“It’s your family, Hank. You don’t have to wait around for me.”
He took hold of her ringless hands and studied them. “Yes, I do. You and the baby are my family. My first priority.”
“All I meant was, I think I can manage to nurse a baby. Corrine and Oscar are close by. And now that Kit’s here she can help me out. It’s Christmas break, the perfect time. You wouldn’t even have to miss any work. Book a flight. You’d hate yourself if you waited and then—”
Kit came scowling back into the room, Junior Whitebear at her side. The Indian who’d delivered the baby held a black cowboy hat in his hands. He was wearing that fancy beaded leather jacket lined with fleece, the one Chloe had used as a pillow. Kit cocked a thumb at him and said, “I found this guy looking through the glass at our baby. Either he’s one hell of a baby-furniture salesman or he’s telling the truth. Somebody set me straight so I can start being nice to him or kick his ass.”
“I’d cast my vote for being nice.” Hank stood up and shook Junior’s hand. “I never got a chance to thank you.”
Junior nodded to him. “Just glad I was able to help, man. You got some tough women in your corner, Hank. Didn’t think Red here was going to let me live.” He looked over at Chloe and smiled. “So. How’s Mama doing?”
“Mama’s hanging in there.” His smile was one of those Sugar-I-know-where-you-live grins, the kind Chloe tried her damnedest to avoid. It traveled all the way down to where his hand had been and lodged there, taking its sweet time poking around. Chloe pulled at the flimsy hospital gown, her swollen breasts straining against the fabric. Imagine, that same hand shaking Hank’s had been inside her, had delivered the baby. She felt hot and shaky and wondered if she was developing some postpartum fever. She pulled the covers up to her neck.
“Had to come make sure the wee one was doing okay,” Junior said. “Damn pretty baby. That black hair is something. Wonder where she comes by it.”
Hank said, “She takes after her mother, who is long on mystery.”
“Enit?” Junior said.
Kit gave him a puzzled look. “In what?”
“Enit,” Hank translated. “That’s Indian for agreeing with somebody. It’s similar to saying ‘Oh yeah, sure, you betcha.’ However, in this case, it’s intended as a question.”
“Well, pardon me,” Kit said. “I only got here a few hours ago.”
Junior was impressed. “You don’t miss much for a California transplant, Hank.”
“It’s the kids in my class at Ganado. Some days I wonder who’s teaching who.”
“My boy Walter thinks highly of you.”
“Dog Johnson’s your son?”
Junior set his hat down on top of Kit’s parka in the bedside chair no one had claimed. He smiled broadly, and Chloe thought, Now, there’s a set of lips that could make a whole county of women turn permanently stupid.
“Yeah, he is.”
“Dog’s a great kid. Sure loves to draw.”
Kit said, “Pardon me, but who in their right mind would name a kid Dog?”
Junior looked at Kit and smiled. “I agree. It’s a long story, and Corrine tells it with enthusiasm, so be sure and ask her yourself. Now Hank, being surrounded by a tribe of wild women here, you probably understand exactly where I’m coming from on that score. This fetching redhead speaking her mind here seems like she takes after the mother, too. Any relation?”
Kit blushed, her freckles disappearing under the rush of blood to her cheeks. “Chloe and me are kind of like sisters.”
“Is that so?”
Chloe said, “Yeah. It appears we have the exact same lack of manners.”
“Hey, you won’t hear me minding when people are honest,” Junior said. “World could do with more of it, that’s for sure.”
“Enit,” Kit said, and the Indian man broke out laughing.
Junior Whitebear laughed from deep in his gut, the same way Fats Valentine used to, Chloe noticed. If laughter had a texture and a color, Junior’s was the silvery old wood good barns were built of, solid lumber slapped at by wind, but standing up proud in the elements.
He slid his hand into his jacket pocket. A glint of bracelets peeked out from his right sleeve. Chloe wished she had the nerve to call him to her bedside, push that sleeve up, and study his jewelry, see how it compared to the rattle she’d splurged on and secreted away. Now that they’d talked about the baby, everyone stood awkward and quiet. Hank looked at Junior in a way that made Chloe remember the time he had taken a swing at Gabe Hubbard and in the process, earned himself a shiner.
