Jeanne Stein - Crossroads

I’m glad I wasn’t around for that conversation.

“Daddy!”

The screen door bangs once again and a smal child flies down the steps like a miniature whirlwind and into Frey’s arms. Frey scoops him up and dances around in a circle.

They speak in Navajo, their pleasure at seeing each other so genuine, so unaffected, I almost join them just to be a part of it. If I didn’t feel Sarah’s eyes boring into my back, I might have. But her glare is as obvious a warning to Frey as it is to me. She doesn’t want me anywhere near her son. Mama bear has her claws out.

Frey either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He stops dancing long enough to bring the boy over to me. “John-John,” he says in English, “this is my friend, Anna.”

I stil feel the heat of Sarah’s angry glower, but I smile anyway. “Very nice to meet you.”

He sticks out a chubby hand. “Nice to meet you, too.” His English is perfect. His round, cherub face aglow. He has his mother’s coloring, but he has Frey’s eyes and mouth.

I touch his fingers and give a nod. Before I can say anything else, Sarah has swooped down on us. She takes the boy from Frey and cal s out to Mary. When Mary joins us, Sarah barks something in Navajo and puts the boy in her arms.

Mary responds, her tone and expression tel s me she is arguing with Sarah, but she’s quickly cut off.

“Take him inside.” Sarah speaks in English this time.

“Don’t argue.”

Frey’s face betrays his disappointment. He waits until Mary is back inside before bracing Sarah. “You have no right to keep my son from me.”

“And you have no right to show up and demand an audience. We agreed. I would bring John-John to you when the time was right.”

“We agreed?” Frey snaps back. “No. You agreed. If you think I’m going to wait until he’s nine or ten to forge a relationship with my own son, youidn crazy. He’l have forgotten me by then or, worse, think I’ve abandoned him.

Reservation kids have enough trouble without adding insecurity to the mix.”

Angry color floods Sarah’s face. “Don’t you dare criticize our life here. Our son is far better off with people who love and can protect him than he would be with you, exposed to things like that.”

She finishes by jabbing a thumb in my direction.

A thing ? Until now, I’ve listened to their vitriolic exchange as an interested and intrigued voyeur. Even found it mildly humorous, being of a somewhat twisted nature. But now she’s dragging me into the fight. My backbone stiffens. I open my mouth to spew an angry rebuttal, but Frey cuts me off.

“You don’t know Anna. And you don’t know me. You ran away before giving me a chance to prove that I could take care of you — both. If I had to pick now between you and Anna to protect our son, Anna would win. No contest.”

He takes a step toward her, and I half expect him to thrust an angry finger into her chest to emphasize each word as he continues. Instead, he bal s his hands into fists and presses them into his side, his voice shaking with rage. “She has the best heart of anyone I know. She’s risked her life more than once to save mine. She’s fighting even now to save your ass and you don’t even know it. So, yeah, I’d pick Anna over you any day. I just wish John-John was her son instead of yours.”

My stomach gives a jolt. I don’t know who is more shocked by Frey’s outburst, Frey, Sarah or I. Of course, the reason for being shocked is different for each of us. Sarah looks as if she’s been sucker punched. Frey looks as if he can’t believe what he just said. I’m so flabbergasted, my mouth fal s open with an astonished gasp. The three of us stand stil as statues each waiting for the other to speak first. I won’t be of any help. Frey’s last words twirl around in my head like sticky threads of cotton candy, completely confounding rational thought.

It’s Mary who breaks the stalemate.

She’s standing on the porch, glaring down at Sarah and Frey, her eyes blazing with fury. “Are you two crazy? Don’t you realize John-John can hear you? He’s in his room crying his eyes out because his mommy and daddy are fighting over him. What’s the matter with you?”

Sarah releases a breath, her shoulders slump. Her face reflects regret and bitterness. “I’l go to him in a minute, Mary.”

“You should both go to him. Now.”

Sarah looks up at Frey, gives a smal nod of capitulation.

The two of them move into the house, each careful to keep their distance as if any physical contact might precipitate another verbal explosion.

Mary comes down the steps to join me. “Can you believe those two?”

I shake my head. I’m stil a little thunderstruck by what transpired.

Mary motions toward the porch. “Let’s get out of the sun.”

I fol ow her up the steps and we plop our butts down on a couple of old canvas chairs set back in the shadows.

“Want anything to drink?”

I final y find my voice. “No. Thanks.”

She eyes me under a fringe of bangs. “So what are you to Frey?”

“What are you to Sarah?”

“Sister.”

“Friend.”

“Wel, at least one of us is tel ing the truth.”

I sit up a little straighter. “I’m tel ing the truth, too. Frey and I are friends.”

“A friend that he wishes was the mother of his child.”

So she heard that. “He didn’t mean it.” Did he? Of course he didn’t. I’m vampire.

“Wel, he said it.” Mary fixes me with a penetrating stare.

“Are you real y a vampire?”

She heard that, too. “Yes.”

“Cool.”

My turn to stare. “You’re not repulsed like Sarah?”

“Shit, no. Sarah is being overprotective.”

“Seems more like paranoid.”

Mary shrugs. “She has her reasons. But if Frey trusts you, I do, too.”

I look around. The area is beautiful, true, but it’s lonely. Too lonely for the average—

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Nineteen.”

“And you live here?”

It comes out far more disparagingly than I mean it to. I backtrack quickly. “It’s just you are so young and—”

Mary laughs and brushes the air with a hand. “It’s okay. No.

I don’t live here year round. I attend col ege in Phoenix. I’m here for the summer. Helping Sarah with John-John and as she likes to put it, reconnecting with my roots. I won’t stay here after I graduate, though. The atmosphere on the rez is too claustrophobic.”

“But it isn’t for Sarah?”

“Not since she had John-John. It’s like she feels safe here.”

“Safe? From what?”

For the first time, Mary’s expression becomes guarded.

Her shoulders draw up a little, her posture stiffens. “You should ask her.”

I don’t want to risk Mary shutting down. I scour my brain for something to get us back on the friendly track we were before. A whiff of horse drifts up from the corral. “I noticed you have horses. You ride a lot?”

Mary’s shoulders relax. “Yes. It’s one of the reasons I don’t mind spending summers here. Do you ride?”

“Me?” I laugh. “No. Never been on a horse.”

“Wel, we’l have to remedy that. I’l take you out this afternoon if you’d like.”

We’l have to see what the horse says about that. The last time I was close to a horse, it shied away from me with a baring of teeth and flattening of ears. I think it sensed the beast. But I don’t want to cal attention to that side of my nature, so I pause to compose a noncommittal reply. Before I come up with anything, the door opens behind us.

Sarah is back.

SARAH DOESN’T LOOK PARTICULARLY HAPPY TO SEE me sitting on her porch, even less happy to see me chatting up her little sister like we’re a couple of school chums. But surprisingly, she doesn’t lash out. She has car keys ain for sor hand. When she speaks it’s with a decidedly resigned air.