Lena begs to sleep between Emmy and me on the sofa bed. Lena is half white and half Indian. I wish she were our child. I wish Emmy and I were older and married. I’d marry her tomorrow. I don’t want to be young if I can’t have Emmy. There’s got to be a way to keep her close. I lie on my side and watch Emmy brushing Lena’s bangs back from her forehead as my little sister sleeps. Really, Dad, this is what you’re trying to warn me against? This girl? Look at her, Dad. Maybe Dad is jealous. Coyote wanted every beautiful maiden for himself, like that Zeus fellow. But Coyote was vain and proud about more than just women. My dad wasn’t necessarily a proud man. In that regard, his power was of a different sort. In fact, he could’ve used a bit of Coyote’s pride. Maybe it would’ve kept him alive. It’s like he sought only absolute losers to befriend and make deals with. I’m not talking about relatives, but strangers on every rez west of the Rockies and white slobs. I hear Ray snoring in the bedroom where Aunt Shirley’s boys once slept. Emmy’s eyes close, her hand on Lena. Look, Dad.
I love because I can’t help it.
12
Emmy
Reuben and I left his aunt Shirley’s house early in the morning. I was sad to leave Lena, who was still asleep. Would I ever see her again? I folded a paper crane and left it by her pillow. Reuben promised we’d come back. But I may never see his reservation again either. Uncle Matt might not let me stay with Reuben any longer. And I wanted to remain at Aunt Beth’s bedside. Matt hadn’t left it. His parents had brought him clothes. I felt so guilty for having blatantly lied and misrepresented myself to Aunt Beth. I’d known her only eight weeks, but she filled my heart. She and Reuben. She had to recover. I was trying not to blame myself for the miscarriage, not when, as Reuben kept pointing out, she’d had others in the past. But I was responsible for giving her false hope.
I wished the trip to Spokane took longer than two hours. I suddenly wasn’t ready to see my aunt unable to talk or move. Though I wanted to rid from my head the image of her smashing jars in the kitchen in her faded flowered nightgown that had suddenly bloomed red. And her moans, so guttural. Her hair as wild as her eyes. She’d been like Rochester’s first wife locked in the attic in Jane Eyre. How ironic that Mom had such sympathy for the “madwoman in the attic.” I kept telling Reuben to drive slower as we followed the Sanpoil River south and then took a ferry across the Columbia and off the reservation. We headed east to Spokane on highway 2. I loved riding in Reuben’s truck with him, yesterday and now this morning. I treasured the long miles between tiny towns when it was just Reuben and me and the land. I tried to pretend, at least for brief intervals, that we weren’t headed to a hospital where my aunt lay unconscious. But small talk was impossible. From the beginning of our friendship, Reuben let me be silent. He knew it didn’t mean I wasn’t present. Last night, at his aunt Shirley’s house, the light in the northern sky took until after ten to completely fade. Reuben sang, his cousin drummed, and his sister danced until it did.
I had to find a way to stay in Washington. If Beth recovered, I didn’t want to abandon her, as Mom had. If she didn’t, an unfathomable thought, it would be much harder to convince Mom to let me stay for Reuben. The solution came to me as we were driving past an enormous tractor dealership in the middle of nowhere. Excitedly, I said, “My dad wasn’t killed by a tractor.”
“What?”
“Mom told me when I was little that my dad was killed by a tractor. But he wasn’t. He’s a farmer. He can give me permission to stay. He has legal say when it comes to me, right?”
“Slow down,” Reuben said. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to go back to California. Mom will try to force me.” I still hadn’t spoken with Mom since Beth’s miscarriage, which was fine with me. I’d finally talked with an English-speaking (or willing to speak English) hotel manager who said Mom and Spencer had left on a short Mediterranean cruise. The American gentleman, he said, had completely surprised the beautiful lady with this part of the journey, and there was no phone service. Matt was going to call the Paris hotel today and explain the emergency.” My dad can give me permission to stay here.”
