Ghost Sickness

by Amber Foxx

  “Um—that’s the point.”

  “I’d rather see you.”

  “Jeezus.” He scooted a bit further away. Was she flirting? Trying to get a commission for some sort of compensatory portrait? Will’s video had been taken in dim enough light that the disturbing array of scars on Jamie’s belly, shoulders and arms hadn’t shown. This woman had no idea what she was asking. He changed the subject as forcefully as he could. “What are you doing here?”

  “Seeing the church. I’ve heard the art is good.”

  “They let you take pictures?” He gave it a moment’s thought. “Yeah. Guess you can. I was thinking at first, y’know, sacred places—like the ceremonies—but I guess churches are different.” They stood and Jamie opened the heavy door for her. “That’s not why you came to Mescalero, though.”

  Her eyes twinkled and dimples showed in her cheeks. “There’s a lot here to photograph.”

  She stepped in ahead of him, and he let the door slowly shut behind them.

  As always, the first thing he noticed was the smell. Bats. They’d lived in the old church for as long as he’d been coming to Mescalero. The second thing he noticed was the art. The central painting over the altar, of Jesus as an Apache medicine man, fascinated him. The beardless, brown-skinned Redeemer held up his hand the way the medicine men did at sunrise during the girls’ initiation rites, seeing into the spirit world through his palm. Jamie thought of the picture as the Medicine Jesus. Below it, a painting of the Last Supper had Apache symbols on the tablecloths—stars and moons and lightning—and the black iron sconces around the room were designed with slits shaped like lightning bolts. They made him think of Ezra’s dream, Will Baca being struck by lightning.

  The woman held her camera, but didn’t lift it, staring at the paintings.

  Maybe she didn’t get the imagery. Jamie offered his take on it. “Some people think it’s controversial, like it’s saying Apache religion has to be made Catholic to be acceptable, or Catholicism has to be made Apache to be acceptable, but I think of it as—no lines. Y’know? All the same mystery.”

  She nodded, gazed at the art for a while longer, then studied Jamie. “That picture gives me an idea for a pose for you. It would be good for the bare-chested shot—sexy but spiritual.”

  Bloody hell. She wanted him to pose like the Medicine Jesus? With his shirt off? “Think I’d better catch the race. Enjoy the art.”

  “No, wait just a minute. I’ve done some good work for musicians. And I specialize in studies of the male figure.” She sat in a pew, withdrew a sketch pad from her large purse, and flipped it to a new page. Glancing back and forth between Jamie and the Medicine Jesus, she dashed off a rough but skilled drawing. Hatless and shirtless, his hair a wild cloud, her version of Jamie stood in the pose of the painting, like an Aboriginal version of the same image, powerful, shamanic, and yet also human and flawed. “What do you think?”

  “Fuck me dead.” She hadn’t changed his body—she’d drawn his shape quite accurately from Will’s video—but he didn’t look bad in this pose for some reason.

  “It would be a good cover for a new healing music album. Just sky for background, very faded jeans so you sort blend with it—”

  “Nah. Can’t do it.” He ran a finger along the scar on his right forearm. “This is just the tip of the iceberg. I’ve had some accidents. Injuries. I look bad. Scare people at the pool.”

  “That could be interesting. Vulnerable but strong. A survivor. The wounded healer.”

  Fucking cliché. And no one used personal portraits on healing music albums; they used nature images or art. He’d used rocks and flute-player petroglyphs. She obviously wasn’t going to give up, though. “Give me your card. I’ll talk to my manager.”

  “I ran out of cards. But you can find me online. Letitia Westover-Brown.”

  “You don’t look like a Letitia Westover-Brown. Where you from?”

  “Santa Fe, by way of Trinidad. Grandparents from India. They call me Lakshmi—that’s my Indian name.”

  “I spent a year in India when I was a kid. Goddess of wealth, isn’t she? Lakshmi? With the gold coins and flowers?”

  Letitia smiled. “Yes. I should have kept the name. It might have given me better karma with money. But it didn’t sound good when I married Mr. Westover-Brown.”

  “You’re married? Jeezus. You don’t act it.”

