Gives Light(Gives Light Series) (12 page)

Rafael stopped.  We were on the edge of a glade, the moon bright through the wide gap between the treetops.  I started forward, but Rafael stopped me.   The clearing, I saw, was home to an enormous field of blue flowerbuds.

I had a hearty appreciation for nature, I thought, but I couldn't believe that Rafael had woken me up just to show me flowers.  I tried to make up my mind about whether I should leave him there and head home, but I've always been bad with directions.  And what if those bears were lurking around the corner?  I didn't really want them to eat him first.  Maybe I could stall them if they charged at him.  Maybe my Little Orphan Annie hair would scare them away.  At the very least, they'd probably have a hard time chewing it.

Rafael sat on the ground, legs crossed.  I sat next to him and gave him a questioning look, hoping he'd at least explain why we had come all this way.  "You have to wait," he kept saying, resolute.  I was exhausted, but unwilling to argue.  I laid my head on his arm and made myself comfortable.  I nodded off a couple of times, but Rafael, the good friend that he was, shook me awake without any mercy.  At one point I thought I saw a shooting star rocket across the sky and pointed it out to Rafael, but he said, "That's an airplane, dumbass."

The sky tinged slowly blue-black with dawn, Rafael looking alert.  The first sign of sunlight appeared above the horizon, dim, the color of saffron.  It spread like wildfire into the night and lit the walls of drifting clouds, previously invisible, with a fiery haze.  The sun was soon to follow, rosy when it peeked shyly above the distant cliffs and crags, white-gold when it caught up with its own aura.  Now the sky was gritty and blue, like ocean slate--like Rafael's eyes.  The fiery clouds cooled to opal, milky and mute-white.  And the blue flowers all unraveled their folded petals and opened at the same time.

"Blue stars," Rafael said quietly.  His voice was very close to my ear.  I realized his chin was on my shoulder.  "They open at dawn and close at dusk."

I could see why they were called blue stars.  They were shaped kind of like them--like stars, I mean--five rounded petals tapering into points, a hue brighter than the sky, softer than dawn, deep markings running from stigma to petal in a darker blue bordering on violet.  They were nothing short of beautiful.  I've never been a very spiritual person; but looking at those flowers, watching them open up to the sky in synchronicity, so precise, so perfect, you could almost believe God had a plan for the universe.  And it was a really nice thing to believe.

I was glad Rafael had woken me for this.  I turned my head to grin at him.

I hadn't realized just how close he was.  His face filled my vision, his hair tickling my cheek.  His eyes roamed the contours of my face until they met mine and locked.  He looked like he had been smiling up until a second ago.  I wasn't smiling anymore, either.  Because my stomach was tight, my chest was hot, and the strangest thoughts kept permeating my better senses--like how that scrape running from his temple to his cheekbone looked like it belonged there, somehow; how full his lips were, hiding sharp teeth; what his teeth might feel like beneath my tongue.

The walk home was silent until Rafael said goodbye and headed north.  Every step I took felt weighted with iron, my arms heavy and cold.  There was a very real pain in my chest, dull but palpable, when I slipped inside Granny's house and pulled myself up the staircase.  I knew now why I didn't like the thought of Rafael with a girlfriend.  I knew now why I kept feeling like there was something wrong with me.

There was.

12

Promontory

The weeks preceding the monsoon season saw a frenzy of activity around the reservation.  The farmers distributed the last of their summer crop and hastened to get last-minute autumn seeds harrowed in the ground.  The hunters spent hours on end in the badlands; the jackrabbits and mule deer would go scarce during the rain.  Granny had me bring the wash tub indoors and collect and cap jars of water from the water pump.  After the fourth day of collecting water, my arms felt about ready to fall off.  Only the cooks and the fishermen really took it easy during those days:  The daily rainfall meant there would be no outdoor dinners, for one, but also that the catfish would come out of hiding.

