"I was so angry on his behalf, Johnny. He was my father, and there wasn't a horse alive he couldn't tame. And those people were – "
She gave a quiet sigh.
"So I ran to him and I told him what they'd said – about his being ignorant and undependable, and that he stank. He didn't say anything. I expected him to be angry, too. But he wasn't, not at them. He was angry at me, and when I wouldn't let it be, he hit me – the first and only time he'd ever done that. I didn't quite grasp the true reality of poverty then – that sometimes you have to give up your dignity just to survive. All I knew was that I didn't want to be Navajo anymore. I wanted to have the patio and the pools and the flowers – like them. I wasn't going to learn to weave or herd sheep or any of that. One way or another, I was going to school. I was going to be something big – something that would make people like them have to ask me for help. And believe me, I wouldn't work for nothing – “
She abruptly sat up. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to make you listen to me whine about my childhood traumas. It isn't part of our bargain. It's just – you asked me why I left, and I've been thinking about it."
He reached out to her, but she moved farther away. "You can talk to me, Lillian. Whenever you want."
She smiled then and caught his hand. "No, I think it's better if we just keep it simple."
The phone rang, and she got up from the bed and grabbed a robe.
"I'll take it in the kitchen. I need to do some work anyway. Sleep if you want to – " she called over her shoulder as she hurried out, pulling the door closed behind her.
He lay there in her bed, thinking about the little girl Lillian, hurt and embarrassed on behalf of her father and wanting him to stand up to those people. No, she hadn't understood the reality of being poor, of being a second-class citizen then. She did now, of course, but what she didn't say was how much it still hurt. He knew about that, because he, too, had had a "moment of truth" like hers, as had all of the People, if they had any dealings with the white world. And if he remembered correctly, Lillian's father had died without ever knowing that she had become a successful lawyer and that white people came to her for help.
Keep it simple, he thought. How am I going to do that, Lillian?
She was a strong, smart, educated woman. Given recent events, she should know that they didn't stand a chance of maintaining the uncomplicated relationship she envisioned. Even before they had become lovers, they both worried about each other. How "simple" was that?
He sighed heavily. And even now, without knowing what she needed – without knowing if she needed anything – he wanted to make things better for her. He wanted to comfort her. Metaphorically speaking, Johnny Becenti wanted desperately to look after Lillian Singer's sheep. And what a joke that was – on them both. He was in a situation most men only dreamed about – great sex with no strings attached, no commitment, no complications. But it was becoming increasingly clear to him that the lack of emotional involvement was going to be difficult at best. Yes, he wanted to make love with her – all the time. But he also wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know about her childhood. He wanted to know what she was feeling and thinking. He had been married for a long time. He didn't know how to behave as if he weren't.
He must have dozed. When he opened his eyes, Lillian was dressed and seated on the side of the bed.
"Johnny, I have to go out for a little while," she said.
"Why?" he asked, whether he had the right to or not. He reached for her, and she lay across his chest for a moment.
"Oh...a problem with a client," she said, sitting up again. "It shouldn't take long. My house is your house, okay? If it's not too late when I get back, I'll take you to this little restaurant I know. They have the best chili rellenos you've ever eaten."
He caught her hand when she was about to get up. "Are you okay?" he asked because she seemed...upset.
"I'm fine," she said. And she smiled and kissed him to show him how fine she was. "Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone."
"You mean don't go outside naked?"
She laughed. "That, too. People will talk. They already are, aren't they? On the rez?"
"No, I don't think so. I don't think Toomey felt the need to release any news bulletins."
"Yet," she said, kissing him again. "I've got to go. Try to miss me a little."
"That'll be the day," he said to tease her, and she looked back over her shoulder to grin. He wondered if she had any idea – any idea at all – how much he didn't have to try.
Lillian kept looking from the road to the dashboard clock. It was nearly midnight and it was going to rain. She was in a hurry to get home. She should have told Becenti that she was going to see Stuart, that she had no choice but to go, and she hadn't. She wasn't quite sure why. She hadn't lied, exactly – it was true that she was having a problem with a client – but she hadn't been forthcoming, either. In keeping with their arrangement, she should have just said and left Becenti to understand or not, as he so chose. If she had, she wouldn't be feeling quite so devious and guilty now. She hated it, because it wasn't in her nature to be either, and she'd already decided that when she got home, she would tell Becenti exactly where she'd been and what she'd been doing.
The lengthy session with Stuart had left her exhausted. He was so ill from his most recent chemotherapy, and he was unreasonable and demanding. It had taken every bit of self-control she had not to walk out. For the first time, she thought that perhaps he was right not to put J.B. through this.
She abruptly rolled down the window because the aroma of the take-out order she had sitting on the front seat suddenly seemed overpowering. As she turned into the long drive to her house, she could see that the lights were still on – but the Navajo Tribal Police vehicle was gone. There was another car parked in the driveway – something small and new and black.
She had no idea who it could be – unless Gracie had had another family crisis, and someone was transporting Fred to his favorite cat motel. And she had no idea where Johnny could have gone, short of another summons via the ever-faithful Toomey.