  Laughter rolled out of her, low and melodious but loud. “I don’t act it because I’m not.” She looked down and handled her camera, suddenly serious. “I really am looking for some work. I need to expand my business. I made a very stupid divorce agreement. No alimony, just the property and the horses. It was the only way I could afford to keep my horses, but—” She put on a forced smile. “Santa Fe property taxes—phew. And animals are an expensive habit.”

  “Yeah, but you love ’em, right?”

  Her smile became warm and real. “More than I ever loved my husband.”

  “Don’t think my album cover will feed ’em for long, but I’ll give it some thought. Might recommend you to people.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jamie started for the door and realized she’d distracted him out of asking the question he’d started the conversation for. “What’s up with you and Zak Fatty?”

  “I told you, I specialize in studies of the male figure.”

  “Does that mean naked? Zak’s posing naked?”

  Her eyes grew bright with amusement. Then she raised her camera and focused on the art over the altar.

  Jeezus. Was that the secret?

  Jamie went back outside. The overdose of coffee had kicked in finally, making him jittery and combining with the bat smell of the church to make him feel queasy. The fresh air came as a relief. He wished he’d come out into it sooner. The race was underway, and Mae had just passed. He could see her orange ponytail bobbing, her strong legs flying, blindingly white among all the brown ones. If only he’d been waving his hat, cheering her, making her smile as she ran. What an amazing woman. Joy and awe flooded him at the sight of her doing what she loved, being so fully herself. He shouted, “You’re winning, love!” though she was moving too fast to hear him.

  Zak was far behind her, slower than he should have been, with a pained look on his face. He slowed even more as he reached the church, glancing at Letitia’s SUV and then glaring at Jamie. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Jamie was on the verge of explaining, but Melody had wanted to surprise Zak. Furthermore, runners were passing him, and Zak was a man who liked to win. “Catcha after the race. You don’t want to lose.”

  “I’m losing anyway.” He jogged over to the church steps and used them to stretch his calves. “My muscles are cramping.”

  Jamie hurried to his van, put his empty coffee mug inside and got his water bottle and one of Melody’s diet sodas out of the cooler. He turned and called out for Zak to choose one, but his friend wasn’t listening. Letitia had come out, and Zak stood face to face with her, finishing up what he’d been saying while Jamie was inside the van. The only word Jamie caught sounded like “him,” the end of an angry question.

  She took sunglasses from her purse and put them on. “What’s the matter with you? I told him I take pictures. And maybe I took yours.”

  Zak stretched his calf muscles again and slapped them side to side, then began stretching his hamstrings, muttering under his breath.

  Letitia strolled over to the van. “If Zak doesn’t want that Diet Coke, I do.”

  On principle, Jamie didn’t want to give her Melody’s drink, though there were more in the cooler. Since he couldn’t think of a way to refuse, though, he handed her the soda. She sipped it and turned to Zak. “Go on. You can still catch up.”

  Zak accepted Jamie’s water bottle without thanking him, drank, and stretched again. “Not a chance. I’ve lost this one.” More runners passed, a slower and more relaxed group, talking, not even trying to win. Letitia leaned against the van. “Look, the leaders from the ten K
are coming.” She tugged on Jamie’s arm, jostling him as he tried to wave when Mae flew past. “Ooh, is that your girlfriend? The redhead? She’s fast, that one. She would have beat Zak even if he hadn’t quit.”

  Jamie eased his arm out of her grip. He wanted to snap at her for touching him like that, but she was a fan.

  Zak gave her a long hard look—a warning?—and took off slowly. The water station was a few yards past the church parking lot and that was as far he got, stopping to drink several of the tiny cups and stretch his calves yet again while other runners gulped water and tossed the empties onto the ground as they passed.

  Then, when Zak had finally begun to run again, Melody came jogging down the hill so slowly she was almost shuffling. Bernadette easily kept pace with her at a walk.

  Jamie threw himself into a cheerleader dance. His limbs felt shaky from too much coffee, but that was nothing compared to what Melody must be feeling. Jumping in his best version of flying splits, he chanted, “Mel-o-dee! Mel-o-dee!”