Junior said, “You’ve got yourselves one skinny little reed of a baby. My recommendation is to wean her directly onto frybread. That’ll put some weight to her.”
While Hank laughed politely, Chloe felt recognition strike her like lightning, travel inside her as deeply as the place where her womb had been cut away. “Reed,” she said. “Hank, don’t you think that’s the perfect name for her?”
“I always thought it was a boy’s name.”
“Oh, nobody goes by that old standard anymore,” Kit said. “In my history class there’s one girl named Michael and two named Taylor. And in case you never noticed, Kit swings both ways, as in Kit Carson, King of the Pathfinders, Comanche killer. Whoops. Junior, I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just the crap they teach us in school. Are you mad?”
“No offense taken, Kit. Think of that stuff as academic comic-book adventures. Your education doesn’t end with school.” He retrieved a small silver cup from his deep jacket pocket and held it in his dark-skinned palm. His hand was so wide that the cup, resting there, resembled a jumbo thimble, something that might fit a giant’s thumb. The silver was hammered all over in minuscule indentations, the curved handle inlaid with stripes of turquoise, spiny oyster shell, and chevrons of blood-red coral. “Reed’s first present,” he said, tipping it into Chloe’s hands. “If that’s what you decide to call her.” Briefly, they touched, his skin so warm and familiar she felt slightly alarmed.
Chloe said, “Reed is exactly what I want to call her. And this is beautiful. Thanks.”
“Let me see it.” Kit held out her hand, and Chloe reluctantly let the cup go. “Did you make this? Oh my God, it’s bitchen.”
Junior grinned. “Glad you approve. I’ll be keeping Sally exercised now that I’m back in town, but when you’re well enough, maybe we can talk about you riding her. Kit, you enjoy northern Arizona. Let me know when you want the nontourist’s tour. Us savages know secret places guidebooks don’t.” He winked. “I better move it along. Got to see a man about a horse.”
Junior picked up his hat and set it on his inky hair. He turned to walk away, and it seemed as if every person in the ward forgot about babies long enough to watch him go. He reached the door, and Chloe burst out laughing. Kit stared openmouthed. “Oh, my God, Chloe. He looks like that actor in Thunderheart. Remember the fox cop who was always outsmarting Val Kilmer? How’d you meet him?”
Chloe stifled her laughter. “Total accident. He surprised me in the school barn and yanked out my baby.”
“Still. I mean…and the cup…” Kit had that look on her face, turning wistful over something she had yet to experience but could no longer live without. Gaga.
At this rate, Chloe thought, she’d forget about the hamburgers altogether. “Listen, isn’t anybody besides me hungry?”
Hank was fairly bristling. “I’d like to know what’s so damn funny about that guy needing to take a leak.”
Chloe placed her hands over her belly so it wouldn’t hurt while she laughed. “Nothing. It’s not funny at all.” She laughed again.
“Wait,” Kit said, shaking her red hair, curls flying. “I feel like I missed All My Children for a month. Somebody start at the beginning, and tell me what’s gone on since I left.” She pulled a chair away from Rhonda’s bedside, where the girl-mother was now doing her makeup, thickly caking mascara onto her lashes. “I ask you,” Kit whispered. “When’s the last time anyone
in America voluntarily used blue eyeliner?” She retrieved the hamburgers she’d bought on the way to the hospital, handing one to Hank, one to Chloe, saving the McLean Deluxe for herself. “Way major tacky. We’re talking way.”
I’m beginning to feel like a mother now, Chloe thought. Like a good girl, my youngest is sleeping, while my troublesome middle child’s busy issuing fashion tickets. My oldest is looking for the quickest way to rumble with an Indian jeweler who’s—poor guy—only off trying to find somewhere he can water his snake.
“Three days at most,” Hank insisted. “I’ll be back before New Year’s. We’ll bring Reed home and celebrate.”
Chloe didn’t let on, but she had her doubts. She’d strived to be a star patient, doing everything the nurses told her in order to get released sooner, and she acted her bravest around Hank. Deep down, though, she had the feeling Iris was getting ready to check out. How long something like that could take was anybody’s guess. Hank was Iris’s only living child. He needed to be there. Chloe could be generous, even if Iris didn’t think her capable. They had the rest of their lives to be with Reed. Corrine and Oscar would take turns driving her to the medical center. A few days, even a week, however long it took wouldn’t hurt anything.
