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Authors: Anne Hillerman
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don’t know about the applesauce.”
“Little Sister probably got it at the store.”
“That one is a good girl,” Mama said. “She helps me.”
Bernie started to say something. Remembered Chee’s advice. Didn’t.
Time to head home, Bernie thought. She’d promised Chee she’d help review files of the lieutenant’s old cases tonight. Where was Sister? She sent Darleen a text.
After the meal, Bernie called Darleen, but her phone went immediately to voice mail. She left a message. She mopped the kitchen floor. Vacuumed the living room carpet and Mama’s bedroom. Waited for Darleen to call or text back or, better yet, to come home.
Mama protested, as she always did, when Bernie told her she had to leave.
“Stay here. You sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, Mama. I have to go home to my husband.”
“Cheeseburger? You still with that guy? You not tired of him yet?”
Bernie smiled. Mama liked Chee, his traditional, respectful ways, his courtesy toward her and his sense of humor.
“I’m not tired of him yet,” Bernie said. “I’m crazy about him.”
Finally, Bernie called Stella Darkwater next door to come and sit with Mama. Mrs. Darkwater and Mama had become friends from the first day Mama moved in. Stella was a little off but in a happy way, sane enough to call for help if she had to. Best of all, Mama liked her.
“The house looks good today,” Mrs. Darkwater said. “When Darleen asks me for help, I bring your mother over to my house.”
“Darleen’s young,” Mama said. “It’s hard for her.”
“She’s not that young,” Mrs. Darkwater said. She put her purse on the table. “I heard somebody got shot where you work. Bad business. You be careful, girl. The one who did that is out there somewhere.”
“I am careful. Where did you hear about it?”
“On the radio. They say it will be on the TV tonight.”
Mrs. Darkwater took Mama’s arm and helped her out of the kitchen chair. “Come on, dearie,” she said. “It’s almost time for Wheel of Fortune .”
Bernie left what she’d written for Darleen in the middle of the kitchen table. She knew Mrs. Darkwater would read it, but so what? She gave Mama a kiss and headed for home.
She took BIA 310, watching for animals, watching the summer’s fading light paint the rock hills red with a golden afterglow, reassuring herself that she had said what she needed to say in the note. Darleen would contact her, and they’d get this worked out. If Darleen wouldn’t live up to her agreement to keep the house clean and take care of Mama, she ought to find someplace else to waste her lazy life. But Mama would never tell her that.
Bernie’s car bounced along the dirt road, past an occasional lean Hereford. White people identify this part of Navajoland as Two Grey Hills. She wondered, not for the first time, what hills they counted and how they defined gray. A coyote dashed in front of the car, and she tapped the brakes. The animal trotted away, unconcerned, waving its tail with a touch of arrogance. An omen of bad luck, and this was already the worst day of her life. Bring it on, she thought, and then she forced herself to focus on the rough road.
Her car found the pavement of NM 491 at the convenience store, and she headed north into the stream of traffic moving toward Shiprock. She wondered if the missing cat had enough savvy to avoid becoming a coyote’s dinner. She remembered the pan of water waiting in the shade at the lieutenant’s house. She pictured the lieutenant deathly pale on the gurney as it rolled toward the ambulance. She tried to recall the shooter’s face but remembered only the black hood. She thought of Cordova and the interview. He was smart, professional. Good-looking, too. About her age, maybe a touch older. She wondered if he was married to another officer or a civilian. What was his wife like?
As she pushed the car to accelerate, Tsé Bit’a’í rose in the dusk. She feasted on the sight of the
“Little Sister probably got it at the store.”
“That one is a good girl,” Mama said. “She helps me.”
Bernie started to say something. Remembered Chee’s advice. Didn’t.
Time to head home, Bernie thought. She’d promised Chee she’d help review files of the lieutenant’s old cases tonight. Where was Sister? She sent Darleen a text.
After the meal, Bernie called Darleen, but her phone went immediately to voice mail. She left a message. She mopped the kitchen floor. Vacuumed the living room carpet and Mama’s bedroom. Waited for Darleen to call or text back or, better yet, to come home.
Mama protested, as she always did, when Bernie told her she had to leave.
“Stay here. You sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, Mama. I have to go home to my husband.”
“Cheeseburger? You still with that guy? You not tired of him yet?”
Bernie smiled. Mama liked Chee, his traditional, respectful ways, his courtesy toward her and his sense of humor.
“I’m not tired of him yet,” Bernie said. “I’m crazy about him.”
Finally, Bernie called Stella Darkwater next door to come and sit with Mama. Mrs. Darkwater and Mama had become friends from the first day Mama moved in. Stella was a little off but in a happy way, sane enough to call for help if she had to. Best of all, Mama liked her.
“The house looks good today,” Mrs. Darkwater said. “When Darleen asks me for help, I bring your mother over to my house.”
“Darleen’s young,” Mama said. “It’s hard for her.”
“She’s not that young,” Mrs. Darkwater said. She put her purse on the table. “I heard somebody got shot where you work. Bad business. You be careful, girl. The one who did that is out there somewhere.”
“I am careful. Where did you hear about it?”
“On the radio. They say it will be on the TV tonight.”
Mrs. Darkwater took Mama’s arm and helped her out of the kitchen chair. “Come on, dearie,” she said. “It’s almost time for Wheel of Fortune .”
Bernie left what she’d written for Darleen in the middle of the kitchen table. She knew Mrs. Darkwater would read it, but so what? She gave Mama a kiss and headed for home.
She took BIA 310, watching for animals, watching the summer’s fading light paint the rock hills red with a golden afterglow, reassuring herself that she had said what she needed to say in the note. Darleen would contact her, and they’d get this worked out. If Darleen wouldn’t live up to her agreement to keep the house clean and take care of Mama, she ought to find someplace else to waste her lazy life. But Mama would never tell her that.
Bernie’s car bounced along the dirt road, past an occasional lean Hereford. White people identify this part of Navajoland as Two Grey Hills. She wondered, not for the first time, what hills they counted and how they defined gray. A coyote dashed in front of the car, and she tapped the brakes. The animal trotted away, unconcerned, waving its tail with a touch of arrogance. An omen of bad luck, and this was already the worst day of her life. Bring it on, she thought, and then she forced herself to focus on the rough road.
Her car found the pavement of NM 491 at the convenience store, and she headed north into the stream of traffic moving toward Shiprock. She wondered if the missing cat had enough savvy to avoid becoming a coyote’s dinner. She remembered the pan of water waiting in the shade at the lieutenant’s house. She pictured the lieutenant deathly pale on the gurney as it rolled toward the ambulance. She tried to recall the shooter’s face but remembered only the black hood. She thought of Cordova and the interview. He was smart, professional. Good-looking, too. About her age, maybe a touch older. She wondered if he was married to another officer or a civilian. What was his wife like?
As she pushed the car to accelerate, Tsé Bit’a’í rose in the dusk. She feasted on the sight of the
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