Walk in Beauty (12 page)

He didn’t let her go, and Jessie made no move to start the car. They simply sat there, holding hands in the cold. “I’m really glad to see you again, Jessie. I’m glad that through Giselle, there’s always gonna be something strong between us, that you won’t go away again.” He smiled a little sadly. “You were the best friend I ever had.”

The admission pierced her and she reached over to hug him. “Oh, me, too, Luke.” He hugged her back, fiercely. She bent her head into the shoulder of his jacket. “I can’t be sorry any of this has happened.”

“No,” he whispered, and tightened his arms almost painfully.

After a minute, they parted. Jessie started the car and drove back to Luke’s house.

Marcia was on the phone when they came in. Spying Luke and Jessie, she spoke quickly in Navajo, too fast for Jessie to pick up what she said, then hung up.

Luke tossed his coat over a chair. “Was that Daniel?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Marcia folded her arms. “How did it go with Reeves?”

“He was great,” Jessie said. Shedding her shawl, she found her bag of art supplies and dug out a big sketchpad and a thick-tipped charcoal pencil. Settling on the couch, she added, “He’s willing to do whatever it takes to get the project moving.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Marcia bustled in and sat next to Giselle, who strung beads from a multicolored jumble in a bowl. “That means four galleries that are willing to negotiate at the higher prices.” From another shallow dish, Marcia carefully extracted a woven cluster of beads, probably an earring, Jessie thought.

Luke touched Giselle’s necklace. “Pretty,” he said.

“Marcia told me she has a little beading loom I can have.” She lifted the strung beads and held them against her chest. “I like ‘em all mixed up like this, don’t you?”

His eyes tilted upward with his smile. “Yeah, I do. Will you make me a bracelet to wear?”

Jessie watched as Giselle looked at him a little warily, then wrapped the slender string around his brown wrist. The tiny beads looked fragile against the strong tendons. Jessie felt a deep tug at her heart. “It isn’t long enough yet,” Giselle said.

Marcia leaned forward. “You have to make sure you leave enough room for it to go over his hand, too. I’ll show you how to tie it off when you’re ready.”

Jessie inclined her head and began to sketch the trio of them idly. Three dark heads and three pairs of graceful hands. Between Luke and Marcia, Giselle looked as if she belonged, the way she never quite belonged to Jessie. The knowledge didn’t bring the jealousy she might have expected, but a kind of relief. Jessie had never been Indian, never would be, could never hope to give Giselle more than a cursory pride in being Indian herself.

“So what did Daniel have to say?” Luke asked, taking a chair.

Marcia bent over her shallow dish of beads. “He can’t leave Dallas right now. He’s been trying to set this meeting up for months, and the gallery owners there have finally agreed to talk to him.” Carefully, she speared two beads on her needle and slid them into place. “He wants me to take the meeting in Shiprock, but I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow.” She lifted her eyes. “He wants to know if one of you will go to Shiprock.”

Jessie and Luke answered together. “I can’t.”

Luke gestured for Jessie to go first. She frowned. “Marcia, there’s nothing I can say to those women. I don’t have the right to say anything to them, and I also don’t speak Navajo.”

“Daniel told me you can, but you won’t,” Marcia answered with a grin. “Anyway, Luke does,” she said, delicately shifting the earring in her hand.

“But I don’t know a damned thing about the project,” Luke protested with a scowl. “Surely not enough to lead any kind of meeting with the weavers.”

Before the smile spread over Marcia’s face, Jessie saw how neatly they’d been trapped. “So, you’re going together, eh?”

“No.” Luke stood and stalked into the kitchen.

“Marcia,” Jessie said, glancing after him, “it would be too hard—there’s too much between us.”

“I’m open for suggestions,” Marcia replied, putting down the beads. “If you have another idea, let’s hear it. I just don’t want all this work to go down the tubes. If someone doesn’t get down there and address the fear of the weavers, there won’t be a project left.”

Luke spoke from the archway to the kitchen. “So why don’t you go? Cancel your appointments and take a few days off?”

“Because I have three big recitals coming up this week and I can’t run out on the children. You know that.” Her voice was calm, but Jessie heard the annoyance low in her throat. “Sometimes that violin is the only thing of beauty those children have. I won’t take it away from them.”