In the Flagstaff airport, Oscar Johnson stood by the rock fireplace while Chloe kissed Hank good-bye. A pine fire was crackling in the grate, and enough snow had piled up outside that it sure enough looked like a traditional Christmas Eve. Kit was relating the endless plot of some movie she’d seen, and good-hearted Oscar was nodding every now and then, acting interested. Hank backed away from her toward his plane, nearly bumping into the exit door. Then he waved one last time, the expression on his face so uncertain that Chloe felt like someone had ripped another major organ from within her, just leaving her there bleeding all over the terminal.
Oscar gently took hold of her arm. “We need to get going. Them roads look nasty, and you got to rest.”
Chloe nodded blindly. She wanted to stay and watch the plane take off, make sure it got and stayed airborne until it was out of her sight and in the hands of the pilot. She understood the basic principles of aerodynamics but doubted them. How else was she supposed to feel, since she’d never been on a plane? Kit opened doors for her and helped her into the Honda. Oscar’s Blazer was too tall for her to climb into, so he’d left it at the cabin and was driving Hank’s Honda. They pulled into the stream of traffic. Downtown Flagstaff glittered like one massive advertisement for the holidays. Christmas lights and neon motel signs cheerfully offered lodging. Last-minute shoppers rushed red-faced from the cold, hurrying from one store to another, lugging packages.
“Thought maybe we’d grab some takeout for the drive home, you know?” Oscar said. “What are you craving, Chloe? Mexican? Hippie vegetable-arian? Or should we swing by the medical center for some more of that real tasty hospital chow?”
Kit laughed. “Vegetarian, ha. Order her a burger that’s still mooing and extra large fries soaked in beef tallow. Me, I get to be on a diet for the rest of my life. Chloe never gets fat unless she’s pregnant.”
“I have been there and I have done that, thank you very much.” Chloe leaned her chin into her palm and looked out the car window. The Pony Soldier motel offered steam heat and free cable TV. She wished she had the kind of bucks to park there and take cabs to the hospital. She didn’t like the idea of being so far from Reed that it took an hour of someone else’s driving to get to her any more than she relished pumping her breast milk into bottles. “Whatever you guys want is fine with me, so long as it’s nothing green.”
“Not even a pickle?” Oscar asked.
“Nope. Not even.”
Oscar made a left, pulled to the curb, and left the motor running outside Martan’s Mexican Food. Chloe shut her eyes and listened to Kit hum along with the radio until Oscar returned with loaf-size burritos.
“There’s the bar Hannah loves to run off to,” Chloe pointed out as they began to leave Flagstaff behind. “The Silver Saddle Saloon. For a while there, she was getting to be a regular. I hope she’s behaving herself and staying home. Since we hooked up, I’ve never missed Christmas with Hannah.”
“Hannah’s a smart dog. She’ll hang by the woodstove until spring,” Oscar promised. “Then maybe you can get her one of them tracking collars like they put on the wolves over to Yellowstone.”
“I remember this one Christmas with Willie, that’s my mom, Oscar,” Kit piped up. “We were living on the commune in Big Sur. In tipis, no less. It rained all the time, and instead of presents and turkey, everyone was fasting and chanting all this rama-lama bullshit I never understood. There was about ten of us kids altogether, and we kind of wandered around feeling useless and hungry. Then all these people showed up with Taco Bell food and bang, total pig fest. So it’s understandable that I have an issue with food. Anyway, that’s what Lita calls it, ‘your issue with food.’”
Oscar laughed. “Then I got me an issue, too. A good meal’s about as close to religion as you can get.”
Kit folded the foil around her burrito and stuck it back in the bag. “Totally, Oscar. I just wish worshipping at the altar didn’t make me fat.”