“I’m confused,” Reuben said. “I thought you’ve never met your dad.”
“I haven’t. But I bet Matt knows how to find him.”
“Hold up.”
“I’ll have to act fast.”
“Hold up, Emmy. Meeting your dad for the first time is huge.” He didn’t sound excited. “Let alone asking him to fight your mom for you.”
“It’s all worth it if I can stay in Washington.” Clearing my throat, I said out loud what I knew we’d both been thinking for weeks. “I want to finish high school in Moses Lake. Both of us.” His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Don’t you want me to stay?”
He pulled his truck off the road. Then he took both my hands in his and looked me in the eyes. “I hurt when I’m with you.” He still had bruises from a fight with Benji. “I can’t imagine the pain if you were to leave.”
“I’m not leaving. I won’t.” I was going to stand up to Mom for once in my life. I’d never had enough of a reason to before.
“I’ll do everything I can to keep you,” Reuben said. “I promise.”
After a few more farming towns, the traffic started to increase, as did the pine trees, though the farmhouses remained just as far apart. As soon as we saw a sign for Fairchild Air Force Base, we began passing businesses like credit unions, fast food, Walmart, ministorages, and check cashing. In all the parking lots were soldiers in camouflage. The exit sign for the Spokane airport made me sad. The city came into view: brick buildings, old churches, skyscrapers, two enormous smokestacks, and hospitals. My stomach fell. We exited the highway.
“Bethany Miller,” the hospital receptionist said. “ICU. Top floor.” She gave us special name tags. When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, there was Uncle Matt. He looked diminished in that setting. I’d been girding myself for the sight of Aunt Beth, not Matt. He was walking toward us, but he didn’t recognize us for a second. He stopped. Reuben and I stopped too. My uncle and I stared at each other, as if there were suddenly a river between us that neither of us could cross. Reuben nudged me forward, then hung back. “Uncle Matt,” I said, going to him. He took me into his arms. His chest heaved, just once, and then he was okay. “Can I see her, alone?” I asked.
He pointed and told me the room number, but then he called me back. “Emmy, sweetie, they cut her hair. They had to the first night in Moses Lake because it got in the way.” I couldn’t process what he just said. “You sure you want to go in alone?” I nodded. I didn’t tell him I had stuff I had to say to Aunt Beth right away.
Nothing in the world could have prepared me for the sight of my aunt in that hospital bed: shorn hair, a million tubes, a breathing machine, beeping monitors, charts, ugly curtains, dingy gown, gauze wrapped here and there on her arms. Her eyes were not only closed but sunken. Had she always been so pale? Her body remained still, yet she didn’t look peaceful. That was not the woman who brought me tea before bed and sang to me and thought of me every day of my childhood, any more than that moaning woman in the kitchen had been. I felt dizzy, the sterile but scuffed tile floor coming up to greet me. I needed air.
I rushed out and past Matt and Reuben in the small waiting room. They both stood when they saw me pass by. I put up my hand to warn them off. I pushed the elevator button ten times. Down in the lobby, I almost tripped in my flip-flops, trying to get out the hospital’s sliding glass doors. I started walking. Where was I? This wasn’t Sacramento. What city was this? How far north? Here there were pines, not sycamores, and the air was crisper. I crossed streets, walked past buildings, crossed more streets, walked under the highway, past homeless people, taller buildings, hotels, military men, businesswomen, a long-haired Indian sleeping on a knoll of grass in front of a Chevron. I was completely lost, but I didn’t care. Suddenly I was by a river.
What river? Did it flow into the Columbia? Reuben said all rivers in eastern Washington did. I found a bench. I liked city benches. I liked to people-watch from benches. I always begged Mom for ten more minutes. Then ten more. Where are you, Mom? Your only sister is dying. I am in a strange city and you in a strange country. I am trying hard not to miss you. No matter, I am never coming back to you. Do you hear me, Mom? Never.
