Ghost Sickness Page 20

  Melody grinned. “Guess you were.”

  Leah and Chamiqua Pena parked the napping twins’ stroller in front of her and began to report on all the activities they had done during the race to wear them out.

  “Where’s Bernadette?” Pearl asked.

  “I see her,” said one of her sons. “Across the street, with that black dude.”

  The black dude, with his pink-and-green-banded straw fedora on his blond hair, stood out in the crowd. He and Bernadette crossed the street, Jamie with a worse-than-usual hitch in his bad hip, just before the first car of the parade came around the corner at the top of the hill. Miss Mescalero, in her white princess headdress and beaded white deerskin regalia, rode on the folded soft-top of an old convertible, waving and tossing candy.

  “Fuck,” Jamie muttered, rubbing his hip. He bent down and picked up a chocolate Tootsie Pop, twisted the paper off, and popped the candy in his mouth. The stick bobbed up and down as he spoke. He gave Melody an off-kilter smile. “Great race. Proud of ya.”

  “Great cheer.” She grinned. “Mae, you should have seen him. Jumping like a cheerleader. It was the funniest thing.”

  His shoulders wriggled and he looked away, sucking noisily on the Tootsie Pop and rocking rapidly on his feet. Something was making him anxious. Was it something Letitia had told him? Mae excused herself and Jamie. They moved away from Bernadette’s family to sit on the curb at the feet of strangers. Floats from the casino and other local businesses passed, their occupants tossing out more candy.

  Jamie groaned as he descended. “Jeezus. Need a new body.”

  Mae rubbed his back. “I like the one you got.”

  “Feels like crap, though.” The sucker knocked against his teeth as he talked. He had it tucked in his cheek like a squirrel carrying nuts. “Not just my hip. Did that bloody cheerleader dance and my legs turned to fucking Jell-O. Heart pounding. Sweating. Had to lie down. Wasn’t as bad as usual. Didn’t go blind and stop breathing, but ... I can’t quite come back from it.”

  Mae took his hand, and they watched the parade in silence for a moment. She would need to wait to quiz him on the photographer.

  Jamie snort-laughed suddenly. “Feel bad for Bernadette. Scared the bloody crap out of her. She was there in case Mel collapsed. And she ended up looking after me.”

  “That’s not funny, sugar.”

  “Yeah, it is. I was practically unconscious after I did this stupid dance for one minute, and Mel is five times fatter than I am and she was the fucking little engine that could.”

  “It had nothing to do with your fitness, what happened to you. Do you know what triggered it?”

  “Yeah. Stupid crap. Jumping like a frog after two tanks of coffee.”

  “That wasn’t stupid, but ...” Jamie could go into a mini-panic just paying attention to his heart in the middle of the night. Abrupt, intense exertion and two of his enormous travel mugs cups of coffee, as strong as he brewed it, could have sent him into a tailspin. “That’s a lot of coffee for you.”

  Jamie bit on the sucker so hard its shell cracked and began chewing. “For me. Jeezus. Are we done with Jamie the fucking sick person?”

  Mae started to answer, but held back. He’d swung through three moods in less than ten minutes. No, four moods. Gloomy and worried, then laughing, then self-deprecating, and then angry with her. She wanted to tell him she was done with Jamie the sick person, but that wouldn’t help. And she didn’t mean it. When she’d taken the risk of this relationship, she’d known what she was getting into.

  Jamie rubbed his eyes, and then pushed his fingers into his hair beneath his hat. “Sorry.”

  Mood number five. Mae put her arm around him. He returned the gesture and wriggled a little, making a soft, happy humming noise. That’s six. Stop counting.

  A marching band whose banner proclaimed them to be the Navajo Nation Band approached, led by a trim middle-aged woman in a short majorette skirt, twirling two batons with style and grace. Mae said, “She’s amazing.”

  “Yeah. She’s here every year. Saw her the first time when I was fourteen. Zak said she was hot, or whatever we called good-looking women back then.”

  “Speaking of women Zak thinks are hot, I saw you with Letitia. What’d you two talk about?”