What this meant was that Rafael got busier while Annie and Aubrey found more and more free time.  I was glad for that, secretly.  I'd never thought I would be glad for that.  Aubrey took up the habit of dropping in on Annie during the afternoons, and then Annie would insist that I stick around, and then it was the three of us playing cards or backgammon or listening to Aubrey's portable radio, or else the two of them would gang up on me and throw me song requests for the plains flute until they'd stumped me.  More often than the three of us, it was the five of us, because Joseph was too shy to play with the boys his age, and Lila was feuding with her best friend, a boy named Morgan Stout who had inadvertently implied that she had funny-looking ears. 

I liked Joseph.  I couldn't begin to imagine what it was like living in a world without sound, but Joseph had been born deaf, and I guess it's true when they say you can't miss what you've never had.  He was a really sweet kid.  Granted that he wasn't trying to hide behind his hair, he'd tug on my wrist until he got my attention; then he'd dart off and hide and expect me to come looking for him, and I'd pretend I couldn't see his feet sticking out from under the table.  I was happy when I realized he'd become accustomed to my presence over time; but I was also worried that something would happen to disrupt that presence, and then he'd feel like he'd made a friend only for that friend to abandon him.  I didn't want that.  But I didn't know where I would be months from now.  I liked the reservation, and I liked the people living on it, but supposing someone managed to track down Dad...  I didn't know what would happen.  I didn't want to think about it.

As it turned out, I had reason for worry after all.  One gray and very blustery summer afternoon, a social worker came to Granny's house.

Her name was Mavis-Marie Whitler, and she had red, horn-rimmed glasses and the kind of hair that frizzed out with humidity.  Her southern accent was so thick, it took me a couple of guesses before I understood what she was saying.  Granny didn't seem very happy to have her; tight-lipped and taciturn, Granny accepted her into the house with a curt, grim nod, poured her a glass of iced spicewood tea from a tall pitcher, and watched over the both of us with the vigilant and distrusting eyes of an eagle.  Ms. Whitler said she wanted to talk to me alone, and that seemed to invoke Granny's ire tenfold.  But Granny was smart enough not to dissent; she said we could use the kitchen, and she'd be in the sitting room if we needed her.  She left us with a meaningful look in my direction.

"Now, Skylar," Ms. Whitler said, pouring herself another glass of iced tea.  Rafael liked iced juniper tea, I thought.   "I do speak sign language.  That's why the agency sent me, you know."  She laughed, like it was some kind of joke the both of us were supposed to find funny.  I smiled, but I didn't find it funny.  I knew she had the power to take me away from here if she wanted. 

Ms. Whitler took a long drink; she set her glass down and folded her hands and leaned across the table, peering at me like a scientist on the other end of a microscope, but she had a kind smile on her face.

"So what did you have for lunch today?"

Twenty-one questions, I thought.  Here we go.

Frybread and snowpeas
, I signed.  I didn't know the word for frybread; I had to spell it out.

"That does sound good!  Did your Grandma teach you to make that?"

No way
, I signed, and grinned. 
She's convinced I'm a lost cause.  Annie did.

"Ooh.  Who's Annie?"

My best friend. 

I started to frown, but stopped myself, not wanting Ms. Whitler to think I was unhappy on the reservation.  If Annie was my best friend, what was Rafael? 

"And...why are you wearing that jacket, Skylar?  Aren't you warm?"

My fingers went automatically to the zipper at my throat.  That day I'd gone into Paldones with Rafael was the last and only time I'd gone out in public with my throat uncovered.

I tried to distract Ms. Whitler with a goofy smile.  She returned it, but in hindsight, I'm not sure my misgivings really escaped her notice.

Ms. Whitler asked me more pressing questions disguised as friendly conversation--like where I slept, what time I went to bed, and whether I had done any of my summer reading.  I answered all of her questions truthfully except for the last one.  She took one last drink of iced tea and left with a cheery wave.  Granny slammed the door after her, looking infinitely annoyed.

"Coming into my house like who-knows-what.  As if she has the right!"

I felt terrible, because this was very quickly shaping up to be yet another way that I'd managed to inconvenience Granny.  Granny seemed to pick up on my train of thought and gave me a sideways look.  "Of course," she said begrudgingly, "I'd let her tap dance naked on my roof in the middle of the monsoon if that's what it took to keep you here.  Now get a move on, or we'll be late for supper."