Luke sipped his coffee, but Jessie could see the taut way he held his body, could see how the whole idea disturbed him. “I haven’t been to the res since I was sixteen.”

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t believe, Luke. You’re the son of a weaver, you know the language, you know the way these people think. Jessie knows all the details of the project; she’s been working on it since the beginning.”

Giselle, looking from one adult to the next, suddenly stood up and looped the beads around Luke’s wrist. “Can I go, too?”

Jessie saw how the gentle appeal weakened him, and she spoke up. “We aren’t going, Giselle. In fact, we’re going to have to get ready to get home or we’ll be on the road all night.”

“No!” Giselle whirled. “I don’t want to go yet!”

“I know you don’t,” Jessie said, realizing she should have anticipated this resistance. “We’ll work everything out, sweetie. I promise.”

Giselle burst into tears and flung herself into Luke’s lap. “It won’t be the same!” she wailed.

Stung, Jessie stared at Luke, who looked back at her with a tight expression on his mouth. She saw her own guilt reflected in his eyes—they’d been so wrapped up in their own lingering emotions that they hadn’t given enough consideration to the question about Giselle.

He touched the girl’s hair. “You can call me tonight,” he said. “Okay? And I’ll come down and see you next weekend. I promise. Maybe your mom will let you come to my house on your Christmas break, eh? That’s only a few weeks from now.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Giselle whimpered softly. The words were doubly painful in such a mournful, quiet voice.

Marcia stood up and looked at Jessie, cocking her head in the direction of the kitchen. Jessie followed her. Marcia turned and put a hand on Jessie’s arm. “I know this is hard for you. It’s hard to be with Luke again.”

“Marcia, you don’t—”

She lifted a hand. “I do. What I want you to think about is how good it would be for Giselle to go there with you both. You’ve done so well with her, Jessie.” Marcia touched Jessie’s hair, stroked it softly. “She spoke to me in Diné this morning—that’s so good.”

“I didn’t do that,” Jessie said, shaking her head. “Daniel has been teaching her to speak Navajo since she was a baby.”

“He told me that you moved to Albuquerque so Giselle would be close to Indian people.”

A little thread of irritation passed through Jessie. “Daniel put you up to this, didn’t he?” She narrowed her eyes. “He knows I don’t like to get involved on this level.”

Marcia evaded her gaze. “He does what’s best. You know that.”

“Best for who?” She flung up a hand. “I don’t understand what game he’s playing here. I usually talk to him at least once or twice when I’m on one of these trips. This time he’s avoiding me.”

“I don’t know about that part, Jessie,” Marcia answered with a shrug. “He seems a little restless when I talk to him, but I don’t really know what’s going on. Maybe he feels guilty for dabbling in your life like this.”

“Maybe.” She sighed.

“So what do you say, Jessie? Will you take the meeting if Luke does the talking?”

“Marcia...” Jessie could think of no protest, except for the fact that she couldn’t bear to be in such close quarters with Luke for so many days. Not without a little breathing room in between. She needed some time to get things into perspective. She closed her eyes. “I can’t think.”

“Jessie, we need you. You’re the only one available who has all the stats for the project. How many trips have you made over the past few months? How many people have you talked to? You can’t just throw it all away.” Marcia took her hands. “Please?”

Jessie looked at her for a long moment. Then she set her mouth and went to the living room. Giselle had curled onto Luke’s lap, her hair spread around her like a silk cocoon. Luke bent his head close to hers and murmured something in a low voice. “Luke,” Jessie said.

He looked up.

“If you’ll come with me, and do the talking, I’ll help you with the stats you need.” She swallowed. “It’ll give us some time to work things out for Giselle, too.”

Luke looked at his daughter. “You want to go?”

He looked back to Jessie “Okay.”

Giselle leapt up and flew across the room. “Thank you, Mommy!” she cried, and burst into tears again as Jessie hugged her.

Holding Giselle close, Jessie met Luke’s eyes. It had been hard on the pair of them to meet again, but their pain was nothing in comparison to the confusion Giselle felt. Firmly, Jessie picked up her daughter and crossed the room to Luke. Still holding Giselle, she bent and kissed Luke’s glossy head, so Giselle would see her do it. “Thank you,” she said.

