God's Country

On Sunday morning, Miranda stayed in bed, half-dozing, an unusual lethargy invading her limbs. She heard Nadine get up and go to church. She heard Nadine come back from church. She heard Nadine open her door and come in to sit on the edge of her bed. Her mother’s cool hand rested on her forehead.

"Are you sick, Miranda?"

"I’m not sick, Ma, you’re sick."

"I’m exactly the same as I was yesterday and the day before that and the day before that."

"I don’t understand how you can keep smoking." She opened her eyes. "Every day you smoke is one less day you spend with me."

"It’s my death, Miranda. Mine and God’s. It’s too late to run away, and it’s not up to you to decide how long I have."

"Do you have to run at it?"

"I’m living with my choices, and that one was made long ago."

"You’re dying by your choices."

"So are you."

Miranda sat up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that we all live and die by the choices we make. I made a choice to smoke, and it is killing me. You don’t smoke, but don’t think you’re not killing yourself in different ways, Miranda."

Miranda rolled away from her, staring out the window at the silver-green eucalyptus. "Sounds like an excuse to me. If you have no defense, attack."

"I’m not attacking you. I’m telling you the truth, you just don’t want to hear it." Nadine stood up.

"That’s right. I don’t want to hear about I’m committing suicide." Her mother didn’t reply. Miranda heard her footsteps retreating down the hall. "We’re having company for dinner," she shouted after her.

Eventually, she dropped off to sleep again, lost in a strange dream about yellow school buses and Robert de Niro. She woke with a start and got up, logy and aching from too long in bed, coated in a thin sheen of sweat. She brushed her teeth and ate some yogurt. Nadine was asleep on the couch. Miranda didn’t bother to shower. She went out front and started pulling weeds, yanking them out with a zealot’s fervor. She spent hours under the hot sun, her brown skin turning browner, sweat pouring down her back. She had retrieved a shady hat and her work gloves from the gardening shed, along with a small spade and a hoe for the tough ones.

After about four or five hours, the front yard looked bare, but respectable. She resolved to buy some meadow seed next time she went to town. It was simple to scatter and water a few times, and invariably resulted in a glorious explosion of wildflowers and grasses before withering away at the end of the season into a thick dry grass they used to feed to the goats. Miranda wasn’t much for manicured lawns, especially not way out here where there was no one to see it but her and Nadine.

She went inside and gulped down what felt like several gallons of cold water. Nadine was in her usual place at the kitchen table, flipping through a home and garden magazine.

"Ma, that guy I went out with the other night is coming to dinner tonight. And Grandma Lupe."

"You’re going to pick her up?"

"Yeah. I guess I may as well pick him up, too. It’s not that far from Grandma’s." Nadine just nodded without looking up. Miranda rolled her eyes and hoped her mother broke out of her mood before dinner. She called Boo to let him know she was coming to get him, then washed her hands thoroughly and pulled out the dinner fixings, preparing the chicken and vegetables with the same quick, efficient movements that characterized her nursing.

The sun was already setting – she had spent such a long time in bed that morning. She coached her mother on stirring the rice and checking on the vegetables, then scooted into the shower. She got out and only then did it occur to her that she had another date, and nothing to wear. She sure couldn’t wear the same dress she had worn on her last date. She sighed and climbed into a clean pair of jeans and a simple red button-down shirt. He was having dinner at her house, she could set the dress code. But she did put on sandals instead of sneakers, applied a tiny bit of mascara and lip gloss, and brushed her hair so it would dry straight.

"Ma, you’re getting dressed, right?" she said as she re-entered the kitchen to check on the food. Her mother didn’t seem to have moved, still sitting at the table in her pink robe.

"Yes, don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you in front of Boo," said Nadine carelessly.

"Grandma’s bringing tamales," Miranda said, and a small smile creased Nadine’s face.

"That’s good," she said. "I’ll take care of the chicken. You go on and drive down to town." A long pause as Miranda fiddled with the basting sauce one last time. "You look nice, honey."

Miranda did as she was told, and climbed back into her car. It was the one thing she really was beginning to dislike about living out here. She had to get in the car to do anything. She daydreamed about living in a place where she could walk out her front door and go to the post office, or the bank, or a movie theater. Sometimes she imagined she would move to New York, that towering, alien place of pedestrians and subways and integration – but then she would quail, thinking about how she was used to acres and acres of open land, and corrals with horses and cows behind them. She didn’t think that urban concrete canyons would have the same soothing effect.

Before she knew it, she was down the grade and picking up Grandma Lupe, who was seated outside on a bench, ready and waiting for her in her thick coat and heavy, rubber-soled shoes. She had a heavy bag with her that smelled utterly delicious. Miranda helped her into the front seat, put the bag of tamales in the trunk so the smell wouldn’t drive her mad, and proceeded over to pick up Boo. She figured it would be easier to have Grandma in the car first, so she wouldn’t have to try to make awkward conversation, alone with Boo.
She pulled into his driveway and got out.

"I’ll be right back," she said, and ran up to ring his doorbell. He opened the door, dressed almost exactly like she was, in jeans and a button-down shirt. He leaned over gracefully and kissed her on the cheek.

"It’s good to see you again," he said, smiling. She swallowed twice and stepped back.

"You too. Grandma’s in the car. Are you ready?"

"Yes, ma’am."

He slid into the backseat and introduced himself to Grandma Lupe in a fluent burst of Spanish. Surprised, she answered him and soon the two of them were jabbering away while Miranda gripped the steering wheel, irritated as hell that she didn’t know what they were saying. She wondered if his southern accent showed up in his Spanish. Maybe she’d ask later. They were halfway back up the grade and Lupe was laughing merrily before either of them bothered to speak to her.

