Once we were back in his truck, Reuben didn’t start the ignition. He just sat there. He didn’t talk. He didn’t look at the river or at me. He was waiting to be sure I’d absorbed all he’d shown me that day so deeply inside that it could never seep out.
We returned to Omak for dinner. Reuben said Dairy Queen was the local hangout, but hardly anyone was there. There weren’t a lot of people anywhere in eastern Washington. I was glad the restaurant wasn’t busy. We sat on the same side of a window booth. I let myself feel happy, despite everything. Reuben fed me fries dipped in tartar sauce (a northern thing). An SUV pulled into the parking lot. “Shit,” Reuben said. “Here comes trouble.” I thought maybe Benji, except Reuben was smiling. Three white boys hopped out of the SUV. They ran over to Reuben’s truck. One boy jumped in the bed and howled out Reuben’s last name like a wolf.
“TO-NA-SKET!”
“Do you know those guys?” I asked.
“I’m on the football team with them.” I hid behind his shoulder as they approached the restaurant doors. “Don’t be scared, Emmy.”
“I’m not.” But I was. Jocks intimidated me. I never really thought of Reuben as a jock, although I knew he played football and liked to shoot hoops or do pull-ups on the monkey bars at the park.
“Rube,” the biggest boy yelled after strutting in the door. “How’s it hanging?”
They all three came over to our booth. They had a lot of energy and a lot of muscle among them.
“What the fuck, Tonasket?” asked the boy in the Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. “Where do you always disappear to in the summer?” Before Reuben could reply, the boy said, “And who is this?”
“This is Emmy,” Reuben said. He’d taken my hand under the table, and now he squeezed it. “Emmy, this is Kimble, Anderson, and C.J.”
“Dude, you get the lookers,” the same boy said, sitting down across from us in the booth. “Last summer it was Danielle Lawton. Dude.”
“Rube and Rodeo Queen Danielle.”
Benji had brought up a rodeo queen also. I’d thought he was joking. Why would Reuben date a cowgirl? I let go of his hand. I’d rather date a boy with a pierced tongue, any day of the week, than a cowboy.
“So, where you from?” the third boy, C.J., asked me. He and the biggest boy remained standing. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“And we’d remember.”
I couldn’t respond. My face was burning.
“I met Emmy in Moses Lake,” Reuben said.
“No fucking way,” the big boy said. “Moses Hole. Home of the Chiefs.”
“Dude, if I’d known girls were looking that fine in Moses Lake—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Reuben said. But he kept it cool. “What are you d-bags up to?”
“Looking for Danielle.” They laughed. “Or your cousin Yvonne.”
“Keep away from her, Anderson, you asshole,” Reuben said to the boy in the Seahawks T-shirt. “Her dad will scalp you.”
“He’d have to sober up and get off his couch first.”
They all three laughed, but not Reuben.
“Practice starts in two weeks,” C.J. reminded Reuben. “You keeping yourself in shape?”
“Always.”
Suddenly they all started flexing. Even Reuben. Maybe I wouldn’t do so well in public school.
“Does she speak?” Anderson asked, pretending to do sign language.
I felt Reuben’s body tense.
“Look at her,” the big guy said. “Does it matter?”
“Back the fuck off,” Reuben said. “Seriously.”
I had to say something. I was being a freak. What was wrong with me?
“Hello,” I managed.
“What grade are you in?” the calmest boy, C.J., asked me. “I know a guy who goes to high school in Moses Lake.”
“I bet you know a guy,” the big boy said. “The way your eyes wander in the locker room.”
“Fuck you, Kimble. You fat ass.”
“You wish. Keep your eyes on your own shit.”
Even Reuben laughed at that.
“What grade?”
“Actually,” Reuben said, answering for me, “Emmy goes—went to high school in California.”
“Fucking A,” Kimble said. “A California girl.” He tried to high-five Reuben, who ignored him, so he high-fived Anderson instead. “I knew she wasn’t from here.”