  “Meant to tell you. Forgot—wobbly, y’know? Fogged my head. Dunno where she took off to when I went down. Jeezus. She likes my music, and then she saw that and left—fuck.” Jamie tucked the bare stick of the sucker into his shirt pocket. “Shouldn’t have had that. Need to brush my teeth. Anyway, she was at the church taking pictures of the art. She sort of hinted like Zak’s posing for pictures. In the nuddy.”

  Mae thought of Orville and Lonnie joking about Letitia’s calendars. “He might be.” As long as he didn’t smile. “Orville met her. He said she does calendars.”

  Jamie leaned forward and picked up another sucker from the street. “Don’t think Zak wanted me to know.” He unwrapped the Tootsie Pop and sniffed it before putting it in his mouth. “Think she was trying to get me to hire her for some photography, too. Not naked, though. Only half.” He frowned, and paused while the band was too close and loud for talking. As they marched further on, he said, “Wonder if she comes onto blokes with that.”

  “It might work. Zak likes older women.”

  “The Navajo baton lady. Not all older women. And Letitia’s not older-older.”

  “Did you get a sense of what she feels for Zak?”

  “Not really. Might have if I hadn’t collapsed. Kind of killed the conversation, y’know? She’s as big a flirt as he is, though. Might not mean much. Hard to tell.”

  “Melody would rather know he’s posing for a naked calendar than think he’s cheating.”

  “I know.” Jamie sighed, exhaling a scent of grape candy. “But—not that he’d do it, but—the two things aren’t ...whaddyacallit ... mutually exclusive, are they?”

  Far from it. And there had to be something else going on between them as well. Zak wouldn’t have had the calendars in his toolshed, and he’d made a visit too short for a modeling session.

  A flatbed truck carrying a country band came around the corner, their music clashing with that of the Navajo marching band. A stocky Apache woman stood at an electric piano, belting out a song in a powerful contralto, while an all-male band, some white, some Indian, played guitars and drums behind her. The band’s name, emblazoned on the bass drum, was Lorilee Chino and the Cowboy Indians.

  “Melody’s mum,” Jamie said, projecting to operatic level to be heard.

  Mae knew her small voice would be inaudible, but guessed Jamie could read her lips. “She’s good.”

  “Yeah. Not bad for country. Mel can sing like that, too. Doesn’t anymore, but she could.”

  Misty, who had run the five K and come in third, danced in the street behind the truck, carrying a large canvas bag from which she was tossing out toothbrushes and sample tubes of toothpaste. She’d put on a T-shirt from a dental clinic whose logo was on the bag as well. Miming brushing her large, very white teeth, she flashed an exaggerated smile at a child who ran out to grab candy. Maybe the future dentist hadn’t totally sacrificed her dreams for Reno. Mae would have to do the work she’d agreed to, and do it soon, to make sure of it.

  She picked up a toothbrush and toothpaste and handed them to Jamie. He put a hand to his heart and tucked the items into his shirt pocket beside the first sucker stick.

  Waving and beckoning to someone, Misty broke off from following the float, danced over to Mae and paused in front of her. Montana pushed through the crowd toward them. When her sister was within a few feet, Misty gave her a thumbs-up and resumed dancing and tossing toothbrushes.

  Montana crouched beside Mae and spoke into her ear. “Can you come with me? Will wants you to heal him.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Sorry to act all secret agent-y,” Montana said as she led Mae around to the rear entrance of the wellness center. “I don’t think anyone could hear me ov
er Mom’s band, but I wanted to make sure. This is confidential.”

  When Mae left with Montana, Jamie’s expression had been open and perky, more what’s up than what the fuck. Mae doubted he’d overheard. She had scarcely made out Montana’s words herself. “I think we’re okay.”

  They sat on the steps overlooking a steep hill and another street. The place was quiet, shady, and deserted.

  Montana slid a thin gold band with a mere chip of diamond up and down her finger. “Will’s having a really hard time in the hospital. He can’t smoke in there, and he usually dips when he’s in places where he can’t smoke. They won’t let him do that, either. Or drink. Not that he’s an alcoholic. He just wants a drink to get him through not having tobacco.”

  The ready excuse about drinking, defending Will before he’d even been criticized, reminded Mae of how she’d been with Mack. Covering up his behavior to others while hurt and frustrated by it herself.

