Why the Star Stands Still (Gives Light Series) (23 page)

"And I already knew about them eating each other so I answered a question right.  I
never
did that before.  And then he paired us up for reading and Nick was actually really nice today.  He kept asking me when I was going to die, though."

"What?" said Rafael, bewildered.

"Hang on," I said, backtracking.  "Did you say school was 'awesome'?"

Mickey pinched her eyebrows together.  "Yes.  Why?"

"Where did you get
that
from?" I wondered.

"Not from me," said a surly Rafael.

"Me, neither," I said.  "Must be a genetic throwback."

It was funny to watch Mickey screw up her face with bemusement.  "What are you morons talking about?"

"Nothing, sweetheart," I said.  "Do your homework."

"
Fine
," Mickey grumbled, and zipped open her backpack.

Charity came along a little while later, and the girls sat by the brook with the treacherous gray fluffball, reading from their battered old history books.  I watched them from the window with a small smile on my face.  Time moves way too fast.  I can still remember reading from those books when I was in school myself.

I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.  I felt a chin resting on my shoulder.

"She's pretty awesome, too," Rafael said, his voice in my ear.

My smile deepened.  I traced his winding chain tattoo idly with my fingertips.  "Are you sure you're not just saying that because she likes your terrible music?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Rafael contested.  "Anyone who calls the saxophone good music must've had his brains scrambled in the womb."

"Sounds appetizing."

"She's kind of like you," he said.  "She's smart."

I considered that.  "Thank you, first of all," I said.  I don't know whether I'd call myself smart.  "But she's more like you.  She's very cranky."

"I'm not cranky.  I'm differently tempered."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, me neither."

"Do you know anything about bras?" I asked.

I could hear the uncertainty in his voice when he replied.  "What, like I've ever seen one up close and in person?"

"You're right," I said, after some reflection.  "I'll ask Jessica when I see her."

I saw Jessica at dinner that night, when Morgan Stout was debuting his new woodland flute for all of us.  She laughed so hard, my face turned red.  Women.  Why can't you ask them a simple question and get a simple answer in return?

"Maybe she doesn't need a bra when she gets older," Rafael grunted, when we went to bed that night.  "Maybe she can just toss 'em over her shoulders."

"Have you ever actually known anyone who did that?" I asked.

"My grandma," he said.  And he said it so plainly, so forthright, I honestly didn't know whether he was joking or serious.  "Not Grandma Gives Light, the other one."

"Oh, the one with the claws."

"Yeah.  Her bust was huge.  Like a floatation device."

"Is Grandma Gives Light sticking around Nettlebush?" I asked.

Rafael pulled the bedsheets down the mattress.  He pulled a face.  "Matter of fact, she is.  Uncle Gabe's pretty worried about it--because, you know, she's kinda old--"

"That's one way of putting it--"

"--and if she kicks the bucket in their house, they're gonna have to move.  And, you know, they like that house."

"I like it, too."

"Yeah.  I like our house better, though."  Rafael lay down, his hair fanning across his pillow.  "Any of Balto's pups been around lately?"

I shook my head and smiled.  I lay next to him.

Our room's pretty nice, you know.  Blue-white walls and a carpet in pendleton orange and gray.  A photo of Annie sits on the windowsill.  The rest of our photos sit on the closet door.  That closet's an unmaneuverable mess.  I still have to steel myself whenever I open it.

Rafael's eyes were on me.  I could feel them even when I turned off the lamp at my bedside.

It's funny.  All it takes is a look from him and I feel like a dumb, helpless, enamored idiot.  I feel like I'm a kid all over again.  All these years later.

That just can't be anything but love.

I reached for his hand and found it in the darkness, guided by the moonlight streaming through the window.  I twined my fingers with his.  His palm curved against mine.  I like that, you know?  I like to feel him.  I like to know he's there.  He's always going to be there.

A knock sounded on the door; and before either of us could answer it, Mickey stepped inside, her long hair tumbling around her face.

"You shouldn't'a done that," Rafael said gruffly, turning his lamp on.  "How do you know we weren't thanking each other?"

"Huh?" Mickey asked, her hand on the doorknob.

"Never mind," I said.  "Get over here."

She climbed up over the bed and perched between Rafael and me.  She played with the ends of her hair, probably to avoid looking either of us in the eye.

I touched her shoulder.  "Is something wrong?"

"I can't sleep."

"Oh?  Why not?"

She hesitated; and then she shivered, sliding down against the mattress.  I looked at Rafael over her prone head.

"You have a bad dream?" Rafael asked.  Already he was fast at work pulling the blankets up to her chin.

"What?  No.  Honest," she said.  "Just...you know."

By the look on Rafael's face, he very clearly did not know.  Neither did I, truth be told.

"What if she comes back?" Mickey asked.

Weighted with sadness, I combed my fingers through her hair.  "She can't hurt you," I told her.  "She went to prison."

"Well, what if she breaks out?  That happens sometimes.  Doesn't it?"

"Not as often as you'd think," I said.

Mickey didn't seem assuaged.  She folded her hands atop the bedcovers--diplomatically, I thought--her forehead puckering in the lamplight.

"Hey," Rafael said.

She turned her head just slightly.

"If she comes here, and she tries to get you?"

I frowned, not entirely sure he should give credence to that scenario.

"I'm big," Rafael said.  "You see my muscles?  I won't let her get to you.  I'll pick her up and throw her off the reservation."

"You can't do
that
," Mickey said.

"Why not?" he said.  "You think I'm not tough enough?"

