Craig Johnson - Cold Dish

I hung the mic back up and watched the trees pass by along the irrigation ditch. I expected to see the Old Cheyenne again, standing among the cottonwoods. But there was nothing there and that worried me a little more; maybe even they had abandoned me. I thought about where we were going, about Lonnie. Yes, it is so… I didn’t think that Lonnie had killed Cody and Jacob, but I wanted to talk to him directly and find out if there was anything more to his story than Henry had been able to tell me. I looked over at my friend. It seemed that his breathing had gotten a little rougher, but he still slept, his body attempting to repair itself while he wasn’t looking.

There was a maroon minivan with a bumper sticker that read FRY BREAD POWER in Lonnie’s driveway, and there was someone sitting on the passenger side. Even from the distance and angle, I knew it was Melissa. I brought the Bullet to a stop alongside the van. Henry woke and placed a hand on the dash to steady himself. “You all right?”

“Yes.” He blinked. “Just sleepy.” He looked out the passenger side of the Bullet, and I saw the muscles at the side of his face bunch as he smiled at her. His hand came up to the glass, and I knew hers was extended toward him. He handed me the rifle. I took a moment to collect myself, giving them enough time to be together before I opened my own door and came around the back of the truck. It was a moment I had avoided, this personal contact, but here she was, and here I was with her.

She was holding him, and I was amazed at how she had grown. Melissa was taller, still lean but muscled now and, even though she hadn’t lost all of the stunting qualities of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, the graceful quality that was indicative of the Cheyenne and their personal beauty was there. Her face turned to me. I hadn’t seen that face, with the exception of that fleeting glance at the powwow, for more than three years. Her eyebrows still arched in a questioning fragility, and the folds at the insides of her eyes still attempted to betray her. In honor of the golden fall afternoon and despite the oncoming winter, she was dressed in a pair of gray flannel athletic shorts and a T-shirt that read SWEET MEDICINE TREATMENT CENTER, SOBRIETY RETREAT. I stood there for a moment with the rifle in my hand, unable to move, as she loosened herself from Henry only long enough to attach herself to me. I held the rifle out so that it could not touch her and looped my other arm around her shoulders. Henry quietly took the gun. After a moment, she pulled back to look up at me. “You are sad?”

I laughed as a tear threatened to escape the corner of my eye. “I guess I’m just happy to see you.”

She smiled back, and it was like sunshine through a church window. “I am happy to see you, too.”

Henry retreated and headed up to the house with the Sharps as Melissa and I talked. She kept a hand on my arm as we spoke, as if the connection might be fleeting and neither of us could take the chance. She had received a partial basketball scholarship to a community college in South Dakota and was only back from her special classes for a tournament. She wanted to know if I could come home with her in a week and a half and spend Thanksgiving with her and her aunts. She assured me that Lonnie would be there, too. I asked her where Lonnie was now. “He is inside, arguing with my aunt Arbutus. She said that I should come out and sit in the car. I’m glad you are here. I was bored.”

As she spoke, I became aware of a commotion. The screen slapped open and the most formidable of the aunts made her way from the porch and headed toward us. Henry was wheeling Lonnie out the door after her with the buffalo rifle in Lonnie’s lap along with a small, black plastic box. Melissa’s aunt pulled up short when she saw me. I hadn’t formally met Arbutus Little Bird and had previously withstood her cast-iron gaze from afar. She didn’t like me, but I think it was less because I was a white man with a badge and more because I associated with Henry. “Hi, Arbutus.”

She redirected her gaze at Melissa. “Get in the car.”

I took a deep breath and took Melissa’s hand in mine. She was trembling. “Arbutus, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

She didn’t respond but stood there with her hands at her sides as Henry wheeled Lonnie up behind her. She turned slightly and spat out the words, “I hope you’re happy, now that the sheriff ’s here.”

Lonnie’s eyes did light up when he saw me. “Hello, Sheriff.”

“Hey, Lonnie. What’s going on?”

“Oh, my sister isn’t going to let me have my daughter for the holidays. Yes, it is so.”

I glanced up at Henry, who shrugged. I looked back at the galvanized aunt. “What’s the story?”

“I’m taking her home.”

“Well, do you mind telling me why it is you’re not going to let her have Thanksgiving with her father?”

A moment passed. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

“No, you don’t, but I can get on the radio and get one of the IPs over here and you can talk to him.” I was playing an angle, but most inhabitants of the reservation hated Indian Police even more than us. We were just whites. They were apples, red on the outside, white on the inside. She didn’t say anything. “Whatever it is? I’m sure we can work it out.”

“I found a beer in his refrigerator.”

I turned and looked at Lonnie. “Is that true, Lonnie?” God, like I didn’t know the response.

“Yes, it is true. Yes, it is so.” He continued to smile. “I keep it there as a reminder and to keep temptation at hand. Temptation out of reach does you no good.”

“How long’s the beer been in there?”

“About a year and a half.”

She crossed her arms, but she turned to look down at him. We were making progress. “How come I haven’t seen it in there before?”

He blinked his eyes through the thick glasses. “It was behind the pickled pigs’ feet. You don’t ever move them. Um-hmm, yes it is so.”

The look on her face told me he was telling the truth. “Arbutus, do you think it would be all right if Lonnie came over for Thanksgiving dinner at your place?” I waited a moment myself, for the next one. “And do you think it would be all right if Melissa came over here and spent the night with Lonnie, maybe on the Friday after Thanksgiving?” She didn’t say anything but turned to look at me. “Friday night, then?”

“Get in the car, Melissa.”

She started to open the door, but Melissa’s voice stopped her. “Would it be okay if the sheriff came over for Thanksgiving dinner, too?”

Arbutus stopped and turned to look at her, then at me. She was a hard old gunboat, but I saw the steely eyes soften a little. “Walter is always welcome at our table.” She started to open the door, but her eyes steered clear of mine. “You know where I live. Melissa, will you get in the car?”

The hand loosened in mine, and she leaned in to give a slight peck on my lowered cheek. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll do my best.” She stopped. “I’ll be there.” The smile returned, and I watched as she turned the corner and got into the van, or almost did, before she jumped out, ran around the front, and gave her father and uncle a good-bye hug.

I leaned against the bed of my truck, crossed my arms, and looked down. “How you doin’, Lonnie?”

“I’m good, and how are you?”

“I’m all right. Did you leave me a little present?”

He looked up at Henry through the split lenses, and the mid-afternoon sun glinted off his metal-framed glasses. Then he turned back to me and smiled. “Um-hmm, yes, I did.”

I nodded. “How did you get in my truck?”

“Oh, those new ones are easy to break into, that and the keys by the door of your office. Yes, it is so.”