Green Lake (28 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

Sara saw to it that Eris didn't have a chance to call Madeleine until Monday morning. From the moment they landed in
Albuquerque's airport she and Clint took command of his existence and chauffeured him around in the back seat of a red Mercedes. In the first twelve hours they introduced him to dozens of people who all struggled to hide the same look of shock Sara had worn the first time she saw him. As for Sara, she presented him as if he were a piece of dark but reaching artwork she had recently completed.

Sara put together a small dinner party Sunday evening and Eris met several more people, all of them Indians, all of them terribly concerned with Sara's injuries, and all of them wondering why Eris was still living in
Kansas. Everyone assumed he either aspired to move to New Mexico or was already in the planning stages.

“We're creating a new West,” a woman from the
Institute of American Indian Arts Museum said to him. “We're seeing a resurgence of pride and spirituality unsurpassed in this century. It's important we band together and keep it alive.”

“And non
-white,” Sara added. Everyone smiled.

Eris awakened earlier than his mother and his brother the next morning. After showering and dressing he moved through her huge adobe house to stand on a tiled veranda and look out over the mountains in the distance. A piece of a rainbow provided a colorful arc across the gunmetal gray sky. The land in the foreground appeared lush and green, not at all like the desert he had expected.

Nothing in Santa Fe was as he expected. The people were all chic and sophisticated, and the buildings were all uniform. It was a beautiful place, wonderful to look at, but Eris didn't feel he fit in.

It took
just ten minutes to reach for his cell phone.

A minute
after that he was staring in consternation as a recording told him service at Madeleine’s number had been disrupted. Eris called again and heard the same message. He hung up and walked around the huge house counting rooms before trying again. Then he called the lake office.

“Renard?” said the officer who answered. “Damn, I'm glad you called. We were beginning to think you were in your house when it burned down.”

After a stunned pause, Eris demanded to know what the hell the man was talking about.

“Bruce Beckworth torched your house Saturday night. Dale Russell shot and killed him and is on suspension right now.”

“What about Madeleine?” Eris asked immediately. “Is she all right?”

“Who?” the man asked. “Oh, yeah, the blonde. She's okay. Smoke inhalation, Russell said.”

“Where is she?”

“I don't know. Russell came by a little while ago to make some copies of his report and he said he went to see her, make sure she was all right. He said she got a grant, whatever that means. You haven't talked to her?”

“No.” Eris felt suddenly sick. “She can't call me. I need to talk to her. Can you find out for me where she is?”

“I would, but the way Russell talked, she's already headed out. He sure felt bad about your house, and he tried to look after her for you, but he said she was acting a little spacey after getting rescued from the fire. She'll probably call you when she gets to where she's going, so I wouldn't worry too much about it. I would, however, get my butt home. Because of Russell the chief cut your suspension short. He needs you back here.”

“I'll be there when I can,” Eris told him, and he hung up. He stared blankly at the paintings hanging on his mother's walls before putting his head in his hands and rubbing harshly at his eyes. “Goddammit,” he muttered.

“What's wrong?” his mother asked from behind him. “
The girlfriend not answering?”

Eris's nostrils flared. “Please shut up. You don't know.”

“I know you're upset,” she said in a calm voice. “Talk to me. What's going on?”

“I have to go back,” he told her. “Someone set fire to my house on Saturday. Madeleine was inside.”

“Was she hurt?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then why run off? Call your insurance agent from here and find out all you need to do. We can send or receive any forms from my office.”

He stared at her. “I just told you my house burned down and you want me to stay and meet your friends?”

Sara was unperturbed. “My point is there's very little you can accomplish by rushing back.”

“I'm needed back at work. And I want to talk to Madeleine.”

“Where is she?”

He hesitated before admitting he didn't know. “No one can tell me.”

His mother spread her hands, but before she could say anything, Eris said, “She doesn't know how to contact me.”

“Obviously.”

“I told her I would call her. I haven't had a chance before now.”

“Surely your superior doesn't expect you to come running back. Your shoulder hasn't even begun to heal.”

Eris exhaled. “I want to go back.”

“To work, or to Madeleine?”

He looked at his mother and said, “I need her more than I need to be here.”

“You don't mean that,” Sara argued. “Eris, we've waited all our lives to meet.”

“And now we've met.” He began searching for airlines on his phone.

Clint walked into the room, sleepily rubbing his bare stomach. “What's going on?”

“Eris is returning to Kansas,” Sara told him. ”A man burned his house and his girlfriend was frightened.”

“Damn,” said Clint. “Your house burned?” Then his brows lifted. “Is it the blonde Mom was telling me about?”

A voice in Eris's ear asked if she could help him and Eris told her yes, he needed to get back to Wichita as soon as possible.

“What about the dermabrasion?” Clint asked his mother, and Eris stared at the two of them as he was placed on hold.

“The what?”

“Dermabrasion,” said Clint. “For your skin. Mom said she was going to give you a new face for a late birthday present.”

Eris's nostrils flared again. He turned his back on his mother, who stared stonily at Clint.

“What did I say?” asked Clint. “What?”

When the reservations were made, Eris hung up the phone and asked his brother to take him to the airport in Albuquerque. Clint looked at Sara and shrugged. “Sure, I’ll take you. I'll throw some clothes on while you get your things together.”

Sara stood motionless, her attractive mouth a thin, tight line as her sons brushed past her to go into the hall.

Eris told her goodbye as he left the house, but she had nothing to say to him. He figured it was just as well, the story of their short acquaintance, one of them forever leaving the other behind.

