The movie of the day, Stagecoach, was about to start in the little theater. Chee had seen it in high school when a substitute came for history class and brought the movie with her. He still remembered the date it was released, 1939, and the fact that scholars credited the film with reviving the Western movie genre. Class ended before Stagecoach was over, so they were allowed to watch the finale the next day. Chee had felt a fondness for it ever since.
After that, they walked to the restaurant. A young Navajo hostess showed them to a seat by the window, perfectly situated for a view of the Mitten Buttes across the highway to the east. Bernie asked Chee to order her usual, a hamburger and a Coke, and took pictures while her husband made up his mind.
He looked up from studying the menu. “Did you like the movie?”
“Yes, especially the scenery, those shots of the monument with the stagecoach in the foreground. And Navajos pretending to be Apaches.” Bernie laughed. “Some of those riders chasing the travelers did look like your relatives.”
“I told you we were a handsome bunch.”
A large blue tour bus was heading up the drive toward the lodge. It stopped in front of the motel office, and a man in a khaki hat that tied beneath his chin climbed down the steps. He returned to the bus a few minutes later with a large brown envelope in his hand. The bus chugged up the steep incline and stopped near the dining hall front steps. The door opened again and Hat Man climbed out. Then the other passengers started unloading, walking toward the restaurant.
The waitress returned. “If you’re ready, you better order. Looks like we’re gonna be slammed in a few minutes.”
“Is this place big enough for all those people?” Bernie heard a mumble of conversation from the newcomers as they filled the entranceway.
“That’s a small group compared to some. It’s always like this in the summer. Bus after bus. But the customers aren’t too bad, except when they’re grumpy. Food always cheers them up.”
Chee grinned. “Yeah, my wife says the same thing about me. So, should I have the pork chops or the Navajo taco?”
“I like the pork chops.”
“OK, then. And a burger and Coke for my bride.”
The waitress left, and Bernie took another photo through the window.
“I’m going to send these to Darleen to show Mama.” She glanced at the phone, and frowned.
“There’s probably a stronger signal outside, back by the museum,” he said. “You can get a different shot out there, too.”
“Thanks. While I’m out, I’ll call Largo before he goes home and see what happened with that drug bust.”
Neither Mama nor the captain liked chitchat. Chee knew she’d be back before her burger arrived. But before Bernie could leave, the waitress returned. “The salad bar comes with the pork chops. There’s soup up there, too.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you from around here? You look kinda familiar.”
“My clan brother Paul lives in the valley.”
“He’s the one starting the new tour business?”
“Right. He’s specializing in taking people to places for the best photographs.”
“Good idea. I hope he makes it.” She smiled at Bernie. “You go ahead and have some salad if you want. Keep him company.”
The server left to bring water and menus to the bus people, who now filled all available tables and booths. The room echoed with the buzz of conversation.
“I didn’t realize this place was so popular. Are they speaking French?” Bernie asked.
“It could be Russian for all I know.” He looked around. “We’re surrounded and outnumbered.”
Bernie’s phone chimed, and she reached for it, studying the display. “It’s Mrs. Darkwater.” She pushed the answer button and covered her left ear. “Wait. I can’t hear you. I’m going where it’s not so noisy and the signal’s better.”
“If that doesn’t work, tell her to call my phone. Sometimes it gets better reception.”
Bernie walked quickly into the front hallway. She didn’t know why her mother’s neighbor was calling, but it gave her a deep sense of dread.
“Hello.” Mrs. Darkwater’s response was muted by the background blare of the television.
“I can barely hear you. Is everything OK out there?”
“Hold on.” A pause, and the TV went silent. “Your mother told me you were going up to Monument Valley for a little break. Hot there, I bet.”
“It’s about like Shiprock. A little warmer. Beautiful.”
“That’s good.” Bernie heard Mrs. Darkwater sigh. “My husband, he’s up in Dulce, and you know how you always ask me and him to keep an eye on your mother.”
What had happened? Bernie’s heart sank, but she knew better than to interrupt.
“I have to go to Chinle to help my son Marshall with Junior. Junior is the one who made those pictures of the rodeo that I have on the refrigerator. Marshall took him to the one up in Cortez.”
Would Mrs. Darkwater stay on track and save the stories of Junior’s artistic talent and her son’s success as a good dad for another day? “I remember that. How’s Mama doing?”
“Well, I hated to call you.” Bernie heard a change in Mrs. Darkwater’s tone and felt her chest tighten. “When I went over there a little while ago to tell your mother good-bye, she was still in her clothes from yesterday. She was just sitting on the sofa, not even watching the TV. Not reading. Nothing. Staring.”
A stroke, Bernie thought. Mama had a stroke. But why hadn’t her sister called? Darleen lived with Mama, and her job was helping take care of her.
Mrs. Darkwater kept talking. “I thought something had happened to her, but she said no. She felt OK. Then I asked about you, because I know she worries about you, especially because of your friend who got shot. She told me you were fine, off on a trip. That’s good, honey.”
Bernie listened, waiting, though she wanted to scream, Get to the point!
“Um. I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just blurt it out. Your sister didn’t come home last night. I am sorry to call you. Your mother told me not to call, not to bother you on your vacation, but I have to leave, and I worry about her all alone.” Mrs. Darkwater’s voice had an end-of-story sound to it.
“What happened to Sister? Why isn’t she there?” Bernie pushed the vision of her little sister dead in a car crash out of her mind.
“I asked your mama that. She just shook her head.” Mrs. Darkwater sighed. “My son needs for us all to drive to Chinle pretty soon now. I promised him I would help with the boy, since Marshall has to work. I thought you might know someone else who could stay with your mother.”
Bernie tried to think of available friends and relatives, and came up short. “May I speak to Mama?”
“Sure thing. But I’m not at her house, so I’ll go over there real quick and call you back.” Mrs. Darkwater hung up.