Finding Casey (11 page)

The doctor would be angry if I didn't sign the papers. He might even tell the people in charge to take Aspen away from me. If only I had some clean clothes and a hairbrush. Why didn't Seth come to the hospital? I couldn't even call Louella to check because she was either working at the casino or on the pueblo visiting her people and I remembered that her phone was turned off until she got more money. I leaned my head back in the recliner chair they wiped down every day with antiseptic. It was hard to sleep sitting up, but I'd slept in much worse circumstances.

Then I heard a tap at the door and there was that lady, Mrs. Clemmons.

“Hello there, Laurel,” she said. She was dressed in a bright red skirt and a white sweater. “I thought you might enjoy some turkey dinner,” she said, holding out a foil-wrapped plate. “I'm glad to sit with Aspen if you'd like to take a break and eat.”

I looked at her, wondering why she'd interrupted her own Thanksgiving to visit me, some trashy mother and her very sick daughter. I was too tired to think about not trusting her. “Thank you,” I said, my voice raspier than ever, from telling Aspen stories all day.

“You're welcome,” Mrs. Clemmons said, and held out the plate.

I swallowed the tears I felt making a lump in my throat. It felt so thick I probably wouldn't be able to swallow a bite. I took the plate and walked across the hall to the family visit room. I propped the door open so I could see Aspen's room,
and then I peeled back the foil: turkey, cranberry, potatoes, gravy, and stuffing. I scooped it up with my fingers and ate every bit.

When Juniper returned from getting Topher settled for the night, Glory exhaled a sigh of relief. Not for herself, but because now Joseph could finally relax. She saw the way he scrutinized their daughter as she hung up her coat and scarf. He was looking for clues as to why it had taken her forty-five minutes to turn on the lights and show Topher where the woodpile was. Glory tried to catch his eye, to send him a look that said, “Let it go. She's still got her skirt on frontwards,” but Joseph wouldn't meet her eyes.

“You sure were gone a long time,” he said, setting down the deck of cards he'd been using to play solitaire at the pine desk Glory had bought off Craigslist for the ridiculous price of forty dollars. “I thought maybe you two were inventing electricity or something.”

“Seriously, Daddy Joe,” Juniper huffed, taking a handful of almonds from the speckled blue Texasware bowl Glory used only on special occasions. While the house had the Santa Fe style structurally—vigas, latillas, built-in nichos—her own decorating touches, with vintage tablecloth curtains and hooked throw pillows, gave it a homey, comfortable feel.

Halle, sitting on the couch next to Glory, pressed the hooked throw pillow that featured an Airstream trailer over her mouth so she wouldn't laugh. Glory poked her and whispered, “Don't you dare get lipstick on that.”

Halle made a face and whispered back, “This is eight-hour lipstick. You have to take it off with makeup remover.”

“That sounds gross, Halle.”

“It's very expensive and all the movie stars use it,” she said, and stuck out her tongue.

Joe gathered up the cards and stacked them into a deck. “Well, what were you doing?”

“If you must know, we were listening to music.”

He placed the cards back in their box and tucked in the flap. “Last I checked, there's no radio out there.”

Juniper chewed an almond. “A
radio
? Everyone and his brother has an iPod or listens to Pandora. Besides, we weren't listening to that kind of music. He was playing the guitar for me.”

“Oh, really? What was the song?”

Juniper couldn't help but smile a great big dazed-with-infatuation grin, Glory noticed. Halle poked her back and whispered, “Sounds like s-e-x to me.”

Glory shushed her.

“It's called ‘The Girl with the Blue Tattoo.' ”

“Sounds intriguing,” Glory said, wondering if he'd poached the title from that mystery book by the dead writer from Sweden.

Joseph wasn't letting it go. “Yeah? I don't know that one.”

“Of course you don't, because he played it for the first time tonight. He
wrote
it. For me. And I am not humming it, so don't ask.”

Halle put down the throw pillow. “Go get him. I want to hear it, too.”

“Jeez, you guys!” Juniper said. “Can't I have a private life?”

“You should go to bed,” Glory said. “It's been a long day.”