No. He'd probably gone to get something to eat, she abruptly decided. Her cupboard and refrigerator were essentially bare, and she was late getting back. He couldn't live on the mere promise of chili rellenos forever.
But she was still puzzled about the other car, and she paused to look at it more closely on her way to the front door. She still didn't recognize it, and she didn't see anyone about. Which must mean that whoever it was was inside.
She was too tired to worry about that, but she did let herself in quietly. She didn't hear anything. She stood listening intently, the front door standing wide-open behind her in case she needed to retreat in a hurry. She made no attempt to call out the way the unsuspecting woman-in-peril always did on television and in the movies. She'd always considered that particular response the absolute height of stupidity. If there was anyone here, she intended to know their whereabouts before they knew hers.
She kept listening, and she finally heard a faint noise. It came from the kitchen and it sounded like someone... sniffing. She set her briefcase and the box of chili rellenos down and walked silently forward until she could see through the windows in the separating wall.
She abruptly stopped. J.B. Greenleigh sat at the kitchen table, dabbing her eyes with one of Lillian's yellow tissues.
Lillian moved quickly through the house to confront her. "How did you get in here?" she demanded.
J.B. jumped violently, apparently too immersed in her own misery to have heard Lillian open the front door. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. All in all, she looked terrible.
"How did you get in here?" Lillian said again.
"I took the key Stuart had," J.B. said, her voice and her face sullen.
But Lillian was not the intruder here. "Stuart gave me that key back."
"I had a copy made and I didn't tell him, all right!"
"No, it's not all right! What are you doing here?"<
br />
"I'm not running from you anymore, that's for sure."
"Well, you can go do it someplace else. And while you're at it – "
"I told him," J.B. interrupted. "I told him."
"Told who? What are you talking about?"
"Captain Becenti didn't know about you and Stuart. He was really surprised – just like I was. Up until now, I've only heard about women like you – women who would go from one man's bed to another – in the same night."
"J.B.," Lillian said with a patience she didn't begin to feel. "Stuart Dennison is my client – "
"Client? Oh, please. He may be your 'client,' but it's got nothing to do with your legal services – "
"That's enough!" Lillian said. "What did you tell Becenti?"
"I told him the same thing Stuart told me. I told him the two of you were back together. I told him I saw you go into Stuart's house tonight. And I told him he was an even bigger fool than I was – "
"Are you out of your mind! Pay attention, J.B. Stuart is my – "
The room suddenly tilted, and Lillian reached out blindly to catch the edge of the kitchen counter. Her peripheral vision disappeared and she was dimly aware of a shriek as she pitched forward into the darkness that used to be a Spanish-tile floor.
Chapter Ten
Who are you?"
"I'm a doctor," he said.
"You aren't paying attention," Lillian said. "The question was who, 'not what.'"
He laughed. "I think you've returned to the living, Ms. Singer. I need you to lie still for a little while longer – "
"How did I get in here?" she asked, because she was lying on the living-room couch and she didn't remember making the trip. The last thing she remembered was...
She didn't really remember a last thing, and she abruptly tried to sit up.
"Wait, wait, wait – I'm not done with your head," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders to make her lie back down again. "You hit the floor pretty hard. You've got a nice goose egg on your forehead, and a small laceration. I'm going to close that with a butterfly, okay? When was your last tetanus shot?"
"Last year – before I went on vacation to Mexico," she said, encouraged by the fact that she could remember something, at least. "Who are you?" she asked again.
"Junie Blair's first cousin," he said. "She thought she was going to have to bury your body in the flower bed, so she called me."
"Junie Blair?"
"She prefers to be called J.B."
"I don't blame her – Ow!" she said, because of the pressure he used to make the "butterfly" adhesive stick.
"Sorry."
"Does Junie Blair's first cousin have a name?" she asked.
"Why? Do you want to sue me?"
"Oh, great. The first cousin does lawyer jokes."
"It helps in my line of work, believe me. Any idea why you fainted?"
"Fainted?" Lillian said.
"According to J.B., you toppled like you'd been hit on the head with an anvil."
"I can't – I don't remember fainting."
"Ever fainted before?"
"Never," she said. She did know that with certainty.
"Any chance you could be pregnant?"
“Pregnant!”
"Pregnancy can be a major cause of first-time fainting," he said. "And Junie seems to think you and Stuart Dennison – "
"Junie is gravely mistaken."
"When was your last period?"
"None of your business."
"And how do you feel now?"
"Like I'm going to throw up – but that's because of the chili rellenos."
"Try to aim for the floor and not me, okay?" he said, unimpressed.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," she murmured, reaching up to gingerly touch the bandage he'd just put on her forehead.
"Well, these things happen," he said, "particularly in highly charged emotional situations."
"What?" Lillian said vaguely.
He didn't explain his remark. "How long since you've eaten?"
"I don't know."
"What about the chili things?"
"I didn't eat those – I was riding in the car with them. They're over there in that box," she added because of his skeptical look. "I guess the last time I ate was lunchtime. No, not lunchtime. I went to buy a baby gift during the lunch recess. Court was ready to convene when I got back."