"I’m sorry, mija," said Grandma Lupe, wiping at her eyes. "We don’t mean to be rude."

"You don’t speak Spanish?" said Boo, his surprise evident.

"No. Ma never spoke at home. She wanted me to learn English, and I did."

"I apologize, Miranda, I just thought…."

"That because I live in California and have Latina blood, that I would speak Spanish? Don’t worry about it, a lot of people think that." Miranda cursed at herself for the bitchy way that came out.

"You’re right, it was a dumb assumption." She rolled her eyes. He wasn’t supposed to apologize!

"Well, I assumed you wouldn’t know Spanish because you’re white and have blue eyes," she admitted grudgingly, "so I guess we’re even."

He chuckled. "I worked in Arizona, near the border, for about three years, and most of the crew was Mexican. Afterwards, I went traveling all over South America for about six months."

"You’re very adventurous," said Lupe.

"Stop flirting with him, Grandma," said Miranda. Boo laughed.

"What’s the matter, worried I’m going to take your man?" Lupe struck a vamp pose and even Miranda had to laugh.

"Now, ladies, let’s get some dinner in our stomachs before y’all start fighting over dessert," said Boo. Lupe giggled.

"All right, both of you stop that, right now," said Miranda, smiling as she pulled into the driveway.

"I’m glad you picked me up, Miranda, because I sure would have had trouble finding this place in the dark," said Boo as he saw the unlit driveway stretching away beneath the trees.

"It does help if you’ve been here during the day once or twice," she said. "Well, home sweet home. Welcome."
They all got out, Boo helping Lupe to her feet and escorting her to the front door.

Miranda stepped in front of them to unlock the door. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. Nadine, an indifferent cook at best, had, after all, watched the chicken. Miranda let out a breath. It wasn’t exactly that she didn’t trust Nadine ….

"We’re home!" she called out. Nadine appeared in the kitchen door, wearing a nice blue dress. Not church formal, but a big improvement over the pink robe. She was even wearing lipstick. Miranda gave her a quick hug, grateful for the effort.

"Ma, this is Boo Radley," she said. Lupe called out from behind her.

"I thought his name was Bradley," she said. He patted her hand, still tucked into his arm.

"Bradley it is," he said solemnly. Nadine smiled at him.

"Come on in, Bradley, we just need to set the table."

Dinner went off beautifully. The tamales, of course, were a big hit, but so was Boo. Or Bradley. To Miranda’s mild chagrin, Lupe was obviously bowled over by him and even the more cautious Nadine was enjoying herself, smiling, chatting easily, and hardly smoking at all.

He helped Miranda clean up the dishes while Nadine and Lupe retired to the living room. Miranda put some coffee on while Bradley loaded the dishwasher.

"Can I really call you Bradley?" she said finally.

"You may, if it comes out easier," he said. She sighed with relief.

"Oh, you have no idea."

He poured the soap in and locked up the dishwasher, flipping it on with practiced ease. He walked over to where she was setting out cups and saucers and pinned her against the counter, one hand on either side. He kissed her and she let him, putting her hands on either side of his waist.

"You’re a good cook, Miranda. Thanks for inviting me to dinner," he breathed in her ear.

"Thank yourself," she whispered, "I didn’t exactly invite you."

"But you’re glad I came."

"Yes." He smiled in satisfaction and backed away.

"You have a nice family," he said. "Your Grandma is a kick."

"They like you," Miranda said, pouring coffee into the china cups that saw very little use.

"Good. Then maybe I’ll get invited back. Would that be all right with you?"

Miranda shrugged helplessly. "You seem determined to insert yourself into my life. I’m not sure why. I haven’t been encouraging, I think."

"I think you like me, Miranda, but you’re used to doing everything on your own. But it isn’t the best way. Everyone needs someone to lean on, to help them."

"So you’ve decided I need help. You’re planning to rescue me." She picked up a cup. "No thanks."

He took it out of her hand and put it back on the counter. "I’m not that nice a guy," he said, his blue eyes suddenly cold. "Don’t think I won’t want something in return." He walked towards her again and she shrank back. He took her chin in his hand and she jerked it away. He made a noise and turned his back on her, picking up two coffee cups. "Don’t think this conversation is over," he said, and stalked into the living room.

Miranda idly stirred cream into the cup that was hers, sugaring it heavily. She took a sip to steady herself. He threw her, she could admit it. She just didn’t know what he wanted, or why. She walked out with the two remaining cups and stayed quiet while Bradley continued to charm her family. When the coffee was gone, Lupe stifled a yawn.

"Time to go home, I think," said Miranda, standing and getting her coat. Bradley and Lupe said their goodbyes to Nadine, Lupe clinging a bit more than usual. Miranda caught her wiping her eyes and laid a hand on her fragile shoulder.

"It’s all right, Grandma," she whispered. "I’m not going anywhere." Lupe nodded without looking at her, climbing carefully into the car.

They rode down mostly in silence. Lupe fell asleep, so Miranda dropped her off first. Bradley helped her get upstairs and into her apartment, after which she shooed them away brusquely and shut the door on them.

"I see where you get your independent streak," he commented as they rode back down the elevator.

"She’s one tough old lady, I’ll tell you that," Miranda agreed.

"Come in," he said, as they pulled up in front of his house.

"It’s late, Bradley, I don’t think it’s a good idea," said Miranda, even as she turned off the engine. He walked around the car while she sat, paralyzed. He opened her door and took her hands, lifting her out of the car. Like an automaton she followed him into the house.