He sat on his knees.  He picked her up and plucked her off the bed.

"Hey!" she yelped, swinging her arms.  Her protests transformed into giggles.  Rafael held her effortlessly over his head.  "Sky!" she appealed.  "Help me!"

"Okay," I said.  I stuck my fingers beneath her belly and tickled her.  She pealed with laughter, bright and musical, the best sound I had ever heard.

Later on she fell asleep between the two of us, her cheek on Rafael's arm, her hair tickling my neck.  I brushed the fringe from her closed eyes with the pads of my fingers.  I thought about how perfect she looked to me.  How I suddenly couldn't remember what our home had looked like without her.

In Shoshone, there's a saying.  It's a long one, and it doesn't have an English equivalent, so bear with me.

Sutummu tukummuinna.  It means: 
I don't speak your language, and you don't speak mine.  But I still understand you.  I don't need to walk in your footsteps if I can see the footprints you left behind.

Those Shoshone.  They really think of everything.

12

Has Two Enemies

You know it's autumn when the bergenias are in bloom.

Nettlebush was crawling with bergenias come mid-September.  One day after school I took Mickey on a walk through the woods and I showed them to her, exquisite, copper-red plants with heart-shaped leaves.

"Why do you know so much about plants?" she asked me, Mini traipsing leisurely at her heels.  Damn that double agent.

"Because I like them," I said simply.  "Actually, most plants can be used for medicine.  A lot of people don't know that these days."

Mickey's head tilted to one side.  "Medicine?  Really..."  She poked the edge of a bergenia plant with the very tip of her sneaker.  "What kind of medicine does this one have?"

"Well, you might not believe this," I said.  "But Plains People used to chew on the roots when they wanted to lose weight."

Mickey tossed me an impertinent look.  "You should try it," she suggested.

I returned her look very sternly.

We walked together down the forest path.  I stopped her and pointed out an inconspicuous weed resting under the shade of an alder tree.  Mickey bent down and scooped Mini into her arms.

"That guy over there," I said, "that's arnica.  If you've got a bruise, or a cut, you put the leaves on the afflicted area.  It helps it heal."

"I could've used that when Jeremy Delson gave me a black eye," Mickey muttered.

"That won't be a problem anymore," I said mildly.  "Will it?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Good."  I bent down to cull and pocket a few of the arnica leaves.  "I was always using this on Rafael when we were kids," I explained.  "He got into fistfights, too."

Mickey seemed to like that.  "Just like me," she said.

"Just like you."

I took her off the path and led her to a running stream, one of the lake's right-tributaries.  I pointed out the fan-like ferns standing in the autumn sun.

"We call those licorice ferns," I said.

Mickey stood up straight.  "I know why!" she said.  "I bet they help you if you have a sore throat."

"Exactly," I said, with a surge of pride.  I tousled her hair.  "I told you you were very smart."

"Shut up," she said with a grin.

I checked my wristwatch.  I had to head home soon for a conference call.  I put my arm around her shoulders and we walked back down the path.

"Rafael got into a lot of fights?" Mickey asked.

"He did," I said.  "A lot of people didn't understand him."

"You mean the way he grunts?"

I couldn't help but laugh.  "Not that," I said.  "They understood his speech just fine.  What I mean is...they would look at Rafael, and they would remember what his father had done to their families."

"Oh," Mickey said quietly, and she seemed to shrink in on herself, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell.

We went home and I turned on the computer monitor in the front room.  I sat down at the squat pine desk.  I was surprised when I saw Mickey's face reflected on the computer screen, just over my shoulder.  She stood behind me, silent and inert.

I turned around.  "Would you like me to make you a snack?"

"No," Mickey said.  She knelt and set Mini on the floor.  The treacherous fluffball strode off, no doubt in search of her next unsuspecting victim.  My wrists itched and swelled in sympathy.

Mickey stood up and looked me in the eye.  "If Rafael's dad was so bad...weren't you ever scared of him?"

"I was very scared of his father," I said.

"Not his father. 
Him
.  Rafael."

I paused.  "A little bit," I confessed.  "When we first met."

"But you're not afraid of him anymore?"

"No," I said, and smiled.  "Anybody who knows Rafael couldn't possibly be afraid of him.  Are
you
afraid of him?"

She stuck her tongue out at me.  "No way," she said.

"Then there you have it," I said.  But I suspected there was a deeper reason behind her line of questioning.  I gave her a serious look.  "What's on your mind?"

Mickey scuffed at the hardwood floor with the worn soles of her sneakers.  I told myself I ought to buy her a new pair the next time I went into the city.  "Rafael's not like his dad..." she began.  "So that means I'm not like my mom.  Right?"

I didn't immediately know how to respond.

"Because I don't want to hurt people," Mickey said emphatically.  "Like, I don't want to have a baby someday, and then get mad at her and--and stab her!"

Her eyes were wide; I saw the way her pupils dilated with recollection.  Just thinking about how terrified she must have been that night...

Suddenly I didn't care whether she wanted me to hug her or not.  I took her into my arms and pulled her close.  She didn't hug me back--I hadn't really expected her to--but she sat comfortably on my knee.

"Everything you do," I said, "you get to decide 'yes' or 'no.'  All you have to do is say, 'I don't want to hurt people.' "

"I don't want to hurt people."

"Then you won't."

"Are you sure?"

I leveled her with my gaze.  "Positive."

She nodded slowly; I didn't know whether I'd gotten through to her or not.  "Okay," she said.  "You seem smart, so I'll believe you..."