I leaned my elbows on my knees and put my head in my hands. I plugged my ears to block out the rumble of the city where my aunt might die. When I sat back up, my eyes went right to Reuben, standing a little ways off. He didn’t wave. In fact, his hands were in his pockets. He didn’t smile. He just watched me. I wished he hadn’t followed me. I didn’t need to be rescued. I could rescue myself, whether lost on the moors or in a city. I put my head back in my hands. A week ago my cup had never been fuller.
We returned to the hospital, and I sat alone beside my aunt’s bed for half an hour. I tried to tell her how sorry I was and to beg her to please hang on, but I simply couldn’t. My hands kept getting warmer the longer I sat there, but a stronger force—my instinct to survive, a shrink later claimed—repelled me away from her listless body. Uncle Matt invited us to go to the cafeteria with him and get lunch. Reuben said he’d stay with Beth. He seemed agitated with me, probably for taking off like I had and then getting annoyed that he’d followed me. It was a long elevator ride to the basement with Uncle Matt. We found a table but just picked at our food with plastic forks.
“I think she’s waiting for your mom,” Matt said. “I almost hope Kate never comes.” I did too. After a moment of silence he told me, “I booked you and Reuben a room at the hotel down the street. Walking distance. I got a room with two beds. Humor me.”
I’d already given him the Paris hotel information. He said he would demand a message be sent to my mom. I wondered if he’d been outside at all for fresh air.
I took a deep breath. “I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot, kid.” He tried to sound up to it, but he was clearly exhausted.
“Do you happen to know my dad’s address or phone number?”
He looked taken aback. “Are you sure?”
“I just want to see him once.”
“I understand. I mean, I couldn’t possibly. Are you sure this is the right time?”
“I have to see him before Mom gets here,” I explained. “Growing up, I thought he was dead. Does he live very far from here?”
“No, actually. About an hour south is all.”
I was only an hour from my father. “Do you have his phone number?”
Uncle Matt pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ve been carrying around his card for years.” He handed it to me. “For just such an occasion.” My hand trembled. He put his hand over mine for a moment. “I’d go with you, Emmy, under any other circumstance.”
“I know. Do you think my dad will want to see me?”
“Absolutely. But he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Is he mean?”
Matt shook his head.
“Was Mom and Beth’s dad mean?”
He hesitated before replying. “With Beth, he was too stern. With your mom, an absolute tyrant. And he never liked me.”
“I like you. I wish you were my dad.” He choked up. I’d almost said the same thing to Spencer when he drove me to the airport—only two months ago, though it seemed years. I waited. “Reuben will take me to see Jamie.”
“He’s a good kid.”
“I love him.”
“Be careful, sweetheart. You’re awfully young.”
I offered to stay the rest of the day with Aunt Beth so he could go somewhere and get sleep. “I can’t leave her,” he said. “And hospitals are no place for kids.” He tried to hand me some cash, but I refused. “Take the money,” he insisted. “It’ll make me feel better. You two get out of here, now. Go to Riverfront Park. There’s a carousel there. Or take a ride over the falls.” He started to choke up again. “Come back this evening or in the morning. I’ll call the hotel if anything changes.”
* * *
Reuben and I checked into our fifth-floor hotel room, which had two beds, just like Uncle Matt said. Reuben went to the window and stared at the city without saying anything or calling me over to look. He was edgy. Only later did he tell me that his dad had died in a Spokane hospital. “Thanks for bringing me here,” I said.
“You know you don’t have to thank me.” He kept his back to me at the window.
I undressed. “Thanks for finding me today.”
When he turned around, I was completely naked. He didn’t come toward me. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate given the circumstances. But I wanted to be naked with him in this room, even if it meant I was “playing the whore.” He stared but didn’t come nearer. Embarrassed, I reached for my shirt on the bed.
“Don’t get dressed. You look beautiful.”
“What’s the matter, Reuben?” His face was extremely tense.
“You really scared me today,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re doing sometimes.”
What did he mean?
“I’m afraid you’re going to lose yourself in a big way someday.”
“Don’t say that.” Now I was scared. “You won’t let me.”
