Finding Casey (32 page)

“No. I assumed it was handmade.”

Chico set the camera down on the table to look.

Juniper was mortified. How could she be in his class and not recognize the difference between a hand-built pot and a wheel-thrown one? The telltale signs now seemed so obvious as Louella pointed them out.

“You said you knew who made it,” Chico said. “Can you tell us her name?”

Louella laughed. “Laurel. She made that pot a year ago sitting right there at the potter's wheel. Wasn't all that great of a
day, as I remember. That freak Seth had given her a black eye and I was trying to talk her into going to the cops, but she wouldn't go. She said it was her fault for making him angry. I damn near called them cops myself. She wouldn't hear one bad word about her ‘Elder.' “

Juniper listened closely, imagining this Laurel who made pots, who loved horses and dogs but abandoned them to starve with bales of hay just out of reach. Why let any man whale on you? How could it ever be a woman's fault enough to deserve a black eye? Candela taught her that much.

Chico said, “Juniper?”

“What,” she said flatly.

“If you think about it, this angle doesn't take away from your project, it adds to it. Plenty of top-rate museums have been duped into buying fakes. Sometimes they're so well made it's hard to tell the difference. Especially if you can track this Laurel down and interview her.”

“Why would I do that? She's not Indian.”

“Does that matter so much?” Louella said. “I have some white in me. Does that mean my pots aren't important?”

Juniper was near tears, she was so embarrassed and angry. “You're right, Chico. I'd
really
like to interview Laurel.” What she didn't say was, And ask for a refund of my three hundred freaking dollars. “But somehow I don't think she'll be back to the Farm.”

“Go by the Urgent Care,” Louella said. “Maybe even the hospital. Can't hurt to try. Her last name's Smith and her daughter's name is Aspen. If she's not there, maybe they'll have a forwarding address. And listen, if you find her, ask her what I'm supposed to do with fifteen chickens and her horse. The hay's not going to last forever.”

“Thank you so much for your time and for showing us how you create pots,” Chico said. “Juniper will send you a copy of the finished interview. Would you consider allowing it to be published?”

“Heck, yeah,” Louella said. “Make sure you put my website in there. I love making traditional pots, but damn, I'd like to sell a few, you know? I work nights at the casino and pick up odd jobs when I can.”

“We'll make sure your website's prominently noted,” Chico said. “Thanks for allowing us this time.”

“It's me who should be thanking you, for all that food. It'll keep me going until my next paycheck. My grandmother was right. It's nice to have company.” She stood up to see them out.

Juniper slapped her hand against her thigh, the same way she called Caddy. “Come on, Curly,” she said. “I'm taking you home with me.”

“Hey, that's nice of you. I'm sure Laurel will be grateful.”

Laurel. The name kept popping up like a jack-in-the-box, Juniper thought. The mere sound of it annoyed her. The day was wrecked. She wanted to go home to her parents' house, grab Caddy, and sleep for twelve hours, hoping to wake up and discover that this whole experience had been a dream.

The brown dog had no qualms about jumping into her car. She hopped over the console to the cargo area as if she did it every day. Juniper had tossed her unzipped sleeping bag there before she and Chico went for their walk. Curly made a nest and put her head on her paws. Instead of groceries, she now had a dog to feed, walk, and water, a definite complication, but the only one that made sense of the day.

They drove back toward the Pueblo in uncomfortable silence. Sooner or later, she was going to have to talk to Chico, but right
now there was something more important that she needed to do. When she didn't stop at the Cultural Center, Chico said, “I thought that was where we were spending the night?”

“Every third word out of Louella's mouth was Laurel this and Laurel that,” she said. “I'm going to the hospital to find her lying ass and ask for my money back. I paid three hundred dollars for that pot! That's like a whole month of work for me. Not to mention giving my parents a fake. My dad is Navajo, Jicarilla, and Spanish. I'll bet he knew it all along and didn't say anything because he didn't want to hurt my feelings.”

Chico put his hand on her shoulder and she roughly shrugged it off. “Juniper, Louella said her kid was sick. Are you sure you want to get in the middle of something like that? It seems kind of mean to me.”

