Gives Light(Gives Light Series) (24 page)

Annie waited for me to look her way and smiled a small smile.  "I found it when I was a little girl," she said.  "I don't think anyone else knows about it.  Except for Aubrey.  I've been taking him here since June."

The thought of a little Annie braving the woods all by herself brought a warm smile to my face.  It didn't last long, though, because I got to thinking about how bright and lively Annie had been when I'd first met her, how drained the news of her mother's death had left her.  Annie without her vivacity was a sad and unnatural phenomenon.

How are you feeling?
I signed.

"Better," Annie said, although she was so skilful at hiding her emotions, I wasn't sure whether I ought to take her word for it.  "I couldn't stop crying, at first.  But...  It becomes increasingly harder to miss someone who was never around much to begin with.  I'm sure we'll be alright."

She was lying.  I knew it.  Eleven years of absence and scant memories hadn't stopped me from missing my mom.  Nothing would stop Annie from missing hers.

We went underneath the willow tree, and Annie showed me how to clip and pare the twigs.  She peeled and pocketed a few strips of bark, which she said made for a good joint medicine.  When we had finished, we collected the bundle of shoots and carried them across the creek.  The running water drenched our legs; it was like stepping into a bucket of ice, but decidedly more fun, and definitely welcome on such a hot day.  I was laughing when we dragged ourselves into the entrance of the cave.  It rendered me incredibly happy to note that Annie was smiling, too.

The interior of the cave was sunny, but a tin candle dish lay in one corner in the event that night fell.  I saw dried inks standing next to a pitcher of water, ceramic bowls filled with clay beads, and--I smiled--two handprints on the wall.  The red handprint was larger, more masculine; the blue was smaller and delicate, the same size as Annie's.  The handprints overlapped at the thumbs.

Annie
, I signed,
you're very good with crafts.

"Everybody's got to be good at something," she said simply. 

She picked out the beads she wanted, and we went outside the cave.  We soaked the willow shoots in the cold creek; Annie said the water made them more pliable.  We fitted the colored beads over the willow shoots, and Annie started slathing the wood.

I have to say that making a basket was much harder than I'd ever thought.  First the shoots needed to be arranged in the shape of a cross; then twined; then pulled apart, spoked, bent up, and twined again.  Having accomplished that, Annie wasn't even halfway finished.  She got me to help her with the spoking and the twining, but I worried that I was getting in her way more than anything else.  If I was, she didn't say.

Soft sunlight streaked through the overgrowth above us, the filtered rays beating ethereal patterns on the cool ground.  The grotto was quiet, save for the creek rushing over the rocks and around the willow.  It was about as peaceful as a long night's sleep at the end of a longer day.

Do you and Aubrey come here a lot?
I asked.

"Oh, yes," Annie said, her head bent over the unfinished basket.  "Sometimes we slip away at night.  It's really very--"

She looked up suddenly and scolded me with her eyes.  I smiled angelically, but really, I hadn't meant anything impudent.  Annie seemed to settle for that.  But then she looked away, contemplative, and I couldn't tell what was on her mind.  I touched her shoulder, concerned.

"You and Rafael are...close," she said.  "Aren't you?"

I felt like that aforementioned bucket of ice had been dumped over my head.  I managed a grin; it felt unsteady on my face.

Don't worry
, I signed. 
You're still my favorite.

Annie leveled me with one of her unreadable looks.

"Of course," she started, "it's none of my business--"

Her impersonal tone alarmed me. 
You're my best friend
, I was quick to sign.

Annie's face lit up, taking me by surprise.  "I am?" she asked.  "Really?"

I thought so
, I signed sheepishly. 
If that's okay.

Apparently it was.  She dropped the willow basket and threw her arms around me in a hug.

I was winded; not because of her weight, but because her arms were around my neck.  I embraced her tightly, squeezing her around the waist.  "I've never had a best friend before..." she told me.  She sounded dangerously close to tears.  I didn't want that.  I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her--but then I pulled away.  Annie looked at me quizzically. 
Couldn't breathe
, I signed with a grin. 
Sorry.
  And she laughed, musical and light.

Oh, crap
, I signed.  The basket was halfway down the creek, drifting rapidly away from us.  I gaped after it.  Annie must have knocked it in the water when she tackled me.  The water was moving too fast; there was no way we could catch up.

I'm so sorry
, I signed quickly.

"Oh, no, don't be!  There's plenty more willow where that came from.  And I'll get more clay from the badlands."

I surveyed her uncertainly, but she seemed sincere.  I smiled. 
If you're sure
, I signed.

We lay side-by-side on the soft and comforting glass, the clattering windchimes an understated soundtrack.  I folded my hands atop my stomach, Annie humming tunelessly.

"Skylar?" she said suddenly.

I turned my head just enough to smile at her.

"There's nothing wrong with liking boys."

The smile slid off of my face.

Annie didn't glance at me; for all intents and purposes, she was absorbed in watching the robins flit from treetop to treetop.  I knew she was faking it.  I tapped her arm with the back of my hand and she smiled inquisitively, as though she hadn't just made an earth-shattering remark.  She was a good little actress, that Annie.

Isn't there?

Annie raised her eyebrows.  "I don't know.  Is there?"

I thought about Dad and his pejoratives.  I thought about kids in school whose lockers had been vandalized with filthy words.  Everything in my memories said there was something wrong.  I just wished I knew why it was wrong.

Annie twisted her body so that she lay on her side, facing me, her head supported on her hand.  "Didn't your father ever tell you about the two-spirit?"

I shook my head.  I shifted, so that I faced her similarly.