  She grinned and waved. Zak stopped and looked back. “What the hell? I don’t believe it.”

  He changed directions to join her. His wife’s smile vanished as she demanded, “What are you doing?”

  “Running with you. You idiot. I can’t believe you did this.”

  Bernadette let Zak take her place. Melody stopped for water and Zak handed her a cup. He stayed beside her as she moved on to the five K turnaround, and matched her speed as she began her laborious jog uphill. He nudged her with his elbow. She jabbed him back. He smacked her bottom and she grabbed his hand—and held it. Neither of them let go.

  “Never thought I’d see that,” Bernadette said.

  “Melody running?” Jamie’s words came out thin and broken. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His legs felt weak and sweat was gathering in the roots of his hair.

  “And Zak supporting her.”

  Letitia’s voice held a trace of amusement. “I think he’s covering up for his leg cramps.”

  Jamie wanted to defend Zak but he couldn’t talk. His heart was thundering in his ears. Air was getting trapped halfway to his chest. He fell to his knees. I’m fucking dying.

  *****

  Mae stood in the wellness center parking lot with the other runners who had finished, watching the empty street for the missing competitors. When Zak and Melody came into sight, she was stunned to see the couple arrive hand in hand and lent her voice to the cheer that greeted them. Had Jamie seen them? He would love this. Where was he? He should be on his way up for the awards and the parade.

  Orville Geronimo, standing on a low platform with a view of the finish line and the time clock, called out Melody’s number and her time with a little chuckle in his voice. Had it been anyone else, Mae would have found his laughter mean, but she had caught onto his humor, though she still had trouble with his accent, so thick his English sounded like Apache. “Good job, Melody Chino Fatty. That’s what this run is all about. Zak, my man, you’re a winner for running with her.”

  Melody was, as she’d predicted, last. Orville hadn’t even given Zak’s time, obviously considering him to have sacrificed his place in the ten K to support his wife. Zak had made himself look like a hero by coming with her, but Mae wondered if he really was one. He might have preferred to quit rather than lose and found an excuse in Melody.

  One of the Boys and Girls Club youths appeared beside Mae. “That was so cool. I wish my sister would run. She’s big like Zak’s wife, and this race is, like, a diabetes prevention awareness thing.”

  “Maybe she saw them. She might get inspired.”

  “Maybe.” He kicked a pebble. “She doesn’t have a husband like Zak, though. Her husband’s kind of an asshole.”

  And Zak isn’t? “She’s got a brother, though.”

  The boy looked up, bit his lip, and nodded.

  Zak and Melody approached the refreshment table. Melody high-fived with several people, laughed, grabbed an orange wedge, sucked it dry, and took another. Zak fist-bumped with the boy, exchanged a few words with him, and gave Mae a long look. Not flirting this time, and not happy.

  “Where’d you leave Bernadette?” she asked.

  “With Jamie.” Zak twisted the cap off a bottle of water and drank. “At the church. They should have been here by now, at the rate we came up that hill. They could have beaten us—even the way Baldy walks.” Zak imitated the little catch in Jamie’s stride.

  “Don’t be mean.” Melody wiped orange juice from her lips. “They wouldn’t steal my thunder. And you can stop trying. Jamie loves the parade. They’ll come up for that.”

  Mae asked Zak, “Was that photographer still with him?”

  Zak finished the water in a few slugs and left the bottle lying sideways on the table. Without an explanation, he took off, dodging through the crowd waiting for the winners to be called.

  “She was back there?” Melody picked up his bottle and crushed it, then pitched it into a trash bin. “I should have known that supportive husband shit was an act.”

  “If he’s trying to stop her from talking to Jamie, he actually did put you ahead by leaving her.” Melody rolled her eyes, and Mae conceded. “For a few minutes.” Like any of Zak’s better moments, it didn’t last.

  Orville Geronimo spoke through the loudspeaker. “All right. Listen up. The winners of this year’s Mescalero five and ten K runs are ...” He seemed to relish the word Mescalero, saying it slowly with a kind of flourish. “First place for the ten K event, as well as first place for women under twenty, Heidi Chee.”

