to book tickets as L. A. Tyler so the name matches my driver’s license.”
“L. A. Tyler? That’s pretty Hollywood.”
“Louisa Ann,” she said.
“The feds want to grill you about the message you left on the answering machine and why you disappeared,” Chee said. “You really need to take care of that.”
“I’ll tell them, you, anybody who wants to know, what happened between Joe and me and why I couldn’t get here sooner. That can wait. I want to save my energy for him.”
She paused, glancing back at the hospital bed. “Will you and Bernie be here all day?”
“I have to get back to Window Rock for a big police meeting. Bernie’s on leave because she witnessed the shooting, but we drove out together.”
“You go on, then,” Louisa said. “That’s a long drive. Bernie must be worn out. She didn’t eve
n stir when I came in. When she wakes up, I need to talk to her, to apologize for acting so odd. Then I might go to the lounge for a nap, let Bernie sit with Joe.”
Chee remembered what Bernie had said about how she thought someone ought to be with the lieutenant while he was in the hospital. But he’d miss her company on the drive back to the Four Corners.
Louisa said, “I’ll loan her my car if I need to stay longer than she can. She and I can work that out later when we see how Joe’s doing.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “I watched both my parents die. They were lucky enough to die at home. I am here for Joe for the duration. When Bernie wakes up, she can decide what to do. You go on. You’ve got to find out who did this to him. You know better than to argue with a fierce old woman.”
“Tell Bernie I’ll call her,” Chee said.
“I’ll tell her you love her, too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell Joe that more often.”
“Do that for me.”
As he drove out of the hospital parking lot onto St. Michael’s Drive, Chee thought about the way Bernie’s eyes had lit up when she saw the Klah weaving. Instead of stopping for breakfast, he’d get a photo for her with the camera on his phone on his way out of town. He could print it and surprise her with it. She could show it to her mother—even give it to her, if she liked. The detour shouldn’t take long. He’d pick up coffee afterward.
Chee noticed just one vehicle in the AIRC lot, an old red pickup with a faded bumper sticker: “America: Love It or Give It Back.” Rakes, hoes, and shovels poked their heads over the sides of the truck bed. Chee parked next to it, in front of the visitor center. It was early, he realized. The campus wasn’t officially open.
Chee snapped a few photos of flowers, including large bright red peony blossoms that had been buds when he and Bernie had visited before. He photographed the little cemetery the couple who originally owned the property had built for their pets: cats, dogs, even a parrot. Another indication that white people lived in an altered universe. He sent the flowers and a couple of other shots to Bernie with a text: Guess where I am? He knew her phone was on mute from last night, so the chirp of an arriving message wouldn’t wake her.
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