Cheryl Reavis - Medicine Man

Except that he didn’t think that was the case.

The bride and groom were leaving—or trying to. Clearly, it was the custom for everyone at the postnuptial party to escort them to their car. The band members struck up another song, playing as they walked, a reprise of something they’d done earlier.

Will stood back to let them pass, losing track of Arley in the surge of people heading toward the door.

He was one of the last to reach the outside, and he had to force himself into the mugginess of the summer night. He had grown up in the desert and he was used to hot temperatures, but he would never adjust to the oppressive heat and humidity so rampant in this part of the country. He always felt as if he were walking into a living being.

The band played as enthusiastically as ever, but outside the music dissipated into the night air.

“So how homesick are you?” someone said.

Arley stood on the sidewalk near the door.

“Not very,” he said this time. He realized she was starting their conversation over, rewinding it to the point before her ex-husband arrived.

“Really,” he added, and she smiled.

“Maybe you ought to tell your face that.”

“Aren’t you going to go say goodbye to Kate?” he said to divert the conversation to a safer topic.

“I did earlier. Besides, I might catch the bouquet.”

“Wouldn’t want to do that, I guess.”

“No way. So I thought I’d annoy you instead.”

“Any…particular reason?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “You’re so serene. Even when you’re not having a good time.”

He laughed softly, because, at this moment, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Is that a Navajo thing?”

“What?”

“Serenity,” she said pointedly. “Pay attention, Baron.”

“It’s kind of hard to do both—be serene and pay attention,” he said, smiling still.

“Just answer the question.”

“Which one?”

“The serenity one.”

“Yes. It’s a Navajo thing.”

“Must be hard to do—in the military, I mean.”

“Sometimes.”

“Now answer the other question. How homesick are you?”

He drew a quiet breath, aware of the night sounds around them, the kind that didn’t mean home to him. “Well, all the pine trees help—except they’re too tall and the wrong variety.”

“That’s what I thought. Did you leave a girl behind? In Window Rock?”

“Ah…no,” he said.

“A lot of family, though.”

“A lot, yes.”

“How many brothers and sisters?”

“One half brother. One half sister.”

“That’s not a lot.”

“Well, my half sister—Meggie—has children—hers and the rest of the world’s. Stray people are Meggie’s thing. And there’s my stepfather—Lucas Singer—he’s also my uncle by marriage, because he married my father’s sister, Sloan, who got joint custody with the tribe so she could raise me. Lucas has a sister—she’s a lawyer, the kick-butt kind. She’s got children, plus there’s the daughter my stepfather-uncle by marriage didn’t know he had and her husband, Ben. Ben’s a tribal policeman. So is my stepfather-uncle and his sister the lawyer’s husband.”

“Go on,” she said, when he stopped his deliberately convoluted recital to see if her eyes had glazed over. Incredibly, she was listening.

“And then there are the non-blood-related people who have a permanent invitation to attend any and all Baron-Singer social gatherings—the ones who are just passing by and happen to smell dinner cooking, and the ones in and out of jail. Basically, it’s the Navajo reservation version of Mayberry.”

She laughed softly. It pleased him to make her laugh.

“What about your birth mother? Does she come?”

“No. She doesn’t. Meggie would invite her, though, if she got the chance. She’s like that.”

“What about your half brother?”

“Patrick. He’s…” Will stopped. There were no precise adjectives for Patrick. He was and always had been a walking contradiction.

“So when was the last time you were home?” Arley asked.

“Christmas. Are we…going someplace with this?” he asked.

“I like to know things,” she said. “Especially when it comes from somebody who doesn’t like to tell them.”

“Well, that would be me,” he said. “Usually.”

“And this usual…reticence—is that a Navajo thing or a Tar Heel thing?”

“Can’t be a Tar Heel thing,” he said, making her smile again.

“Don’t go by me. Some Tar Heels are reticent,” she assured him. “Do you like being in the army?”

“It’s what I need,” he said cryptically. He had never really articulated to anyone why he’d enlisted—there were a lot of reasons, including a very persuasive army recruiter with a quota to meet. But the most important ones had to do with Will’s obligation to and affection for the people who had rescued him after his father was killed and had given him a good life.

Two women stood watching them from the edge of the crowd surrounding the Meehan-Doyle getaway car. One was strong-looking and tall and unyielding, like a tree that would break rather than bend. The other seemed tentative and anxious, as if she had more concerns than she could handle. Both of them looked just enough like Arley and Kate for him to hazard a guess.

“I think I see two of your relatives,” he said when the women’s intense interest began to exceed his comfort level.

“My sisters,” Arley said. “Gwen and Grace, the micromanagers. Kate is usually their target. Lucky me, I get to be their surrogate concern for the next two weeks.”

“Kate’s only going to be gone three days.”

“It’s going to seem like two weeks,” Arley assured him.

“It’s…good to have relatives who care.”

“You think so?”

“Where I grew up, it is. The worst thing you can do is behave as if you didn’t have anyone who cared enough about you to teach you right from wrong.”

“Now, that’s a Tar Heel thing. It’s called ‘not being raised.’ Don’t ever act like you haven’t been raised, Baron. People would talk. It would reflect badly on your father’s family forever, and, believe me, you don’t want that.”

Arley paused. “Will, thank you,” she said suddenly.

“For…?”

She glanced over to where her sisters were standing, then looked at him.

“For not asking me about…what happened earlier. With Scott. And for not letting him start anything. He wanted to make a scene, and I—couldn’t—”

“It’s okay.”

She sighed. “People think he wants us to get back together, but he doesn’t.”

“I’m…sorry,” Will said, for lack of anything better to say.

She shrugged. “Mostly, he just wants somebody to blame for what happened. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t the one with somebody on the side. Several ‘somebodies,’ actually. Well. Anyway. I really appreciate your help. He could have caused all kinds of trouble tonight, and Kate deserves better than that from me and what used to be mine.”

Actually, Will thought that Arley had defused the situation—by walking away. She stood for a moment, seeming on the verge of saying something more, then decided against it.

“He’s not still around someplace, is he?” Will asked, thinking she might be worried about running into him again.

“No. Gwen and Grace saw him leave.” She glanced toward the sisters again. They looked no happier now than when Will had noticed them earlier.

A sudden cheer went up from the crowd as the car carrying the bride and groom moved a few inches.

“Arley! Arley, come here!”

The treelike sister had found her voice.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to have four mothers?” Arley asked him.