Solomon's Oak (34 page)

“Don’t you want to have dinner with us?”

“Not tonight. I’ll see you on Monday. Practice your Spanish.”

He drove away with Dodge sitting in the front seat and hoped Glory didn’t see that he’d abandoned her rule of crating the dog when he drove places. Dodge whined a little when they pulled onto the highway, but quickly settled down when Joseph turned up the radio. “That’s right, you’re an NPR dog. Let’s listen to ‘All Things Considered.’ ”

At the post office, a package was waiting, a large box that weighed little. The return address was his parents’. He set it into the back of the Land Cruiser and drove home. Inside the cabin while he heated up water for coffee and leftover Swamp Juan pizza for dinner, he prepared Dodge’s supper, adding canned pumpkin and a few sardines; fish oil for a shiny coat; pumpkin to keep him lean. After a quick trot down to the lake, a swim, and a game of fetch that could never go on long enough so far as Dodge was concerned, the dog lay down in front of the wood stove and Joseph heaved a sigh of relief.

After dinner, he slit the tape on the package and opened the box. On top of many crumpled Hatch, New Mexico,
Citizen
s was an envelope addressed to him written in his father’s handwriting. He opened it and a disability check fell out. He’d had his mail forwarded to his parents, rather than here. He looked at the numbers on it, thought of Fidela opening her check, and how they would both burn them to bring Rico back. Finally he set the check aside, pulled off the newspaper article paper-clipped to the letter to read later. His dad wasn’t big on letters or talk.

Primo,

We have had some nice weather. Still, your mother worries about her apricot trees almost as much as she worries about you.

Your padre

Under more crumpled paper was a three-foot-long, dried chile ristra enclosed in Bubble Wrap, clearly his mother’s handiwork. Hang one on your
portal
—porch—and good luck would come to you all year round. He bent his head and inhaled deeply. The faint burn in his nose made him shut his eyes. He could almost smell the sage. The pull to get in his car and drive east was visceral. Why send it to him when he was returning in a few weeks? Maybe he’d leave it with Lorna. She could use some good luck.

He unfolded the newspaper article. From the
Albuquerque Journal
:
MORE ARRESTS IN LAST YEAR
’
S METH LAB SHOOTING
:
JURY TRIAL SELECTION TO BEGIN IMMEDIATELY
.

After the adrenaline rushed his bloodstream, Joseph set the article down, absently smoothing its edges.

GLORY

It was eight
P.M.
March winds blew, rattling the windows, reminding Glory she hadn’t washed them since the last wedding, that Valentine’s Day event with the heart-shaped, four-layer, pink fondant cake that dyed her fingernails fuchsia for days. Juniper sat at the table taking notes from a library book that Joseph suggested she read. Glory sipped her second glass of red wine, impatient for the slight buzz that made her edges blur. More annoying than waiting for that numbness was that she had made it two weeks past the anniversary of Dan’s death and hadn’t died of grief.

She snapped her fingers when Edsel tried to distract Juniper with the once-controversial, paid-for-in-full canvas fire-hydrant toy she’d bought him, but Juniper merely reached down, patted the dog’s head, and kept on reading. Eventually he lay down on the floor next to Cadillac, groaning to let everyone know the extent of his disappointment. Joseph took the dog on walks the days he came to homeschool, and now Edsel insisted on a daily walk versus his previous pastime, couch loafing. He’d muscled up, and Glory had to admit, his coat looked great.

Glory held her library book open on her lap, reading the same two sentences over and over: “The heat is a presence. Palpable and relentless, it rolls over Albuquerque like a hot iron.”

Maybe Joseph lived in a different part of the city, somewhere higher in elevation, and instead of like an iron, the temperature was more like a warm hand against your neck. With a mountain view and spectacular sunrises. Less traffic. And the scent of a piñon fire warming adobe bricks. And strolling mariachis. I have to stop drinking wine every night, she thought, and set down the glass.

