Jeanne Stein - Crossroads

JOHN-JOHN IS STILL ASLEEP ON THE COUCH. I TAKE A chair opposite him and watch his chest rise and fal. It’s remarkable how attached I’ve become to the kid. I haven’t felt like this about anyone since — Trish. My niece . She’s safe with my parents in France. Who wil John-John be safe with?

Frey is the logical choice. But that means uprooting him unless Frey decides to stay here.

And then I wil lose them both.

I should be used to the feeling.

I shake off the gloom. My feelings don’t count in this situation.

The sound of a car approaching brings me out of the chair and to the door. I step out onto the porch, closing the door softly behind me. Kayani’s police vehicle is winding its dusty way toward the house.

He climbs the steps to meet me. His face stil bears the marks of sorrow, grief pul ing at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t think of another thing to say.

He bobs his head. Once. “John-John?”

“Inside. Asleep. I don’t want to leave him alone too long.”

“I thought I’d spend some time with him.”

“I think it’s a good idea.”

I hold open the door and we go inside, walking quietly into the kitchen. “Can I offer you some tea?”

He shakes his head, the hint of a smile flickering for the instant it takes him to say, “I can’t stand the stuff. I tried to get Sarah to keep coffee around, but—”

We stare at each other. Final y, I motion to the chairs around the table. “Want to sit?”

He sinks into the chair as if his body weight is suddenly too heavy for his frame. He lays his car keys on the table.

He’s in civilian clothes. Jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, boots.

“Day off?”

“Week off,” he replies. “I took personal time. In case I’m needed here.”

“You wil be.en Should I ask about yesterday? I don’t know anything about what happened. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But where were Sarah and Mary buried? Is there a Navajo cemetery? Frey mentioned a communal meal. Is that part of the ritual?”

At first I think Kayani is not going to answer. His eyes grow dim and introspective. But he recovers. “There is a cemetery.

But most don’t use it. The Navajo have a real fear of ghosts.

If one does have relatives in the cemetery, he often doesn’t know exactly where they’re buried.”

He speaks slowly, thoughtful y, as if translating his people’s beliefs from his native tongue to English as he goes.

“Sarah and Mary were buried in a secret spot in the desert. They were buried in Navajo dress; one of Sarah’s blankets was placed in each coffin. They were buried with trinkets of their life. The purification rites were performed, then we, the parents and I, returned to the house each fol owing a different path. So the dead could not fol ow.”

“And Frey?”

“Frey destroyed the tools used for the burial and took care of obliterating al footprints left behind. When we returned here, another cleansing ritual was performed. This time by a medicine man to bless the house and make it a place of peace and happiness again. After, we shared a meal, to assure the success of the ceremony.”

He chal enges me with serious eyes. “Does that sound foolish to you?”

If only he knew. I have experienced more than my share of ancient rituals. None of which made as much sense to me or were as benevolent as these beautiful y simple ones. “No.

Not foolish. I wish I had such beliefs.”

He gives me another searching glance. “You are not a religious woman?”

“You say it as if surprised.”

“I am. You have an energy that radiates strength. Most often that comes from strong religious beliefs.”

Or from being vampire.

I pick up a sound from the living room. “John-John is waking up.”

We rise as one. Before we join him, I tel Kayani, “Thank you for explaining your customs. It’s important to me to understand.”

“It is important for all to understand.” He pauses. “When the time is right, I expect you to show me the same courtesy.”

With that not-so-cryptic remark, Kayani fol ows me into the living room.

JOHN-JOHN IS HAPPY TO SEE KAYANI. THE TWO TALK quietly in Navajo, giving me the opportunity to slip back into the kitchen and consider my next move.

Would Kayani stay here with John-John while I joined Frey? I’m pretty sure he would. But I don’t have a clue where this View Hotel is, and if I ask Kayani, it’s bound to spark questions. I could check for an address in a telephone book if I could find one.

I start in looking, opening and shutting each cupboard and drawer careful y and quietly. Sarah’s cupboards are al, as I suspected they would be, neat, clean and organized. It dawns on me after I go through them al that I’m looking in the wrong place. A phone book would be in her desk, of course. I don’t remember seeing one when I searched for the address book, but then I didn’t have to go through al the drawers before I found what I was looking for.

When I pass through the living room, Kayani and John-John look up.

“We’re going riding,” Kayani says. “Would you like to join us?”

“You go ahead. A city slicker like me would just slow you down.”

John-John says to Kayani, “Do you believe? She’s never been on a horse.”

Kayani gives me a sly once-over. “I believe it. We’l take her another time.”

John-John scoots off the couch. “I’l get my hat.”

Kayani rises, too. “Wil you be al right by yourself?” “Of course. I think taking John-John riding is a great idea.”

John-John is back in a flash. He has a round-crowned hat on his head and is shrugging into a lightweight denim jacket.

“It’s awful y hot out there. Do you think you need a jacket?”

“We’re used to the heat,” Kayani explains. “And the sun is pretty fierce. Skin cancer, you know. Better to be protected.”

He looks at John-John. “Did you use sunscreen?”

John-John nods, and I find myself smiling.

It’s seems such a dichotomy — Kayani spouting modern thoughts about protecting against skin cancer and a few minutes before, explaining burial rituals that include protection against ghosts.

“Okay then, we’re off.” Kayani says. “See you in a while.”

I watch the two down the steps and until they disappear around the back of the house. Then I’m back in Mary’s room.

I find the phone book, one skinny little thing compared to the voluminous tomes we get in San Diego. There is a ful — page ad for the View Hotel. But no real address or directions.

When I cal the hotel, I’m once again given GPS coordinates that I’m sure would help if I had a car with a GPS.

I can’t even ask for directions from the house specifical y because I don’t know where exactly we are. I program the number into my cel phone and hang up.

My eyes wander out the living room window.

Kayani’s vehicle I’m sure has GPS.

And his keys are on the table.

I snatch them up and head for the car, pausing only to make sure John-John and Kayani have started on their ride. I see them in the distance, moving at a brisk pace, little clouds of red dust marking their trail.

So far so good.

As soon as I get to the car, though, I realize my great idea has a serious shortcoming. There’s a keypad entry system.

Pressing every button on the remote does nothing except set off an alarm, which luckily I’m able to squelch. I suppose it makes sense. No cop would want his car stolen.

Shit.

I could break a window, but that’s not only impractical, it’s stupid. How would I explain it?

The ad said the hotel was located near the visitor’s center and about five miles from the lodge. Could I retrace my steps from yesterday on foot? Once I get to the lodge, how hard would it be to get directions to the hotel?