“How long are you staying?” C.J. asked me.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Reuben treating you okay?” he asked.
I smiled and nodded.
“I bet he’s treating you real nice,” the big boy said, thrusting his groin repulsively. “Real nice and—”
C.J. shoved him. “Will you shut the fuck up?” he said.
“He doesn’t know how to shut his mouth,” Reuben said. “That’s why he’s so fat. Maybe I should shut it for him.”
“Go tribal on his white ass, Tonasket,” Anderson said, grabbing Rueben’s pop and finishing it in one gulp. When he reached for mine next, Reuben stopped him.
“Where do you live in California?” C.J. asked me. When I didn’t respond, Reuben nudged me under the table. “Do you know any movie stars?” Another nudge. I definitely liked C.J. the best, and if it had been just he and Reuben, I would’ve been able to hold a conversation. Giving up on me and addressing Reuben, C.J. said, “Hey, man, she all right?”
I almost spilled my drink trying to get out of the booth. I stayed in the ladies’ restroom a long time, though it didn’t smell so good. I was humiliated, and I’d definitely embarrassed Reuben in front of his friends again.
When I came back out, Reuben and his friends were gone and our table was cleared off. I looked through the windows. He was out in the parking lot with the boys, who were showing off football moves. Reuben fitted in with those jocks. Or he was trying to. No, they liked him. The boys got back into their SUV and left, hanging out the windows and shouting back at Reuben. He walked over to his truck and leaned his elbows on the side, and for a brief moment he put his head in his hands.
I moved closer to the window. When he looked up, he waved for me to come on.
I started to cry as soon as I got into his truck. I hadn’t cried in the stinky restroom. For the first time all summer, I wanted my mom more than anyone else. My shyness and awkwardness irritated Mom—her dream daughter, I knew, would be a go-getter—but she could also be incredibly understanding. She was always assuring me I’d outgrow my bashfulness. Aunt Beth was oblivious to it. I wanted to sit between them on the couch. No males around. I wanted to smell Mom’s musky perfume mixed with Aunt Beth’s lavender lotion.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You see why I don’t have friends in Sacramento?”
He looked at me. “Jesus, Emmy, just be yourself. It’s not that hard.”
“Is that what you were doing? Just being yourself out here in the parking lot practicing football moves with white boys? Dating a cowgirl?”
“Would you rather have me join a gang on the rez?” He was pissed.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
“Quit fucking apologizing. You’re too polite and too damn scared.” He grabbed one of my hands, but not to hold it. He looked at the nail polish I’d peeled and scraped partway off in the restroom. “Fuck, Emmy.” He let go. “How are you ever going to make it?”
Hadn’t he just called me brave the day before yesterday for calling my dad?
“I’m going for a walk.” I grabbed the door handle. I’d seen a park. “Don’t follow me.”
“No problem.”
I got out of his truck and slammed the door, but not very impressively. The sun was starting to set. I made it to the edge of the parking lot before hearing the driver’s door open. I wasn’t athletic like Reuben, but Mom and I were brisk city walkers. I hurried my pace.
He grabbed my arm.
“Slow down, girl,” he said. “You break my heart.”
I tried to lighten things up. “Breaking hearts in Omak.”
He smiled apologetically. “With a killer smile and not a bad rack.”
“Not a rodeo queen,” I said, “just a fucked-up teen.”
“Not an Indian guide, but I’ll stay by your side.”
He took me into his arms.
“I wish I made you happy, Reuben.”
“You do. Those boneheads don’t mean anything to me.” But I also made him sad. I wasn’t making his life any easier. He had enough to deal with. I certainly saw that today on the reservation. His obstacle course included drug dealers, extreme poverty, high school jocks, and the mammoth Coulee Dam.
“Let’s go to the movies,” I said, smiling wide for him. “We can pretend everything is okay and we’re just bored kids in a small town.”