"Well, okay, then. If you're sure it can't be pregnancy, going that long without food and having an argument with Junie Blair sounds like it could be faint-inducing to me."
"I wasn't arguing with Junie Blair. I was trying to find out – " She didn't quite remember what she'd been trying to find out.
"Whatever," he said. "The point is, you need to see your own doctor and get checked out on Monday – sooner if you have any problems – headache, changes in your vision, mental confusion, vomiting. As for right now, is there anyone who could stay with you tonight?"
"No," she said. That she remembered, too. Becenti wasn't here now – thanks to J.B. And that was what she'd been trying to find out. What J. B. Greenleigh had said to Johnny Becenti.
"Then I'm going to admit you to the hospital overnight for observation."
"No. I don't need a hospital."
"You're not the doctor here, Ms. Singer. You are the hotshot lawyer – which is why I'm not about to go off and leave you unattended. I've never had a malpractice suit and I don't intend to start with somebody like you."
"You think trying to admit me to a hospital against my will won't get you sued?"
"I think the obvious knot on your head, and the laceration, and the escalating mental wobbling I'm now witnessing will get me off – particularly since I have a someone here to verify it."
"Look. I don't want to go to a hospital. And I don't have anyone to stay with me. My family is in Arizona."
"No friends?"
"What? You think lawyers have friends?"
"I'll stay with her," J.B. said from somewhere in the room.
"No, you won't," Lillian said, trying to sit up again. A wave of dizziness made her immediately lie back down again.
"It's me or the hospital," J.B. said. "You don't have much of a choice."
"I don't want – " Lillian began.
"Please!" J.B. said. "I shouldn't have come here the way I did. It's my fault you got hurt. I want to stay. I owe you that."
"Excuse me," the doctor said to Lillian. "I'm going to take Junie into the kitchen, and we're going to talk about you. I'll be right back."
"I'd prefer to listen," Lillian said.
"I'm sure you would," he acknowledged, but he left the room with "Junie" anyway.
Lillian sighed heavily. She knew that the question about the possibility of her being pregnant was just part of a routine screening checklist for females of a certain age who abruptly lost consciousness. His asking didn't mean that he thought it likely. It was on the list and he had to ask, and that was all there was to it.
Or he was trying to find out about her and Stuart because he was J.B.'s cousin.
Oh, great, she thought. She wondered if rampant paranoia was a side effect of fainting. The man may be a Greenleigh relative, but he was also a doctor, one highly concerned about being sued.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember when her last period had been. Today was the twelfth. She'd had a period the first of the month – the previous month.
I couldn 't be pregnant, she thought. Not at my age – and even if I could – I used birth control It's ridiculous. I've been under a lot of stress.
But stress wasn't the only thing she'd been under, and her periods were hardly ever late. She knew immediately that there was only one thing of which she could be certain. If she were pregnant, she couldn't be pregnant by Stuart Dennison.
And where was Becenti, anyway? It wasn't like him to just leave for no reason. At least, she considered it no reason. Perhaps he thought J.B.'s mistaken announcement of Lillian's return to Stuart Dennison's bed signified the truth –
in which case he should still be here. She and Johnny Becenti didn't have that kind of relationship. "No strings" meant no jealousy and no recriminations. They had more or less agreed that there was no place for it. He shouldn't care if whatever J.B. had told him was true.
But he would – because he was Johnny Becenti and he'd promised not to intrude.
She raised her head to see if there were any folded pieces of paper lying around, anything propped against the ringmaster bank.
The only thing she found was that moving around made her head hurt worse. And she still had that queasiness that had begun when she was in the car. Most of all, she felt like crying, a really self-indulgent episode, sitting at the kitchen table with a whole box of yellow tissues like J. B. Greenleigh.
What is wrong with me? she thought. It wasn't in her nature to whine, either – to anyone else or to herself. But she was remembering things better, she suddenly realized.
She remembered that J.B. had been in her kitchen when she got home; that was something, at least.
She closed her eyes, and then immediately opened them because J.B. had returned.
"Lillian," she said. She took a deep breath as if she needed it to shore up her courage. She was so young.
"I understand that you don't want me here," she said. "I...don't blame you. But you see, I love Stuart with all my heart, and if anything happened to you, especially if it was my fault – well, he'd never forgive me. I couldn't stand that. I'm not going to leave you by yourself. I won't stay in the house – I'll stay in the car. My cousin told me what to do and I'm going to check on you every hour or so. I mean, you can't lock me out – I've got a key." She gave a bit of a smile. "So that's how it is," she concluded, trying to sound firm.
Lillian looked at her. She was beginning to see what Stuart must have seen in this young woman – a certain intrinsic kindness and a complete lack of guile.
"Oh, for God's sake," Lillian said, giving a sharp sigh. "Stay. And you don't have to wait in the car. I'm not that crass. And stop looking at me like you think I'm going to bite you."
"Oh, I'm not afraid you'll bite – I'm afraid you'll faint again."
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