“Emmy, I—”
“You won’t let me.”
I stretched out on one of the beds so he’d come to me, which he did. We had sex, and I felt the furthest thing from a biblical harlot or even an adulteress. I felt so safe and clean and loved. I’d never be lost as long as Reuben and I were together. I told him so.
When he dozed off, I slipped out of bed and went to my bag for my sketchbook. I hadn’t sketched much this summer. I’d sketched Aunt Beth’s hands one day and then her face another time. Oh, Aunt Beth. I’d sketched her plants—the various stems and leaves. Now I wanted to sketch Reuben. I grabbed his T-shirt off the floor and put it on. Then I quietly moved a chair close to the bed. The light from the window was perfect. The light in the north seemed clearer. Still, I wasn’t sure I could get the angle of his cheekbones quite right. He had incredible cheekbones, as did his youngest niece, Audrey. Reuben woke up before I finished. “Hey,” he said. “Nice shirt. What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I tried to hide the sketchbook and pencil behind my back.
“Were you sketching me?” He grinned.
“No,” I lied.
He sat up. “It’s like that scene from Titanic with your lover boy, Leo D. Wait. Isn’t the chick supposed to be the naked one?”
“This chick can get naked,” I said, hoping he’d forget about the sketch.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were an artist?”
“I go to art school. I can’t sing, dance, act, or play the piano.”
“Let me see the sketch.”
“No way.” I stood up and headed for my bag. He beat me to it. “No, Reuben.”
“Please. There’s so much I still don’t know about you.”
“I’m not very good.”
“Why do you always say that? No good at frosting cakes, no good at climbing, at math. Jesus Christ. No good at speaking French, at sketching. Tell me one thing you’re good at.” I shook my head. “Just one, Emmy, and I’ll leave you alone.”
I handed him my sketch pad. There were sketches in there he’d wish he hadn’t seen, but I found myself wanting to share that part of me with him. He climbed back into bed with my pad. “Come on,” he said. We both sat up, leaning against the headboard. “These are better than I expected. Seriously. Way better.”
“Thanks, but—”
“No buts. I mean it. Are these buildings in Sacramento?” I told him yes. “And this bridge?” I nodded. “Is this your mom? Wow. Nice to meet you, Professor Kate.” I laughed. “Whose male arms are these?” He knew whose they were. “Don’t say his name
.” I had numerous sketches of Connor. Reuben flipped through the first set of them quickly. But there were more sets. He came to Connor’s sketches of me. Connor had a different style from mine, looser, more freehanded. He also had the best perception at school. It was as if you could reach right into his sketches and paintings. “The dude didn’t get your eyes right.” Reuben flipped the page. “Fuck, I can’t.” He closed the book. “I want to know you better than he did.”
“You do,” I said. “You have from the very beginning.”
“I hate that fag.” He got out of bed and put on his jeans. He went to the window. “He fucking nailed your smile. Dead on. I hate him.”
“He’s far away. And he rarely made me smile.”
Reuben turned. “You can’t go back to him. Promise me.”
“I’m not going back period.” But he still looked upset. “My favorite animal is a sea otter,” I said. “Connor didn’t know that.” Reuben came back to the bed. “I saw them in the aquarium in San Francisco. When I was little, I had a book about a baby sea otter named Otis.” Reuben laughed. “He slept in a kelp bed. The book came with a matching stuffed animal. I told Otis all my secrets and talked to him when I was scared.”
“What were you most scared of as a kid?”
“That’s easy,” I said. “My mom dying and leaving me all alone. Otis lost his mom, and he couldn’t pry the abalone without her.” He kissed me. “And you? What were you afraid of?”
“My dad dying.”
His worse fear had come true. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.”
I went to hug him, but he stiffened and said, “I’m fine.” He hated pity. I knew that. But even sympathy?
“Well, I can’t imagine, never having a dad to begin with.” He was trying to deflect. “Or having no relatives other than my mom—and then being afraid she’d die. That’s fucked up.”
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