"I think the practice phased out with the advent of Christianity, but before that, it was quite common for a Plains widow to marry another woman, or for a widower to marry another man.  In the old days, marriage wasn't about love, just creating and raising children, so the stipulation was that the widow or widower already had children from the former marriage.  Men and women who fulfilled the roles of both genders--we called them two-spirit."

Dad definitely hadn't told me about that.  Then again, there was a lot Dad had never told me about his heritage.  Our heritage.

I think I'm just one-spirit
, I signed. 
I don't feel like a girl.  Sorry.

Annie rolled her eyes good-naturedly and slapped my arm.

"Now listen to me," Annie said.  "I meant it when I said it's none of my business.  I know what the western world's like.  I had a very unfortunate pen pal once, a Maria Giaballi, her mom served in the army with mine.  She had the nerve to ask me whether I was a virgin!  Nothing's private in the western world, but Shoshone aren't like that.  We're
very
private people.  We don't want to know what you're up to behind closed doors, and we'll never ask.  Skylar, nobody's going to persecute you because you're gay."

The ice water sensation was back--only now it felt like it was constricted around my heart, freezing, biting, bitter cold.  That word.  I hadn't wanted to hear that word.  That word made it more about me than about Rafael.  I liked Rafael.  I liked listening to Rafael.  I liked touching him.  I liked it when he took me in his arms and made me feel like I belonged to him, like our hearts ran together as one, indistinct.  Rafael was beautiful.  Rafael was my heart's friend.  I didn't understand how that meant I liked boys.  As far as I knew, it only meant I liked Rafael.

More than liked Rafael.

24

Seven Major Crimes

Ms. Whitler, the social worker, came back for another visit in August.

Just like the previous visit, her appearance made Granny very frazzled and irritated.  I had just set up Granny's loom next to her friends' on the lawn--it was only in the 90's that morning, a real cold front--and was about to head to Annie's house when Ms. Whitler came traipsing up beside the sundial in her red high heels, her gait uneven, her horn-rimmed glasses crooked.

"Yoo-hoo!" she said, and waved.  "Hi everyone!"

Granny's friends--two women, one man--looked uniformly at Ms. Whitler with spook fish eyes.  Granny looked furious.

"You people!" Granny said.  "What part of 'The boy has chores' do you
not
understand?"

"I'll just be a second," Ms. Whitler promised, patting her shoulder bag.  Actually, she had three.  I guess one wasn't enough to carry all her accessories.

With Granny's grudging permission, I let Ms. Whitler into the house.  She sat at the kitchen table while I poured her a glass of ice water.

"So," Ms. Whitler said.  "Getting ready for school?"

I handed her the glass and smiled. 
We just bought supplies a few days ago
, I signed.

"You and your grandma, you mean?"

Time for twenty-one questions, part two.

Granny doesn't drive.  Mr. Gives Light drove us.

"What a name!  Is he your teacher?"

My friend's uncle.

"You're making a lot of friends here."

Just a few, but I'm really excited.

"I'd imagine!"

I was feeling pretty thirsty myself.  I poured a second glass of ice water and joined Ms. Whitler at the pine table.

Ms. Whitler giggled.  "Is that a butterfly on your arm?"

I'd almost forgotten about the tattoo.

It's a moth
, I signed.  I didn't know how to say "atlas" in sign language.  I gave her a grin. 
Not that I don't understand the confusion.

"Ooh, yuck.  I just hate moths.  I've got a bug zapper running outside my door 24/7, you should hear the crackling it makes."

I smiled humorlessly.  Poor moths.

"So..." Ms. Whitler said.  She leaned forward and perused the atlas moth on my upper arm.  "Is that a real tattoo, Skylar?"

Uh-oh, I thought.  Had I broken some kind of unwritten rule?  I'd seen tons of kids running around Angel Falls with tattoos and piercings, a lot of them more drastic than an atlas moth.  Like this one guy in my class last year who had had naked, graying corpses running up and down his arms, and his stomach had been pierced to resemble a flayed tongue.

That's not a problem, is it?
I asked.

"Was your grandma with you when you got it?"

She said she likes it.

"But was she with you?"

Of course she hadn't been with me at the time--only Rafael had.

No, ma'am
, I signed. 
Sorry.

Ms. Whitler took a pad out of one of her handbags and started writing in it.  I watched her with a sinking feeling of horror.  If Granny got in trouble because of me...  But I couldn't bring myself to lie.  A lie at that point would have been too obvious. 

Ms. Whitler closed her notepad.  She smiled at me briefly, her hands folded across the tabletop.

"So," she said.  "Any news about your father?"

I immediately thought back to Dad's beeper, lying on the bedside table upstairs.  For a moment, I wanted to protect my thoughts from Ms. Whitler, as though she could read them right through my skull.  I felt badly about it, too, because I had had nothing but kind feelings toward her until she whipped out that notepad.  I had forgotten that her job was to decide whether or not I was allowed to stay on the reserve.

They're still looking for him
, I said.

The smile on Ms. Whitler's face was static, unchanging.  I noticed for the first time that her eyes weren't as friendly as that painted on smile.

"He hasn't tried to contact you at all?"

I could feel my own face harden against her.  She knew.  The police knew.  They had only let me take that beeper because they thought Dad would tell me things he wouldn't tell anyone else.

It was a good thing that they were wrong, I thought with a pained smile.  That out of everyone in his life, I was the last person Dad was willing to confide in.

He hasn't.

Ms. Whitler leaned across the table, eyeing me through the tops of her lenses.

"You're a little liar, aren't you?" she said.

My smile was gone.

For the longest time, we sat in silence, no sound except Granny's lunch simmering on the wood-coal stove.  Ms. Whitler stared at me like she was trying to stare me down.  I wouldn't give her the satisfaction.  I wouldn't look away.  I wouldn't so much as blink.