Chloe studied the snow-dusted pine trees and closed-up bait shops, this stretch of highway always feeling so lonely. About the time they reached Cameron, Hank’s plane would land safely on the ground in Orange County. He’d shed a few layers of clothing, rent a car, drive to see his parents, go to bed in their house, and wake up in the morning without her. Here it was, their first Christmas as parents, and they had neither each other nor a baby to celebrate it with. Well, she could do worse than spend holidays with good friends. Hank would call. Kit was here and she’d see Reed tomorrow. Friends had gotten her through the bulk of her life. She nodded off, so exhausted that she didn’t wake until the car hit that one rut in their road that not even a deep pocket of snow could smooth out.
Oscar checked the woodpile and gave Kit a lecture about keeping the stove burning properly. Chloe reunited with Hannah on the couch. Her dog planted her front paws on the cushions, sniffing her mistress all over, trying to decide what the hospital smells meant. “Relax, girl,” Chloe soothed. “I’m fine. Hank’s not here. You can come sit up on the couch beside me.” But Hannah had never been much for on-the-furniture unless it was a bed. She turned a circle on the floor, then settled herself within reach of Chloe’s hands.
“So, Kit,” Oscar said as he was putting his jacket back on. “You know how to drive a car, yeah?”
“Nope, not yet.”
He jingled the Honda keys. “Driving in the snow’s a skill you can always use.”
“Oscar,” Chloe warned. “She’s fourteen years old. They don’t even let you get a learner’s permit until you’re fifteen and a half.”
“That so? Man, you Californians come up with some dumb rules. I was driving good by the time I was twelve.”
“I’ll be fifteen pretty soon.”
Oscar zipped his jacket. “Never know, you might need her to drive in case of emergency.”
Kit straightened up, trying to paste a logical face over sheer excitement. “That’s a really good point, Chloe.”
“I thought that was what we had Oscar and Corrine for. To drive until Hank gets back or the doctor gives me clearance.”
“It is, it is! But what if a storm downed the phone lines or—”
“All right already,” Chloe said. “Just don’t you get any wild hairs that a few lessons in Hooterville entitle you to drive back home. And don’t tell your dad.”
“Like I would.” Kit gave Oscar a kiss on the cheek that made him grin. “Can we go right now?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I can’t believe how cool you are. Are all Indians this cool?”
“Nah, it’s my personal burden. Well, better go see to the horse and get on home. Merry Keshmish, ladies.” Oscar let himself out.
Kit sat on the floor stringing popcorn, eating as much as she was threading. “Why i
s it I can supposedly eat as much of this stuff as I want, according to my diet, but without butter it tastes like crap?”
Chloe lay on the couch under an afghan, wide awake from her nap in the car. “You could try that fake butter. I’ve seen it in the store.”
“Gross. I’d rather starve. You want the other half of your burrito?”
“Tomorrow, maybe.”
“How about a Coke or something?”
Kit was acting so nervous Chloe figured she’d better give her a task. “I don’t think we have any. Know what I’d really like?”
Kit strung three more kernels and grinned wickedly. “Junior Whitebear in a loincloth?”
“No, horn brain, I’d like a cup of tea. Not that green crap of Hank’s, regular old tea steeped long enough it’ll stain my teeth. Would you mind making me a cup?”
Kit got up and began filling the kettle with water. She craned her head around the stove to talk. “I love this cabin, Chloe. It reminds me of your old place in Hughville, you know, like if it grew up.”
Chloe tried to picture the small room through Kit’s eyes—the romance of a one-bedroom cabin went a long way when you weren’t overdue on the bills, trying to stay warm, and about to move a baby in. “Yep, it grew a bathroom and running water. On which I find myself becoming completely dependent. Can’t hardly imagine going back to the other way.”
“But this is the coolest room of all, don’t you think? Ever since I got here I’ve been sleeping in front of the stove in my sleeping bag. With the wind roaring outside, me all snuggled in, it’s just way romantic, don’t you think?”
“Way. Keeping warm is definitely romantic. And Reed will certainly appreciate it.”
“Reed. That is the greatest name.” The kettle began to steam, and Kit turned off the burner. “It’s funny that she doesn’t look like Hank.”
“She looks like a tiny little monkey who got born way too early.”
“Who’s getting bigger every day,” Kit protested. “The nurses all say so.”
Chloe cupped her swollen breasts. “I wish I was nursing her for every feeding.”
Loving Chloe Page 14