Juniper shut her book and stretched her arms. “All this stuff Copper Joe wants me to do is way harder than public school. I’m ready to go back now.”

“Very funny.”

“What’s funny about it?”

Glory shut the library book. “If it’s that simple for you to change your behavior, why didn’t you do it months ago?”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready, okay?”

“Not okay. It’s selfish. Do you know what you put Caroline, Lois, and me through?”

Juniper ignored the question. “What if I sign a paper saying I promise I won’t hit anyone ever again?”

“It’s too late. I officially withdrew you from school. The subject is closed.”

“That’s
real
understanding of you, Mrs. Solomon.”

“What can I say? Actions have consequences.”

“What is that? Some kind of old saying that doesn’t mean anything? Whatever. I’m going to bed. Come on, Caddy.”

“Let him out to pee first, Ms. McGuire,” Glory said to the girl’s back as she walked down the hall, the collie following. Time alone sounded great, and it was, for about fifteen minutes. Then the alone part hit. What she needed was someone to chat with about anything that
was
going right. She thought of Joseph, but tipsy as she was, she feared she’d say something stupid, like “I want to sleep with you,” and then she’d have to explain it wasn’t about romance, it was about ten minutes of feeling something other than this endless yearning for something she couldn’t even name.

Definitely not calling Joseph.

She called Caroline and got her service. She called her mom, then remembered it was her bridge night at the Senior Center and she wouldn’t be home for an hour. She called Halle. “Hey, Sis. You have a minute to talk?”

Her sister sighed. “Gee, I don’t know. Do you think I left you all those messages for the fun of it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you call me back?”

“Because I didn’t want to hear you say, ‘I told you so.’ ”

Halle was quiet for a moment. “Is that what you think I do?”

“Not every time I see you,” Glory hedged, regretting the words already.

“Oh, please. Don’t try to soften the blow when you’ve already delivered it. The truth is, I’m never sure how to talk to you, Glory.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t really open up to me anymore. Not just me, either.”

“That’s not true. Is it?”

“Let me say this before I lose my nerve. You won’t ask for help. You act ridiculously stoic, and, trust me, you’re not fooling anyone. Even Mom agrees with me.”

Indignation rose up, making Glory’s heart beat faster. “Halle, my husband
died.
”

“He sure did, and that sucks. What I want to know is, how long do you think you can get away with ignoring your family by using that excuse? I for one don’t think Dan would appreciate it.”

Glory picked up her wineglass again and studied the ruby red liquid in the glass. Halle might as well have stuck a baling hook into her heart. “Never mind. I actually called to see what was up with you. Bye.” Glory hung up the phone, and suddenly the wine tasted wonderful, so she shut the phone off and finished her glass. Whether Halle called back or didn’t, any conversation would be like the iron in Albuquerque,
palpable
,
relentless
.

She folded laundry, made and refrigerated shortbread dough. Checked her e-mail in case someone wanted to get married. Not this week. Edsel followed her every move, and finally she took a good, hard look at the little dog and admitted she didn’t give him enough exercise. Yes, he was tiny, but, no, that didn’t mean she could skip his walks on days she felt sorry for herself. It wasn’t fair to the dog she’d adopted and called her own. “Harness,” she said, and the greyhound launched himself, landing in her arms, and began licking her face. “We’ll do this every day from now on,” she promised him, and took him outside. The little dog pranced, not minding the wind or the darkness.

They walked to the oak tree. From there, the chapel looked more like a lodge than a church. Edsel peed upon the tree for so long Glory had plenty of time to ponder her sister’s words.

Was Halle right?

On the year anniversary she’d expected some sense of closure. She’d said good-bye. Meant it when she said she hoped heaven was everything Dan dreamed it was. Other people had uncanny experiences when someone died. Comforting signs, good omens. Did her loss have to be so freaking ordinary? She tried to imagine Dan walking back into her life again. Would he be angry she’d turned his private refuge into almost as public a place as the oak tree? Allowed pirates into the place he prayed his most private prayers? Certainly he would have straightened things out with Juniper. She’d be on the honor roll, learning woodworking, sitting on the corral fence laughing at something he said.