“I have no idea how I'm ever going to fall asleep,” Juniper said, and with the same dazed look she'd worn at the dining table, she wandered off toward her room.

When they all heard the door shut, Joseph said, “That nails it. I'm going to booby-trap the French doors. Glory, where do you keep the thread?”

“Thread? Why?”

“It's an old detective trick Rico taught me. You put a thread in the latch and close it. If it's not there the next time you check it, someone has opened the door.”

“That's sounds so James Bond,” Halle said, and giggled.

Glory leaned back against the cushions. “Joe, will you stop worrying? Juniper's a smart girl—”

“Since when have Mr. Sperm and Ms. Egg ever listened to smart? No, they meet, decide that they'd like to go dancing all night, and pretty soon there's a baby on the way.”

“Like us?” Glory said.

Joseph sighed. “It's not the same thing. We're married adults. You know what? Forget the thread. I'll go have a talk with the folk singer right now.” He transitioned into Spanish and Glory heard the words
honorio de hija
and she got up, stopping him before he opened the door.

“Joe, go to bed. Juniper is in hers, the boy's got a long walk through the snow to get to her, and you know the dogs will bark their heads off if anyone comes indoors. For crying out loud, Caddy
sleeps
in Juniper's bed. And hello, just last week weren't you telling me how proud you were of Juniper for making such smart choices?”

He gave her a baleful look. “When it comes to school, I trust her. Driving her car, I trust her. Boys? It's not about trusting her, it's trusting them.”

Halle said, “Glory's right. Besides, it's time for some good old-fashioned sister talk. Unless you want to sit here listening
to us discuss birthing options and reliving accounts of past boyfriends, you might want to turn in.”

“All right. But don't you keep my wife up too late. She needs her rest for the baby.” He left the great room and headed to the master bedroom, muttering to himself. Eddie pranced back and forth, torn about who needed him most—clearly upset Joseph, or Glory, the pregnant one that needed to be guarded twenty-four seven? Italian greyhounds were called “Velcro dogs” for a reason.

Glory was disappointed when Eddie stayed by her side, because a little break from Italian greyhound scrutiny would have been welcome. She watched Joseph go. “I probably should go to bed, too, but I have to know what's going on, Halle. Your story about Bart having a business trip to Italy sounded as plausible as one of Mom's romance novels where the guy working in the car wash turns out to be a prince. Spill.”

Halle said, “First I need another cup of tequila.”

“Tequila, champagne, wine with dinner—you've had enough to drink already, haven't you?”

Halle's expression shifted. Out came the grim face Glory knew was hiding there all along.

“Oh, no. What happened, Hal?”

Her sister's eyes brimmed with tears. “If I don't drink more alcohol I'll lie awake all night crying, and tomorrow my eyes will look like the portrait of Dorian Gray.”

“You'll also get a whomping hangover.”

“Trust me, it's worth it.”

“Go get the bottle,” Glory said. “Listen, while you're in the kitchen, would you mind bringing me a mug of milk? Warm it in the microwave for a minute, and could you add some cinnamon and maybe some nutmeg to it?”

Halle turned and looked back at her sister. “Would you like fries with that?”

When Glory got into bed, the mattress sunk down a couple of inches under her weight. She wondered how many pounds she had gained today, and whether one day of indulgence would adversely affect her blood pressure. She saw a glint of silver and heard the clatter of beads that meant Joseph was praying his rosary. His eyes were closed and his lips barely moving. It was unusual for him, though he sometimes turned to prayer when he was dealing with difficult memories, or trying to govern his impatience with the time it took for his medication to kick in. Glory wasn't a believer in church matters, and Joseph rarely attended Mass, but maybe it was having Ave in the house that had caused this sudden shift.

A few minutes later, he murmured “Amen” and looped his rosary over the bedpost. There was another minute of silence before the dam broke. “That boy is no good, I can tell. A
vato
. What does she see in him?”

Glory smiled only because it was dark and he couldn't see her. “I'm curious. What makes him so bad? Because I must have missed it.”

