Darleen changed the subject. “I found some forms for signing up for the IAIA at the library, and I printed them. Can you, like, help me if I have questions and stuff? I want to get the forms to Santa Fe as soon as I can.”
Bernie glanced at the TV. A commercial with cats. “I think we should wait until we know for sure that you won’t have any more repercussions from getting arrested. The IAIA might not be the right place, and this might not be the right time.”
“Don’t be negative. On the website, they said students could submit a portfolio to be considered. What’s that?”
“They mean a collection of your art—drawings, paintings, photographs, sculpture, poetry, whatever.”
Darleen looked puzzled. “Seriously? How does that work?”
Bernie felt sorry for her. “Make a list of questions, like the ones you’re asking me. Call somebody there and ask them. I really don’t know everything. I leave that to Mama.”
The walker squeaked in the hall. “What do you leave to me?”
“Bernie was telling me what to do.” Darleen got up off the couch. “I’m gonna work on some drawings.”
Mama said, “Draw some horses, OK?”
“I’ll do one for you.”
Bernie heard the door to Darleen’s bedroom close.
Mama sat carefully on the couch. “We will need a plan for Darleen to go away from here. I can take my old rug to the Toadlena Trading Post. The one with the double-diamond design. See if that man will buy it.”
Bernie remembered the rug from her childhood. She’d sat next to Mama as the rug grew, day by day, inch by inch. Out of necessity, Mama had sold every other rug she made, but she’d held on to this one, and Bernie couldn’t imagine Mama’s house without it.
Bernie had financed her education with scholarships and a part-time job. “Sister might be able to get some grants to pay for school, maybe even a loan. If she went to school around here, she could live with you. That would be less expensive. I will check on that.”
Mama listened without responding. At least, Bernie thought, she didn’t argue. Maybe the notion of selling the rug was just a way to spur Bernie into action.
Bernie helped Mama get ready for bed, turned off the TV, and loaded the stew in her cooler. She knocked on Darleen’s door. “I’m going home.”
“Drive safe. Watch out for those dogs.”
“Why don’t you do your drawings in the kitchen sometime? Keep Mama company.”
“I can’t focus with the television blaring. Why don’t you—” Darleen cut the comment short, but Bernie heard the criticism. “See you later.”
On the way to Shiprock, Bernie stopped at the convenience store for a Coke. The clerk, who Bernie usually thought of as cranky, was smiling. “Looks like you’re having a good night,” she said.
“Just when you think you’ve heard everything. A tourist guy came in here. You know what he wanted?”
“Directions?”
“Well, yeah. He was looking for a house out by Ship Rock. But he wanted something else, too.”
“What?”
“Organic dog snacks.”
“What is that?”
“That’s what I asked. He looked at me like I was as dumb as a board. Then he said we need to make sure dogs eat the same high-quality food as people and, oh man, he went on and on.”
Bernie waited for the punch line.
“I handed him a package of jerky, that new, expensive stuff that says organic on the front and is made from buffalos. I told him that was what we used around here. He looked at it and bought four, no questions asked. For his dog!”
“Crazy, is it?”
“Amazing.”
As she headed for home, Bernie sipped her drink and thought some more about Cordova. She was eager to get the results of the tests on the dirt. Would the lab be able to find ancient pollen? Maybe the dark specks were scraps of charcoal from an archaeology site. Maybe Miller was a would-be grave robber. She was glad Largo had authorized the soil analysis, but if he hadn’t, she would have done it anyway on her own, just to scratch the itch.
She thought about Chee, pictured him happily working with the fancy movie people, too busy to call her. Then she remembered that she hadn’t called Louisa back. She’d stop by there tomorrow and talk to the Lieutenant about all this. Without Chee around, the days seemed longer. The distraction of a visit to Louisa and her mentor would do her good.
She made the call when she got home and Louisa picked up right away. “I told Joe you were coming, and he nodded. I know he’d like to see you, too,” Louisa said.
“I’ve neglected you guys.”
“I thought you were going on vacation. Monument Valley, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right.” Bernie explained about Mama needing extra help, without going into detail. And about Chee’s temporary assignment.
“Can you stay for lunch tomorrow? Company would be nice.”
Bernie heard the loneliness in Louisa’s voice and realized that she was lonely, too.
“If you need to do errands or something, I’m happy to sit with the Lieutenant. I want to get his opinion on a situation at work.”
She heard Louisa fumble for words. “You know, I haven’t been out of the house except to take Joe to therapy or to make a quick trip to the grocery while he waits in the car. I might take you up on that offer. We’ll see. Drive safely.”
When Bernie hung up, she put Mama’s stew in the refrigerator and wrote herself a note to take it with her in the morning. Then she found one of Chee’s T-shirts to use as a nightgown and went to bed, listening to the rush of the San Juan River in the darkness until she fell asleep.
Louisa hugged Bernie at the door, invited her to sit on the couch next to the Lieutenant, and brought three cups of herbal tea. Bernie would have preferred coffee, especially in the morning. She took a sip out of politeness and noticed that the Lieutenant’s remained untouched.
“Thanks for the stew and that little cactus,” Louisa said. “What kind is it?”
“Some sort of barrel. I couldn’t find it in my cactus book.”
As they chatted, the Lieutenant seemed briefly curious about the conversation, then turned his attention to the view outside. This was the first time Bernie had seen the scar on his scalp, the place where the bullet had entered. He looked better than when she’d last visited, but his stillness surprised her. She had never seen him not reading, making notes in his little book, typing at his ancient computer, or talking on the phone and pacing as he puzzled out a crime. Now he looked out the window at a hummingbird feeder that hung in the shade of the back porch. Just watching. Just sitting.
“Since the Lieutenant can’t speak yet, how does he tell you what he wants?”
Louisa laughed. “I guess at it. He taps once for yes, twice for no. Sometimes he nods. He can write, but it’s difficult for him, frustrating. I’m getting pretty good at reading his mind.” Louisa put her hand on top of Leaphorn’s. “We spend a lot of time here with those beautiful little birds. They remind me of jewels with wings.”