loom to carry it in the house. I expected him to be angry with me. He wasn't; in fact, he looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or hit me upside the head.
"You're not off the hook that easy, Cyrano."
I didn't think my nose was that big.
6
Cicadas
I got another visit from Officer Hargrove toward the end of June. She caught up with me and Granny outside the church, looking just as harrowed as I remembered. A couple of the elders looked alarmed to see her and prodded each other, pointing conspicuously. Granny raised her eyebrows but didn't intervene; she left us standing outside the school house, hobbling her way back to her front porch.
"Think carefully," Officer Hargrove said. "Does your father know anyone in Wyoming?"
Wyoming? Baffled, I shook my head. I wasn't even sure that Dad could pick out Wyoming on a map of the States.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded slowly. I didn't like this urgent line of questioning; I had the feeling it was leading up to something decidedly less pleasant. And sure enough--
"Your dad's fine. He was spotted buying a train ticket to Newcastle."
Oh, I thought, that's good. That's terrific, actually. He's fine. He's not--
It really felt like my heart had stopped. My arms were heavy and cold, too heavy for me to raise; my veins were like ice, cold spells crawling beneath my skin. Blood pounded between my temples, chilly and dizzying. Dad was fine. He just didn't want me with him.
"We're investigating former clients to figure out who he's running from, but it's difficult, his line of work doesn't exactly leave a paper trail. I'll let you know if--Skylar?"
The more she talked, the less I heard. I don't remember sitting down, but the next thing I knew I was on the school steps, a choir of afternoon cicadas buzzing in my ears. Officer Hargrove was gone.
I might have felt iced to the bone; but now I felt like I was burning from the inside out. Every time I breathed, the air caught in my chest, tangible, like hot coals. I finally understood the idiom "seeing red."
I thought: If Dad had wanted to leave without me, the least he could have done was tell me about it.
"You know school doesn't start until September, right?"
I looked up. Rafael was coming down the road toward me, shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets.
I really didn't think I was in the mood to talk to anyone. I tried to smile, but I don't think it worked, because Rafael had this look on his face, inquisitive but knowing. He took a couple long strides toward me and sat next to me on the school steps.
"Someone giving you crap?"
Quickly, I shook my head.
"Something about your dad? He's missing, right?"
I shrugged noncommittally.
"Not missing anymore, I take it."
I smiled again. I suspect it was wry.
Rafael looked around. A couple of girls were walking arm-in-arm down the lane; they whispered and shot furtive looks our way. Rafael glowered after them and they hurried past, alarmed.
Rafael rolled up his sleeve. Finally I saw what the tattoo on his right arm was: a winding blue chain.
"When I'm pissed," he said, "when I feel like I could hurt someone, but I know I don't want to, I add another chain link."
I sat gazing pensively at the ink chain for some time. It looked like it had hurt, but maybe there was some catharsis in that.
Rafael knew what I was thinking. He stood up.
"Let's go," he said.
I followed Rafael back to his house. The heavy scent of roasted yaupon rolled out of the kitchen, but I don't think Gabriel was home. I couldn't imagine what he was doing; nobody on the reserve worked on Sundays, except probably for the hospital staff.
Rafael showed me into his bedroom, a small, square room without paint or windows. It was pretty cluttered, clothes and charcoal remnants and a radio lying strewn on the floor.
"You're not off the hook that easy, Cyrano."
I didn't think my nose was that big.
6
Cicadas
I got another visit from Officer Hargrove toward the end of June. She caught up with me and Granny outside the church, looking just as harrowed as I remembered. A couple of the elders looked alarmed to see her and prodded each other, pointing conspicuously. Granny raised her eyebrows but didn't intervene; she left us standing outside the school house, hobbling her way back to her front porch.
"Think carefully," Officer Hargrove said. "Does your father know anyone in Wyoming?"
Wyoming? Baffled, I shook my head. I wasn't even sure that Dad could pick out Wyoming on a map of the States.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded slowly. I didn't like this urgent line of questioning; I had the feeling it was leading up to something decidedly less pleasant. And sure enough--
"Your dad's fine. He was spotted buying a train ticket to Newcastle."
Oh, I thought, that's good. That's terrific, actually. He's fine. He's not--
It really felt like my heart had stopped. My arms were heavy and cold, too heavy for me to raise; my veins were like ice, cold spells crawling beneath my skin. Blood pounded between my temples, chilly and dizzying. Dad was fine. He just didn't want me with him.
"We're investigating former clients to figure out who he's running from, but it's difficult, his line of work doesn't exactly leave a paper trail. I'll let you know if--Skylar?"
The more she talked, the less I heard. I don't remember sitting down, but the next thing I knew I was on the school steps, a choir of afternoon cicadas buzzing in my ears. Officer Hargrove was gone.
I might have felt iced to the bone; but now I felt like I was burning from the inside out. Every time I breathed, the air caught in my chest, tangible, like hot coals. I finally understood the idiom "seeing red."
I thought: If Dad had wanted to leave without me, the least he could have done was tell me about it.
"You know school doesn't start until September, right?"
I looked up. Rafael was coming down the road toward me, shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets.
I really didn't think I was in the mood to talk to anyone. I tried to smile, but I don't think it worked, because Rafael had this look on his face, inquisitive but knowing. He took a couple long strides toward me and sat next to me on the school steps.
"Someone giving you crap?"
Quickly, I shook my head.
"Something about your dad? He's missing, right?"
I shrugged noncommittally.
"Not missing anymore, I take it."
I smiled again. I suspect it was wry.
Rafael looked around. A couple of girls were walking arm-in-arm down the lane; they whispered and shot furtive looks our way. Rafael glowered after them and they hurried past, alarmed.
Rafael rolled up his sleeve. Finally I saw what the tattoo on his right arm was: a winding blue chain.
"When I'm pissed," he said, "when I feel like I could hurt someone, but I know I don't want to, I add another chain link."
I sat gazing pensively at the ink chain for some time. It looked like it had hurt, but maybe there was some catharsis in that.
Rafael knew what I was thinking. He stood up.
"Let's go," he said.
I followed Rafael back to his house. The heavy scent of roasted yaupon rolled out of the kitchen, but I don't think Gabriel was home. I couldn't imagine what he was doing; nobody on the reserve worked on Sundays, except probably for the hospital staff.
Rafael showed me into his bedroom, a small, square room without paint or windows. It was pretty cluttered, clothes and charcoal remnants and a radio lying strewn on the floor.
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