Clint chuckled as he got in the car. “Man, is she pissed. It
ain't often she gets thwarted, oh brother of mine.”

Eris said nothing.

Undeterred, Clint continued. “Anyway, it gives me a chance to ask about your girlfriend without Mom hearing. I hear she's really pretty.”

“She is,” said Eris.

“Older than you?”

”A few years.”

“And white.”

Eris looked at his half brother. “You're Fox on Sara's side and what on your father's? Chippewa?”

“Yeah.”

“The Fox and the Chippewa used to be bitter enemies. They warred constantly.”

“Until the white man appeared on the continent and they warred against him.”

“Right,” said Eris. “What if the white man had never come?”

Clint smiled. “The Fox and the Chippewa would, in all likelihood, still hate each other. I see your point. Mom, however, would not. She sees what she wants to see, and what she does not want to see is a white woman attached to the arm of her son.”

Eris turned his face away. “What she wants doesn't concern me.”

The ring shoved into the recesses of his wallet proved it. He had wanted to give the ring to Madeleine on Saturday at the airport, but the wheelchair-bound Sara gave them only seconds to be alone before she rushed him off to go and sit aboard an unmoving plane for forty-five minutes.

It had taken him several hours to find a ring he liked. When he finally stumbled on one he wanted, he didn't blink an eye at paying the steep price. It was the ring he wanted for Madeleine, and it was the only one he was ever likely to buy. Eris wasn't a traditionalist, but he wanted everyone who looked at her to know she was spoken for. All he needed to do now was ask if she would wear it.

As if reading his thoughts, Clint said, “Don't bother sending an announcement to Mom. She'll piss nails for a week.”

“She knows how I feel about Madeleine.”

“Madeleine. Nice name. All Mom ever calls her is ‘that blonde.’”

Eris looked at him. “Sara is a racist.”

‘‘Yeah, I know. I get tired of listening to it myself. And I damn sure don't tell her about my friends back at school.”

They rode on in silence for several minutes, until Clint looked over and said, “It was really good to meet you, Eris. I mean it. I wish we had more time together.”

Eris nodded.

“I understand how you feel,” Clint said. “I'd want to get back and check things out. You think you'll be back anytime soon?”

“For the dermabrasion?”

Clint's face colored slightly. “Hey, I never meant anything, you know. Mom made such a big deal out of it and all. I thought you wanted the procedure and it was something the two of you had talked about before coming.”

“I've learned to live with it,” said Eris.

“If Madeleine doesn't care, why should you? Sounds like you're a lucky guy.”

Eris wanted to agree, but until he knew exactly where Madeleine was at the moment, he couldn't say if he was lucky or not.

When they reached the airport he was disgusted to find all flights either delayed or canceled and all traffic being rerouted due to a collision and widespread fire on the runways. His flight wouldn't be rescheduled for another four or five hours, and he had nothing to do but sit and wonder about Madeleine.

Unless he could find some way to reach her sister, Jacqueline.

Jacqueline's mouth quivered as she stared at Madeleine.

“You ate dinner with him? You actually sat down and ate dinner with Manuel?”

“I was starving,” Madeleine said in defense.

“How could you?” Billie Heron asked of her older daughter.

Frank Heron shook his head.

“He helped me after I was pulled out of a burning house,” Madeleine said to the three of them. “It wasn't like I slept with him.”

“I don't know that, now do I?” snapped Jacqueline.

“Yes, you do,” Madeleine answered quietly.

“Oh, that's right, because you're in love with Eris Renard. How stupid of me to forget.”

“Who is Eris Renard?” asked Frank, her father.

”A conservation officer at the lake,” answered Jacqueline.

“Oh,” said Frank, as if that explained everything.

“How could you?” Billie asked Madeleine again. “Sam hasn't been dead six months.”

Madeleine looked at her mother. “Sam has nothing to do with this.”

“Did his parents ever contact you? They sent us a check a few weeks ago and asked us to make certain you got it. They said they were sorry for all the debts he left you, and they wanted to help. We kept meaning to send it. Frank, have you got that check?”

Frank took out his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here. It's for twenty-five hundred dollars.”

Madeleine looked at her father. Twenty-five hundred
? Sam left her strapped for twenty times that amount. And she had paid off every cent.

She took the folded check from her father's hand and stuffed it in the pocket of her jean shorts. Pride was no longer an
issue; she would need the money for a temporary place to stay. There was no way she could remain with Jacqueline and her parents. And she needed another phone.

She walked downstairs to collect all the laundry she had done, and she carried it out to her car while her family watched.

“Where are you going?” Jacqueline finally asked.

“I don't know,” Madeleine answered. At the moment she didn't care if she ever saw any of them again. She just knew she was going.

“Madeleine,” Jacqueline said firmly. “Where are you going?”

Madeleine ignored her and got in the car.

Minutes later she was flying down the road on her way to the cabin to pick up Eris's things.

An hour after Madeleine departed the
land line rang at Jacqueline's house. Billie Heron answered. She listened then turned to Jacqueline. “It's a man asking for you. He says his name is Renard.”

“Tell him I don't know
where she is,” Jacqueline said.

Billie told him, and then said, “I'm sure she'll call you once she lands somewhere. Madeleine is like that. She always has
been.” She listened again then said, “This is her mother. No, none of us know where she's going. She didn't bother to tell us.” When she hung up, she looked at Jacqueline. “He sounded very angry. Renard is the man she's been seeing?”