She let Edsel back into the house and checked the goats. Nanny was miserable, and who could blame her, her sides stuck out eight or nine inches more than usual. Days ago, Glory had forked straw and shavings into an empty stall, creating a birthing place for Nanny that was five inches deep, but Nanny wasn’t having any of that. Tonight Glory herded her inside with water and pellets, shut the gate, and listened to Nathan bleat. He could stand nose to nose with her. Mesh wire was the only barrier, but try explaining that to a billy goat. Nathan wanted
Monday Night Football
, meat loaf on Thursdays, sex three times a week whether Nanny was interested or not. “Get over it,” she told him, and turned his oat bucket upright, throwing in a handful of feed, which distracted him immediately. She went indoors, locking locks and shutting off lights, trying to think of a way to apologize to her family for shutting them out. Maybe she’d never get over losing Dan, but as painful as it was, life did go on.

At six, Juniper came running into Glory’s bedroom, bounced onto the bed, and grabbed hold of her shoulders. “What is it?” Glory said, sitting straight upright. “Is the barn on fire? Did you call 911?”

“Nanny had twins. Adorable baby twins! Get up, Mom! You have to come see them right now. You have to.”

They sat on the barn floor, shavings clinging all over their pajamas. Juniper took pictures of the teetering babies. “Two girls,” Glory said. “Would you like to name them?”

“That depends. Are they going to end up as Easter dinner?”

“Nope. They’re going to give us milk and help us make goat cheese to sell, and you know what that means.”

“More chores.”

“What if it meant a raise in your allowance?”

“That would be a miracle.”

“Juniper, why do you always think of the worst possible outcome?”

“I’m just following your example.”

Glory was struck mute. When the barn phone rang, it startled her. It had been so long since she’d used it, she’d almost forgotten it was there. She got to her feet to answer it, and on the way she spotted one of Dan’s gloves lying across the fence rail, stiffened into the shape of his hand. She slid her fingers inside it, then picked up the receiver. Who on earth calls before seven
A.M.
unless it’s bad news? Please not Lorna, please not her mother, and please not Halle or Bart or Joseph or Caroline or anyone who wasn’t ninety-nine years old and ready to go.

“Honey, it’s Caroline.”

“My goodness, you’re up early.”

“Sleep is just a good idea. I bow to the god caffeine. I’m afraid I have some news that can’t wait for a reasonable hour.”

“Caroline, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

“It’s Juniper’s father.”

“Oh, no. Did he die, too? How much more does that girl have to go through?”

“No, he’s very much with us. As in here, in town, apparently. He wants to see her. You’re going to have to break this to her somehow.”

“But he abandoned her. He can’t waltz back into her life when he feels like it, can he?”

“I’ve already scheduled their meeting with Lois. She and I will act as support during the session. Glory, you still there?”

“I’m here.” Glory leaned around the post to look at the babies. The kid with the latte-colored blaze made her way out of the birthing pen. Suddenly she discovered the springs that all goats seem to have in their hooves. She reared up, fell down, got back up, and then she had it—what Dan called “a case of the sproings.” The only thing funnier than newborn goats leaping around were baby ducks discovering their first puddle. “Yes,” Glory said. “Give me a while, Caroline. I’ll call you back.”

She hung up and pressed Dan’s glove against her cheek. He would have gone straightaway to Juniper and told her,
Your father’s back. Let’s go talk to him and see what he has to say.
Not Glory. She would rather stop breathing than break Juniper’s heart one more time. She watched from the stall entrance as Juniper baby-talked and gently stroked an exhausted Nanny. After a while Glory would figure out how to say it, but right now, all that mattered were the newborns. She opened the stall gate and walked inside. “Looks like they’re getting the hang of things.”