  “Anyway,” Montana said, “Misty told me you can cure people. That you cured this man who smoked a lot and he didn’t even want to quit. Could you go with me to see Will? Fix him?”

  “I don’t know that fix is the right word. Does Will want me to help?”

  “I talked to him about you. I’m pretty sure he does.”

  “Wouldn’t he rather have one of the medicine people?”

  “No, see, that’s the thing. You go to a medicine man, he doesn’t just cure you. It’s complicated. You have to do a lot of talking, and ceremonies, and there are things you need to do to get ready before and to follow up after. Will’s not into that. He’s not traditional. And he’s not patient.”

  Mae shook her head. “If he thinks he’ll get fast results, I can’t promise that. I mean, I won’t have elaborate ceremonies or need to talk a lot, but usually what I do as a healer is more like a nudge than a miracle. What happened with Niall quitting smoking wasn’t normal.”

  “That’s okay. We won’t tell anyone if it doesn’t work. Or if it does, actually.” Montana glanced around as if someone could be eavesdropping, though there was clearly no one around. “That’s why it’s a secret. If he quits everything, he wants people to think he did it himself.”

  With that attitude, he didn’t sound spiritual at all, let alone not traditional. Nonetheless, if he was motivated, he could change his habits while he was young, before he was coughing like Niall was. Before he got cancer or emphysema. Before he turned into a drunk like Mack. “When does he want me to come?”

  Montana took her phone from her pocket and texted. “Right away.”

  The parade was still in full swing, with a middle school marching band followed by the dancing Zuni firefighters. Mae crouched beside Jamie and told him she was leaving for a healing client, her face in the crinkly cloud of his hair so she could make herself heard over the drums and horns.

  Jamie drew back and gave her the baby seal look. “This is our weekend together, and you’re going off to take care of fucking Will Baca?”

  His voice was so strong she could hear him easily over the band, while she had barely been able to hear Montana over her mother’s amplified country music. Jamie couldn’t have made out Will’s name. He had to be guessing.

  “You don’t know who the client is, sugar.”

  He stood and walked toward the back of the crowd. Except for the Tootsie Pop, he fit the cliché of “a face like thunder.” Mae followed him. Standing a few feet behind the last row of parade-watchers, Jamie glared at her. “Who in bloody hell else is Montana going to want healed? Her worthless boyfriend fell off a bull.”

  “And you’ve fallen off a few rocks in your life. You’ve nearly died. You’ve had broken bones and surgeries. I should think you’d have a little more empathy for something that traumatic.”

  “So it is Will.”

  “It’s confidential. He doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Then he should get one of the medicine men. I know they’re mostly doing the ceremonies, but Lonnie’s free. Or Bessie Yahnaki. Why you?”

  “I’m not an Apache medicine person. That’s why. He’s not traditional.”

  Jamie took the sucker out of his mouth and got it stuck in his goatee. “Fuck.” He turned away and stamped his foot. “Bloody fucking hell.”

  Mae tried not to laugh. He was so angry with her, and now even angrier with himself for this bizarre little accident. She wanted to respect his feelings but it was simply too funny, and she began to giggle uncontrollably.

  “I left my water bottle in the van. I need to—ah, fuck.” Jamie held his hands over the absurd appendage attached to his chin and faced Mae again. “Will’s a wanker. He’s—Jeezus. Are you listening?”

  “I am.” Mae wiped the tears of laughter from her face. “I’m sorry.” She suppressed the next explosion of hilarity as best she could. “I know you don’t like him, but that video was trivial. It’s not a big deal compared to what he’s been through.”

  “It’s not just the fucking video. There’s something wrong with him. Like he just needs to be bad. He thought Mel was more fun ’cause she was Zak’s girlfriend, and that drinking and smoking were more fun ’cause he was underage.”

  “A lot of kids think like that. They get a kick out of breaking rules.”