  A round of applause greeted the girl who had beaten all the men. She walked up to a table near the finish line where a woman hung a medal on a red, white, and blue ribbon around the girl’s neck.

  “Second place for the event and first place for men fifty and up—”

  Orville announced Michael Pena’s award. Mae kept looking down the road for Jamie. When her name was called, she felt conspicuous as an outsider going up for a medal, even though she got a cheer from Bernadette’s relatives.

  Mae rejoined Melody, and a sudden urge overcame her. She took the ribbon off her neck and hung it around Melody’s. “I tried to talk you out of running, and I was wrong. You earned this.”

  Melody hugged her, whispering in her ear, “Damned right I did. My feet are killing me. My back is screaming. And I got blisters on my thighs all the way to my twat.”

  After the five K medals were given out, the runners took off their numbers and went out to the street with the spectators lining up along the parade route. While Melody visited the first aid station inside the wellness center, Mae borrowed her phone to call Jamie. “Hey, sugar. You on your way?”

  “Yeah.” Silence. “Be there in a minute. Mel all right?”

  “In a way. She’s hurting, but it was worth it to her. You sound funny.”

  A long pause. “Had a wobbly.” Then a bright, cheery tone. “No worries, though. Wasn’t a bad one. Catcha.”

  No worries? A “wobbly” meant a panic attack. It was a good thing that Melody had thought of that possibility and not let him watch the children. A good thing, too, that Bernadette had stopped with him. Mae trusted Jamie, but she still didn’t like to think of Letitia taking care of him.

  Melody emerged from the building with large adhesive bandages and a slick of antibiotic ointment on her inner thighs. As they walked to the parade route, the main road downhill through the center of the town, Mae had to slow down for Melody’s tiny waddling steps. The Apache woman sighed. “How do fat people ever exercise enough to lose weight?”

  “Bike. Swim. Lift weights. Just about anything’s easier than running when you’re heavy.” Melody had to be thinking about the chafing, not just the effort or sore muscles. “Lycra pants help, too.”

  “I’ll never hear the end of it if I get Lycra pants. They keep you from jiggling, though? Like a sports bra for your ass?”

  Mae laughed, though she wasn’t sure if Melody was joking or serious. “I don’t know.
I never thought about it.”

  “It’d serve Zak right. Have my big ass running around in some shiny tights. He’d be so embarrassed.”

  “Are you sure? He did finish the race with you. You don’t think he’d be happy?”

  “If I got in shape, yeah. But not until then.” She stopped, pulling the legs of her shorts back down from where they’d ridden up between her thighs. “No. Even then, he wouldn’t be happy. If I looked good, he’d just go back to being jealous.”

  Zak could have some insecurity under his arrogant surface, something that drove him to play the hero. And although Jamie had said Zak was over some old high school drama, he’d acted jealous when he’d refused to let Melody visit Will. “Did he used to get jealous of Will?”

  “Hugely.” They resumed walking. “Partly ’cause Will’s dad has that nice big ranch and Zak’s family has nothing. Partly on account of me. He puts up with Will now for Tana’s sake, but he still likes to one-up him. Calls being a rodeo rider useless.”

  Jamie had called him useless, too. “I guess compared to being an EMT and a firefighter it is.”

  “And compared to being Michael Pena, it all is.”

  “Zak’s jealous of Michael, too?”

  “Big time. He used to want to be him. The way Jamie wanted to be an opera singer.”

  The career detour had upset Jamie deeply for a while. He was happy with his musical path now, but he hadn’t always been. Zak might have struggled also, adjusting to his alternative to military service. Service which had not ended well, though Zak seemed suited to the army. He’d been competent and focused when Will got trampled, and genuinely caring with the teenaged runners, a positive authority figure. “I bet Zak would have made a good soldier. A good officer.”

  Melody fell silent, her face as closed as it had been when Mae first met her. Sore spot. A bad one.

  When they reached the corner, Elaine and Pearl and most of the Pena, Fatty, and Tsilnothos families were already there, with lawn chairs for watching the parade in comfort. Pearl’s husband got up and offered Melody his seat. She sank into it with a groan and thanked him. He tugged on the medal. “First place, huh? I musta been watching it backwards.”