Her anger had tempered itself into steel. It was as if she saw this straight-ahead road with a bull's-eye at the end of it. She was armed, aimed, and not going to miss. “I'm sorry her child is ill. I hope she gets better. But she can spare me fifteen minutes while I explain to her the ramifications of selling a pot under false pretenses. It's against the freaking law to pawn off something as Native-made when it isn't. Not to mention really bad karma.”

Chico sighed. “I think you should cool down first.”

“I'm cool.”

“No, you're not. Louella got you talking about your biological mom,” he said. “Even a doofus like me could see it ripped off a pretty big scab. I think that was probably the bravest thing I've ever witnessed. Let's go get some coffee. You don't have to talk to me about it, but I think you need a little time.”

“You want more coffee? Jeepers, could I be any more jacked up than I am already? Louella's blood must freaking percolate the way she downed the stuff. I have coffee grounds in my
molars. You know me better than that. I won't be mean, I'll be honest.”

He rubbed his face. “Juniper, I never suggested you were mean. Far from it. But trust me, this isn't a good idea.”

“Chico, I am doing this. You can sit in the car with the dog.”

“I'm not letting you go in there alone. We can leave the dog in the car for fifteen minutes.”

“No way, a dog can—”

“It's winter!” he said. “For crying out loud, the dog was living outside and eating horse feed. I think she'll survive if we leave all the windows down a few inches. I'm coming with you, and that's that.”

Before today, the most ever people in Aspen's room I counted was four—her nurse, me, a doctor, and Mrs. Clemmons. Not today. Today there were five—Dr. Armstrong, two nurses, a respiratory therapist, and a pharmacist. Dr. Armstrong wouldn't let me go in the room, and there wasn't any space for me. I watched from the doorway. Mrs. Clemmons stood next to me, her hands pressing down on my shoulders like if she let go I might float away. Anything that happened next—me growing wings and flying out the window—wouldn't have surprised me one bit. Because after I wrote my name down, my mind was dizzy with remembering things. Oh, my goodness, it hurt so bad to let the memories inside. It felt like I had a cloud of bats in there, flapping their razor-sharp wings into my organs. I tried not to cry, I always tried, but this time I couldn't make myself calm down even when I held my hands over my mouth. When I started making the sound, Mrs. Clemmons had another doctor come and listen to my breathing and my heart. She wanted to give me a shot, but
I panicked because what if it was like Abel and Seth gave me, knock-out medicine in disguise? Most of the time I never saw it coming. Things would just be going along, and then Abel would grab me and the next thing I knew, I was waking up with him inside of me and I wouldn't even know where I was or how I got there. How do you tell someone from Outside that's how things happened and why you need to keep control?

Mrs. Clemmons sat with me and held my hand while the doctor examined me. She explained how sometimes a person can get so upset that the best thing a doctor can do is give you medicine to relax. “No lightning,” I kept saying, “no knocking me out. I have to stay awake for Aspen.”

The other doctor explained that I'd feel a pinprick, but that the medicine would work fast, and it would help me. Mrs. Clemmons said, “I won't allow anyone to hurt you. Just like with Aspen's doctors, no one will do anything without your permission. All right?”

“All right.” It was just like the doctor said, one moment of bee sting and then a feeling of peacefulness, like after Abel died and Seth threw his body out in the desert. Once he was gone, my world got so much better.

“I'm going to have the security guard stand outside Aspen's room,” Mrs. Clemmons said, and this big man in a black suit stood in front of me. “Henry,” she said. “Can you explain to Mrs. Smith what your job is?”

“Happy to, ma'am. I make sure no one goes into or out of this room.”

“You're a cop,” I said, though it was hard to talk with the shot inside me, slowing things down.

“Henry is not a policeman,” Mrs. Clemmons said. “He isn't even carrying a gun, are you, Henry?”

“No, ma'am.”

“What about lightning?”

“Pardon me?” Henry said.

“She's referring to a stun gun. A Taser. Do you have one of those?”

“No, ma'am. No weapons whatsoever. I have a radio,” he said, and smiled. “Not the kind that plays music.”

My brain felt heavy in my head. My eyes wanted to close, but I wouldn't let them.