* * *
When we returned to Moses Lake the next day, Aunt Beth’s garden was partly dried up. Teresa had watered it once, and Uncle Matt’s sister had swung by. But the potted plants hadn’t been rotated. Also, someone had shut off the night-light in my bedroom. I freaked out when I saw the ceramic hands not glowing as they had been since I first arrived in Washington. “Why would Matt’s family do that?” I asked Reuben. “Don’t they love Beth?”
He turned the night-light back on. “I’m sure they do.”
“Do you love Beth?”
He looked tired. “I barely knew—know her.”
“Lena barely knows me, and she told me three times that she loves me.”
He grinned.
After lunch, Reuben drove me to the library to look through herb gardening books. I wanted to save Aunt Beth’s garden. Mom was on her way from Europe. I still hadn’t talked to her. Uncle Matt said Spencer was bringing her. They’d be here the day after tomorrow, which was as soon as they could get connecting flights. Once I was seated at a library table with gardening books, Reuben walked off to check out the enlarged photo of Chief Moses hanging on the wall. I saw one of the librarians hurry over to him. He’d told me just yesterday that most people liked Indians in theory—in libraries, in history books—but not in practice. Mom said the same thing about educated people and communism: they liked it in theory but couldn’t fathom it in practice. I’d grown up watching the triumphant collapse of communism on the news, but it seemed to go hand in hand with cities being gutted in Eastern Europe and kids dodging snipers—completely confusing to me. Parts of Reuben’s reservation looked as poor as Sarajevo.
He came back with a book. Sitting down, he whispered, “Librarian Deb recommended I check this out.” He handed it to me. It was a book of Northwest Indian tales, but it had a picture of Raven, not Coyote, on the front. “Recently compiled,” he said. “White people, I swear.”
“You don’t mean me, of course.”
“Of course I mean you,” he joked.
“What do you want to study in college?” I was tired of avoiding the subject.
“Fish biology. I want to help bring salmon back to the rivers on the rez.”
“That’s awesome. Seriously, Reuben. And I believe in you with all my heart.” I had to get that out in case we went mum again on the subject of college.
He looked away for a moment. I probably embarrassed him. “What about you?” He turned back. “What do you want to study?”
“I just want to be a teacher.”
“Why do you say just?”
“Mom’s already talking PhD. She thinks I should be a college professor. But I mean teach little kids.”
“I like that.” He smiled. “Miss Emmy.”
I told him he should go see if the library had any books on fish or ecology. “We can study, like we’re in college.”
“You’re kind of a nerd.” He stood up. “It’s kind of a turn-on.”
While he was gone, I came across a warning list of herbs that shouldn’t be used during pregnancy, especially not brewed as teas, which “concentrated the chemicals.” Many herbs used by nonpregnant women to regulate periods actually stimulated the uterus and caused miscarriage. What the fuck? Even rosemary, not as a spice, but as a tea. Blue cohosh could induce labor. Black cohosh ripened the cervix. The list went on. I returned to the gardening section and found a book on medicinal herbs. Same warnings. I had to sit down on the step stool. Oh, Aunt Beth. Even the chamomile we drank together before bed. She didn’t know. She was hurting herself, and she didn’t know.
Fuck the church. Fuck God. Mom was right: this place sucked. If Aunt Beth could’ve just come here and checked out even one book. How could a library be off-limits? That seemed like communism. Knowledge? The Tree of Knowledge? Beth was naive and trusting. And ignorant. Not stupid. My English teacher mom had explained the difference to me many times. How could a doctor be off-limits? How could a book be evil that warned you not to stimulate your uterus if you wanted a baby more than anything in the world?
I stood up, too pissed off for tears. I wanted to call the hospital right away and tell Uncle Matt. I found Reuben back at our table with ecology books. My hands shook with anger.
“Jesus, Emmy, what is it?” he whispered.
“Beth’s been misusing herbs.” I sat down beside him. The next sentence was almost too painful to say out loud. “She’s been causing or, at least, abetting her own miscarriages.” I explained in more detail, showing him the warnings in the books.