  “Nah. He was worse than that. He’d steal stuff for the hell of it. Didn’t need a thing—the Bacas are better off than anybody on the rez—but he’d take stuff. One time he and Mel and I were walking to the store to get sodas, and we passed this truck parked at the gas pumps with groceries in the back. Will stole a carton of orange juice from one of the bags. Bloody wanker acted like that juice was the best thing he’d ever tasted, just for being stolen, y’know? Mel was stoned, so she was laughing at him, like ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’ But he thought he’d impressed her, y’know? He’d light up a reefer and dare her to smoke it with him in public, in broad daylight. I was scared they’d get caught and she’d get arrested, but he didn’t care. He’s like a psychopath, y’know?”

  Mae lost the urge to laugh. This was not funny anymore, even with Jamie hiding his afflicted beard. “You’re saying Will doesn’t have a conscience?”

  “Never acted like he did.”

  The prospect of healing someone so deeply flawed was troubling. Will probably only expected help with his addictions, not his entire character, but if he lost those bad habits and didn’t change, what would happen? She would need to reach him deeply.

  Ezra trotted up with a bottle of water and a wet paper towel and handed them to Jamie. “Peanut butter works really good for getting candy out of your hair, but warm water’s good, too. This one’s been in my sister’s car all day.”

  “Thanks, mate.” Jamie calmed noticeably and began to soak his beard. “How’d you notice?”

  “You’re you. I asked Grandma and she said to come for lunch and a shower after the parade. You need to give me a grocery list so Mom can shop for what you’re cooking.”

  Mae thanked Ezra and added, “I’ll be late for lunch. Maybe two or three hours. Should I still come?”

  “Of course. You’re on Indian time here. Things start when everybody’s ready and finish when everybody’s done.”

  “Great. I’ll call Jamie for directions when I’m on my way.”

  Jamie gave Mae a tired little smile, all the fire gone out of him. “Can’t kiss you—too sticky. Drive safe. Catcha.”

  She watched him walk back to the parade with the boy, drained but peaceful. An Ezra effect, or an end to their argument? All three of the Chino sisters had now asked for her help, and all three times Jamie hadn’t liked it.

  As Mae and Montana entered the hospital room, Will Baca pressed a button on his bed to elevate his head and shoulders. A boy Mae recognized from the race sat in the chair next to the bed, a teenager with short thick hair that flopped onto his forehead, and a pretty, almost girlish face, contrasting with his hard wiry body. Both men were small, no more than five-foot-six, and Will might once have been as sweet faced as his litt
le brother, but his nose was slightly crooked with a bump in the middle and a scar ran from his upper lip to his left nostril. His hands were scarred, too, and rough, lying on the white sheet, the right one restless, the left one lifeless at the end of a cast that wrapped the arm. On that hand, his fine-boned fingers had thin horizontal scars below the second knuckle like they’d been sliced by a knife. His eyes were glazed and tired.

  “This her?”

  Montana nodded. “Mae Martin. Yes.”

  “Good. Refugio, wait outside, head off Mom and Dad if they get here.” The boy rose and Montana started to take his place, but Will shook his head. “You, too. This is private.”

  She looked hurt but followed his brother out and closed the door.

  Will fixed his weary eyes on Mae. “All right. Let’s get this over with. Do the thing.”

  She reached into her purse and wrapped her hand around the velvet pouch of crystals. Will had made it sound like she was going to pull a kid’s loose tooth. He needed to understand there was substance to her work, even if she wasn’t doing a long, complex ceremony. “I know you want this to be simple. But can we take a minute so I can be sure I know what you need?” She put the crystals on the bedside table and rested her hands on the bed rail.

  “Clean me out. Get rid of everything.” Will turned his head toward the window. “Your life really does pass before your eyes. Slowly. I watched a whole damned movie while that bull was trying to kill me. And it was a bad one.”

  A man who both dipped and smoked had a serious tobacco habit, but that wouldn’t make his life a bad movie. Mae knew he didn’t want the long talk a medicine man would ask of him, but it helped her as a healer to know the scope of the problem. Will sounded as though he might have a conscience after all, or at least some regrets. “I’ve been told you use a lot of tobacco and that you drink. Is that everything? Or do you need some other stuff cleaned out?”

  “Weed. Women.” Will glanced at the door. “Gambling.” His right hand bunched up a fistful of the sheet. “Done a few other things I’d rather not say.”