“Are you joking? His ancestors came over on the
Mayflower
? His ancestors
annihilated
my ancestors and stole our land, for one thing.”

“So you're judging him on the sins of his ancestors?”

“Why not? It's true.”

“Then let me ask you this. How would you react if someone you just met judged you on yours?”

“This is—it's New Mexico,” he blustered. “He lives here; he should know the history.”

“Joe, come on. He's young and he's from the East Coast. Give him time and he'll learn.”

“Maybe I don't want him learning with my daughter.”

Glory waited for the next part, because she knew there was more coming.

“What about him wanting to be called Topher instead of Chris? It's
femenino
, not manly. And his career plans? Majoring in
folk music
? Please. Why doesn't he walk down to the Plaza and start his career tonight? I'll give him my hat and throw in the first quarter.”

Glory laughed. “I'm afraid every time I look at him I'm going to think ‘Gopher.' “

“Admit it. You don't like him either.”

“It's not about me liking him, Joe. Juniper's old enough to vote, to drive, to consent to—”

“Don't you say it. Do
not
say it.”

Glory knew better than to utter the word
sex
because if she did, Joseph would get up, go into the kitchen and start banging pots around, wake everyone up, maybe even break something. All the while his blood pressure would crank up into unhealthy numbers. If his went up, so would hers, and Dr. Montano had been very clear on the matter: In cases like hers hypertension was a very big deal.

“She's nearly nineteen.”

“But a very
young
nineteen.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “Joe, I understand how you feel. You want the best for her and so do I. But Juniper is growing up. She's going to make choices you don't want her to. Some
of those choices are going to be wrong ones. That's what happens when you become an adult. I saw it with the foster boys Dan and I raised. We could parent them while they were in our house and under eighteen, but after that we had to let them go into the world down the path they chose.”

“Glory, she still comes home every weekend! If we let her move out of the dorm she'd be right back in her room with the posters and the stuffed animals. She's not ready to step into the adult world.”

“I know, and it's our job to give her a little push in that direction, encourage her to try things, like living on campus with roommates. She has excellent grades and a good foundation. She volunteers at the shelter. She sees plenty of women who've made bad choices. I don't think you give her enough credit.”

“I'm trying to.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Have you forgotten how much she adores you? She calls you twice a week, takes walks with you, asks photography questions all the time. You're still the most important man in her life. She'll probably discuss Gopher with you if you'd listen instead of getting all huffy every time he says something.”

“Privileged East Coast trust-fund boy, and he can't even get a good haircut?”

Glory recognized the stalemate. There was only one other card to play, so she played it. “What would Grandmother Penny say?”

Joseph groaned. “No.”

“Come on, tell me.”

He groaned again and she shook his arm. “Man, you never give up.”

“That's right, because I'm stubborn, just like you. Story, please.”

“Seriously, the only story she'd have is the story of the love flute.”

Glory snuggled closer, pulling his arm over her shoulders. “So tell it to me.”

“I can't. It's Lakota, not Navajo.”

“What? Do you think the Lakota police are going to show up and arrest you?”

“It's too long.”

“I like long stories. Come on, please?”

“Fine, I'll tell it, but the short version and no interrupting me.”

“Agreed.”

He let out one last huff and launched into the story. “One day this young boy went into the forest to bag his first elk. That's a big deal in Lakota. Everyone knows that Elk has love medicine. The boy waited all day in the brush. Elk watched him and waited, too. Elk was at the end of his life. He'd fathered lots of elk sons and if it wasn't this boy's arrow it would have been some white man's gun, so Elk decided it was better to give up his life so a boy could become a man instead of playing into the white hunter scenario, which, honestly, cannot be called sport. The boy aims and his arrow flies true. Elk falls. The boy thanked Elk and butchered him right there. He dragged the meat back to his village.

“On his way, he became very thirsty, so he stopped at the watering hole and aieee, he saw this winchinchala, a pretty maiden, and just like that he fell in love with her. But she wouldn't look at him, just filled her water bags and went on her
way. The boy returned the elk meat to his village. They had a big fire going and everyone feasted that night.