“Henry will make sure no one goes into Aspen's room without your permission.”

“You don't know Seth,” I said. “He always finds a way.” Whenever I said his name I could see her getting a little bit mad, but not at me.

“That may have been so in the past,” she said, “but in order to get to you or Aspen, he'd have to go through Henry and me. There is something I want you to start thinking about, Casey.”

My name. My real name. She kept saying it. It was out there, she knew and pretty soon other people would know. Seth would wait until I least expected it. Then he would move through the dark, cutting, hitting, lighting things on fire.

“When you're feeling better, you're going to have to speak with the police.”

“Why?”

“Because what Seth did to you was a crime. He has to be stopped before he does it to some other girl. The police will need your help and they'll have lots of questions. Do you understand?”

I wanted to understand. Just as much, though, I wanted not to think of Seth or Abel ever again, the same way I hadn't thought of my life
Before
, when I was Casey for real.
Say. Easy,
case, yes.
The memories came too fast to make any sense. “I'll try,” I said, “but could we wait until Aspen is better first?”

“I'm sorry, but not this time,” she said. “The police need to know as soon as possible.” She patted my arm. “I'll stay with you the entire time, and if you need to take a break, I'll make sure that happens. The police in California will want to talk to you, too, and they'll help us find your family.”

“I don't have a family anymore.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Abel said they didn't want me back after he, you know.” I pointed to my throat. “He said he and Seth went back at night and they killed them and my sister.”

Mrs. Clemmons squeezed my shoulder. “If that were so, don't you think that would have been a national news story?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll check, but you've got to start sorting out what they told you and what's the truth. Abel and Seth told you lies in order to control you.”

I didn't believe her. “They're gone. Killed. Abel told me how he did it. Seth won't talk about it. Aspen's my only real family.” I thought about Caleb, Old St. John, and Frances, how angry they would be at me for telling and ruining all the progress of the Farm. “Please, Mrs. Clemmons,” I said. “I'm worried about my animals.”

“I'll send someone to check on them. Try to let your mind drift, Casey. That will help bring things to the surface. California was a long time ago. Everyone will understand that you did what you had to in order to survive.”

California.
Such a big word, so much inside it.
Calf, can, nail. Fail, nor, naa, no.
When I shut my eyes I saw oak trees rushing
water sunshine ocean waves seals a trailer horses blue jays birthday cakes Christmas trees spaghetti and meatballs a pillowcase toothpaste a rubber ducky a closet filled with clothes pouring rain new shoes Easter baskets a smiling woman and a smiling man and a sister who always got me in trouble a dog. Abel and Seth's voice crept into every memory, staining it, like an old sweater with the silver buttons turned into tin, telling me don't you dare say a word don't even breathe anytime we want we can strangle you cut your throat deeper this time then what will you do when you can't scream anymore and do you know how long it takes to bleed to death from that less than a minute your heart beat will pump your blood out in four seconds but you'll live long enough to know you're dying and then who's going to take care of the brat? We are. You know what we'll do as soon as she's old enough? Or maybe we'll strangle you, that will last longer and to be sure to listen for the click of bones when we fracture your larynx one little crack and then no matter how you try to breathe there is no fixing it good-bye. I thought about the times Abel did strangle me, how much it hurt for days and days. The one time with the broken bottle when he shoved and Seth pulled me away so that all I had was the long cut but it bled and bled until Seth glued the skin together and of course it pulled apart and he had to do it over and over again every day while Abel said this is all your fault you could try keeping your mouth shut which I guess I did because here I am alive and he's not, desert stars lightning take his silver bracelet wipe off the blood, we can sell it.

I wanted to know my dog Curly was all right, and Brown Horse and the chickens, but even thinking about my dog made me cry because of things Seth had done before. If you need to love something so bad, try loving me, he used to say. If you can't
find it in your spirit to be thankful for everything I do for you, then maybe you don't deserve animals. Aw, look what you made me do, Laurel. Look hard. Take a sweat. Pray for forgiveness. Look at yourself, how ugly you are inside and out. You'll never be able to sing that brat a lullaby. Who'd want you now? The answer is no one. No one. No one. Think about that, Laurel.