I was incredibly flattered by that.

We went to the Little Hawks' house for dinner that evening.  No one was eating outdoors anymore; the torrential downpour was due any day now.  We ate in an alcove off the kitchen, Annie's laughter like music, Lila kicking Aubrey under the table when he was distracted.  Joseph showed me a red pinecone he had found by the rope swings outside the schoolhouse.  I knew I wasn't imagining it:  Mr. Little Hawk disliked me.  He frowned at me whenever he thought I wasn't looking his way.  I tried to think of something nice to say to him.  I told him I thought the bluegill looked good.  He pretended he couldn't read sign language.  I had seen him signing to Joseph a few minutes ago when Joseph dropped his fork under the table.

When the monsoon finally hit, it hit with a vengeance.  The winds cracked and howled like wailing ghouls on a haunting ground.  Lightning streaked across a charcoal gray sky and left darkness in its wake.  Thunder clapped and rattled the frames of the old houses.  The skies opened up and poured great big bullets of rain all over the reservation.  I peeked outside Granny's front window one morning and watched the rain rolling across the ground in waves.  Whoever had designed the housing plans for the reservation was brilliant, I thought; the raised structures beneath the porches meant flooding wouldn't affect us if we stayed indoors.

"I hate the rain," Granny complained from her rocking chair, hard at work at her loom.

Rafael didn't mind the rain.  He didn't really have an opinion about it, one way or another, except that sometimes it was convenient for getting things done without people hounding him for tasks or favors.

I hadn't seen Rafael at all in the days leading up to the monsoon.

My heart felt heavy in my chest.  I was sure that Rafael and his uncle must have been busier than usual in those last few days, making sure everyone on the reservation had enough game to make it through the rainy season, but still, I hadn't gone looking for Rafael during the evenings.  He might have come looking for me at Granny's house, but I didn't know that for sure; I had spent all my time with Annie and Aubrey.  It wasn't that I didn't want to see Rafael.  On the contrary, any silence that wasn't filled in with the scratching of his pencil on paper or his fingers turning the pages in a book felt like a restless silence, uniquely and disturbingly empty.  Maybe I'd spent too much time with him since coming to Nettlebush.  I couldn't think of any other explanation for the unsettling thoughts I'd been having about him.  What unsettled me more was that I'd never had thoughts like those about Annie.  Annie was a girl.  It was girls' lips I was supposed to pay attention to.  It was girls who were supposed to make me feel light-headed and stupid.

The uninterrupted rainfall had Granny sending me into the attic to make sure there weren't any new leaks in the ceiling.  There weren't, luckily.  The air in the attic was thick and stale, layers of dust carpeting the floor.  Boxes lined the walls, cardboard and duct-taped.  Despite my intense curiosity, I wasn't willing to invade Granny's privacy.  But I was on my way out of the attic, flashlight in hand, when I saw it, sitting on a shelf as though it had been waiting for me: a photograph.  A framed photo of my mom and dad, years before I had been born.

I drew near as though hypnotized.  I brushed the filmy dust away from the glass with my thumb and held the flashlight closer to the frame.  Both of them, Mom and Dad, looked incredibly young, barely out of their teens.  They were standing under a tree: by the looks of it, the same one where Gabriel had later built his home.  Dad wasn't as paunchy as he'd later become.  He was laughing.  I felt horrible when I realized I couldn't remember him ever laughing the way he laughed in that photo.  His arms were around Mom.  My heart leapt.  Mom looked so incredibly like me, I might as well have peered into a mirror.  My curly hair, my brown eyes, the freckles running up and down my arms--they were all hers.  She even had the same birthmark on her left cheek.  I didn't seem to have inherited her rabbit-like underbite.  The smile on her face, wide, was open and honest.  I had never seen that smile before now.

I picked up the picture frame.  Only one of my parents was deceased, but both of them were light years away from me.  It was Dad I missed the most--I wanted to hug him, to watch baseball with him, to know that he was safe--but in that singular moment, I would have given anything to have the both of them in that attic with me.