Giselle bent from Jessie’s arms and kissed his head in the same spot. “Thanks, Daddy.”

He nodded. “I don’t want to leave till morning. Give me some time to get things together.”

“Fine with me,” Jessie said, and let Giselle climb down.

L
uke removed his tools and cleaned out the back of his truck, then loaded it with pillows, sleeping bags, extra food, cartons of cigarettes and cans of coffee for gifts. He would follow Jessie to Albuquerque, where they’d spend the night, then they’d drive to Shiprock in his truck. His aim was to make the bed of the truck a comfortable, safe place for Giselle to ride. At the last minute, he settled one of Tasha’s favorite blankets in there, too, so Giselle would have some company. A friend had agreed to feed his other pets for a few days and bring in his mail.

He checked the fluids in the engine, the pressure in all four tires and the spare; stashed quarts of oil and transmission fluid under the seat and a five-gallon container of water in the back.

From the back steps, Jessie spoke. “Hey, General, looks as if we’re set. Sure you don’t want to load in some emergency flares and some snowshoes, just in case?”

Luke smiled reluctantly. “Never know what the weather will do this time of year. I don’t want to take chances, especially with Giselle in the car. This way, we could get stranded anywhere and still be okay.”

She lightly descended the steps and peered into the back of the truck, chuckling. “Some things never change,” she teased, and he reveled in the genuine humor in her eyes. “I used to want to kill you for loading my pack so heavy.”

“Made you strong.”

“I guess it did. Are you planning to let Giselle ride back here?”

He nodded. “If you don’t mind. I thought it would be more fun for her. She can take some books and a radio or something. If she needs anything, she can just tap on the window.”

“Looks cozy.”

“I used to like it. Marcia and I made up these really elaborate games and waved to everyone on the road when we were kids.”

“Did you do it a lot?”

He lifted a shoulder. “About once a month or so, I guess, we drove into Farmington for supplies. Less in the winter.”

“Don’t you ever miss it?”

“Farmington?” He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“I didn’t mean Farmington, exactly—just living there, on the land like that. It’s so different.”

“Have you been there?”

“With Daniel to set up the project.”

Daniel again. Luke shrugged. “Maybe I’m not as romantic as he is. I don’t miss it.”

“It didn’t strike me as a particularly romantic place.” Unaccountably, she smiled. “Anyway, I came out to tell you supper’s ready.”

“Okay, I think I’m done.”

“Sure?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek. “Don’t want to add some parachutes in case we’re stranded on a cliff and have to make our way back to civilization?”

He grabbed her neck from behind. “Enough, woman. You’ll thank me if there’s a blizzard.”

She just laughed, dancing away from his grip to run inside ahead of him.

Marcia had put herself in charge of the evening meal. The scent of pork fat and green chilies and fry bread filled the kitchen, and the windows were fogged over with the cooking. The humid, scented air hit Luke’s cold face with a powerful feeling of welcome. As the sound of female voices rose and fell around him, he took off his coat and muddy boots.

Giselle, wrapped in an apron that swallowed her and dusted with flour from head to toe, set the table, giggling at something Marcia said. Jessie reached for the honey, and Marcia used a slotted spoon to take the last of the fry bread from the skillet, piling it atop a big stack already on a plate. Against the opposite wall, Nino and Sylvester watched with deceptively sleepy eyes, tails swishing.

All at once, an acute homesickness swept over Luke. This was what his life had been missing, the chatter of voices in warm supper kitchens and the smell of food about to be shared with family. Jessie swung around to deposit the honey bear on the table and caught his eye. She grinned, unselfconsciously nibbling a piece of fry bread, and touched Giselle’s head, directing the girl to put the spoons on the other side of the bowls.

To hide his feelings, Luke turned away for a moment, pretending to search his jacket pocket for something. He wanted this—a place to come home to, a woman he loved and children. Lots of children. He wanted four or five. Once upon a time, Jessie had wanted that many, too. Did she still? He wondered.

He glanced over his shoulder, trying to remember how old she was exactly. They were four years apart. He was thirty-six, so she was thirty-two. Plenty of time for more children. For an instant, he had a vision of her nursing a new little one in this warm kitchen. He would make her a rocking chair…

“Earth to Luke,” Marcia called, settling at the table. “Come eat while it’s hot.”