“Jesus. I’m sorry, Emmy.” His eyes looked watery. Not mine.
“Let’s go.” I shoved the books away from us. “I need to call Matt at the hospital.”
During the drive back to the trailer park, I sat stewing. “People here—white people—are so ignorant. Not in California.”
“That’s not really fair,” he said.
I knew it wasn’t. I was just so pissed. “Why do you defend them?”
“I don’t. I think there’s ignorance everywhere.”
“Yeah, but it abounds here.”
“It abounds in that church.” He was right. “Do you hate it here? Not enough intellectual stimulation?”
“It’s been the most stimulating summer of my life.”
We pulled into Quail Run Mobile Home Park. We both stared at Aunt Beth’s garden.
“Hey,” he said, then hesitated. “Don’t tell Matt about the herbs, not yet.”
“What? I have to.”
“If—when Beth recovers, then you can tell Matt so he can make sure his wife doesn’t take the wrong herbs again. For now, though, don’t say anything.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure your uncle is already feeling a lot of guilt. At the healing, he—”
“What do you mean at the healing? Were you there?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It certainly does.” I got goose bumps. “Were you there?”
“I saw that preacher put his hands on your aunt. Matt wanted to kick his ass.”
I couldn’t believe Reuben had been at the park that day. He’d been so watchful of me all summer. “Fine,” I said. “You’re right. I’ll wait to tell Matt.”
We sat quietly for a few minutes in his truck. Then I moved close to him, needing to feel the weight of his body beside me. How could he have been at the healing without my noticing? It reminded me again how just three months ago I could’ve passed right by him on the street and possibly felt no connection. I scooted even closer. Still not enough. I needed to feel him in me. Teresa was gone. I reached up my skirt and carefully took off my underwear. He didn’t protest, even though a neighbor was out a few trailers down. Then I took his hand and slid it slowly up my skirt as I parted my legs just enough. “Hold your hand still,” I told him. “I’ll move.”
We migrated inside—to the couch, where Reuben tasted me, the bedroom, where he undressed me and I took him into m
y mouth, to the couch again, where he tried to just hold me until I reminded him that I’d left my underwear in his truck. He took me back to bed one more time before Teresa and the kids got home. We were young. Our bodies told us we were, no matter how heavy our thoughts.
* * *
Aunt Beth died the next day while I was outside working in her garden. The heat was oppressive. For the first time since I’d been in eastern Washington, no breeze lifted my bangs. Teresa’s chimes were silent. I’d already pulled up a few dried plants and trimmed back the leaves and stems on others. I’d left the door and windows open (and the air conditioning off) so I could hear the phone. Reuben was at the med clinic with Kevin. The other kids were at some babysitter’s house. Uncle Matt sounded so far away that I knew he wasn’t just calling to give an update. “She fought hard, sweetie,” he said. “But she passed peacefully.”
How had she fought hard? Just lying there? And fuck Matt for making me leave Spokane. Fuck you, Mom, for not making it on time. Mom’s voice and touch might have snapped Aunt Beth out of her coma, at least briefly. If I’d had a sister, I would’ve never left her.
I went into my bedroom and shut off the night-light. I cut the threads holding up the origami birds. They fell without a sound or a flutter into the crib, just as Aunt Beth had slid silently into death in that hospital room. I went back outside. I felt totally removed from myself. I watched my hands prune. I accidentally pulled up a plant. The roots came right out. I pulled up another and another. I tugged. I got the spade and dug. I’d dug up more than half of Aunt Beth’s garden before I realized what I’d done. Ashamed and drenched with sweat, I saw myself lie flat down on my belly in the grass, in a patch of shade. I wouldn’t get up for Reuben when he returned, no matter how tender, frustrated, mad he got. Finally he went inside and called Teresa, though I didn’t know until I heard her clunky van pull into the driveway.
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