God's Country

Miranda turned her coffee cup around and around, watching the dark grounds swirl. A hand came into view, with a pot. More black coffee splashed into the white ceramic mug, messing up her careful cream and sugar balance. She murmured thanks automatically without looking up.

Michael sat across from her, efficiently downing a Denver omelette, with sausage and hash browns on the side. A stack of five pancakes sat near his left elbow, drowned in real butter and fake maple syrup.

“Sure you ain't hungry?” he asked between bites. She shook her head.

“No, I ate earlier.” It was true. She’d had an apple and half a cheese sandwich. Sometime around mid-morning, maybe?

He finished the egg plate and pushed it to the edge of the table, starting in on the pancakes with no visible signs of flagging appetite.

“You keep eating like that your heart is going to bust out of your body one day,” she said listlessly, then immediately waved her hand as though to dismiss her own words. “I’m sorry, no nurse lectures.”

“S’ok,” he said, never pausing. “I won’t live long enough to die of a heart attack.” He swallowed half his water and a few sips of hot coffee before grinning at her. She almost expected to see fangs. There was, after all, something wild about him. About all of them. Feral, almost. They lived closer to the edge of survival than anyone she’d ever known. Alley cats and stray dogs. No, that wasn’t right. Too tame. More like the skinny coyotes living on the edges of human habitation, howling in the hills at night. A call that made you want to run under the moon and dance, at the same time that you wanted to dive under the covers and hide.

“Why is that okay with you?” she asked, leaning forward, suddenly vitally interested in his answer. He held the fork still in the air for a moment, then shrugged.

“I don’t know. S’just how it is.”

“Don’t you ever want to leave? To get out of there?”

“I guess. No. I don’t know. Where would I go? All my people are on the res.”

“You’re going to college, aren’t you?”

“Community college.”

“How are your grades?”

“Pretty good. Bs, mostly. A couple As.”

“I bet you could get a scholarship to just about any college in the nation.”

“A scholarship?” He made a face. “Not for me.”

“Why not you?”

“Indians don’t go Ivy League, dude.” He laughed at the thought, showing straight white teeth.

“Some do. You could.”

“What the fuck would I do there?” he said, shaking his head. “Buncha stuckup white people.”

“You could get an education. A good job. Take care of your family. Put some glass in the windows of your house.”

He laughed again, pushing away the completely cleared plate of pancakes. “That ain’t my job.”

“Why not?”

“Rick’s the oldest.”

“Are you kidding me? Rick is earning as much money right now as he’s ever going to earn, and he will never go back to school at this point because all his money goes to taking care of all of you. You must be, what, five minutes younger?”

“I thought you said no lectures,” he said, smile gone. “Why do you care, anyway?”

She sat back. “You’re right. Sorry, sorry. None of my business. I’m upset about Rick’s fever, and my grandma.”

“You like him, don’t you.”

“Rick? Yeah, I like him.”

“Why?” He folded his arms. She stared around at the restaurant crowd, a group of teens throwing French fries at each other, an old couple sipping soup without speaking, a couple of weary-looking truck-driver types reading newspapers at the counter.

“I’m one-quarter Navajo, did you know that?”

“Nope.”

“I’m registered with the tribe, my grandma told me.” He didn’t say anything, just regarded her, stern as a totem. She sighed.

“I like Rick because there’s nothing fake about him. No layers. No masks. He doesn’t apologize for anything. He just is.” She sipped the coffee in her cup and winced, reaching for the sugar. “Most people aren’t like that. There’s always something. They try to be someone or something they aren’t, or they expect those things from me. Rick doesn’t. He just is, and so it’s fine for me to just be what I am. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have expectations, or demands. I show up, and however I am that day, he just accepts it. He doesn’t wish I were something else. It’s…relaxing.”

He looked at her oddly. “You think Rick is…relaxing?” She shrugged and nodded. “That’s fuckin’ hilarious.” He proved it by throwing his head back and laughing until he snorted. “Oh, shit,” he said, hiccuping and grabbing at his side.

Miranda just looked at him and waited for the hiccups to subside. “Why is that funny?”

“Miranda, no one comes out to the res if they can help it, unless they’re fuckin’ do-gooders out to save us poor Indians. It ain’t a vacation spot.” He chuckled again. “And even on the res, everyone knows the Fuentes boys are trouble.” He pointed at his chest proudly. “No one fucks with us. Not even with Rick.” His voice dropped. “He fuckin’ shot the guy who ran him and Sandy off the road.” He laughed again. “Badass, man. He was layin’ on the ground bleedin’ half to death, but he pulled the gun out of the glove box and shot the bastard.”

“So why isn’t he in jail?”

“Sandy got rid of the body. Rick told ‘em the guy ran off and they believed him.” He paused. “Relaxing,” he said, and started laughing again.

“Sandy? Got rid of a body? She doesn’t look like she could lift Lily.” Miranda shook her head, not knowing whether to believe him or not.

“Sandy’s a tough chick, don’t let her fool you. That girl got no bounds.”

“So what’s up with him and Sandy, anyway?” She knew it was wrong to pry into Rick’s personal life, but just at that moment, she didn’t really care.

“I don’t know. He crazy in love with that bitch, always has been. They been together since like the 6th grade or something.”

“But she had Donny’s baby. Didn’t he care?”

“He figured it was his fault she left him. They had a fight or something. Shit, I don’t know. They fight all the time.”

“But they’re back together now.”

“I guess.” He looked at his watch. “I gotta go. I got class tomorrow. What time you think they’ll let Rick go?”

“I don’t know. Probably not tomorrow. They’ll want to track down the infection and watch him for at least a couple of days. I’ll be dropping in to see my grandma. I’ll check on him and give you a call.” She picked up the check. He nodded awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing.”

He walked her to her car in the hospital parking structure. “You’re pretty cool, Miranda.” He hesitated. “Can I kiss you goodnight?” She smiled, a little condescendingly.

“That’s very sweet, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?” She unlocked her door, but he turned her around, grasping her chin and planting a firm kiss on her lips. She pulled back and he let her go. He swaggered away into the echoing concrete lot.

“I told you we were trouble!” he said, smiling, and disappeared around the corner. She shook her head and got behind the wheel. Trouble, indeed. But he was a pretty nice kid, all things considered. A good kid, with Rick’s face, and the strong, healthy body that should have been his.

She drove up the long grade, watching the moon slowly change positions. About halfway up, the engine coughed.

“Oh no,” she said. “Come on, baby, just a little bit farther then it’s all downhill.” The engine coughed again. “Shit!” she shouted, pounding on the wheel. She continued to alternately coax and threaten, but finally her little car lurched and died. She was just able to ease it over onto the shoulder. She huddled into her seat, shivering as the heater died and the interior rapidly cooled. There was an extra jacket in the trunk, so she got out and ran around. As she stood there with the trunk open, a car appeared at the top of the grade, on its way down. She flagged it, waving her arms. It slowed and pulled over. A man got out, a man with a familiar outline.

“Bradley,” she said, feeling the inevitability of it.

“I was hoping we could talk, but I got tired of waiting for you to come home. Thought you might have crashed with Lupe, or Sherry, but now I see you were unavoidably delayed,” he said, a smile in his voice, though she couldn’t make out his face very clearly in the dark.

“No, I…Lupe’s in the hospital,” she said.

“Oh lord. Is she all right?” he said, stepping in to her and taking her shoulders. Just then, another car coming up the grade pulled in behind them. The engine turned off and Michael stepped out.

“You okay, Miranda?” he said. “This guy giving you trouble?”

“No, Michael, it’s all right. Everything’s fine. My car died, that’s all.” Bradley’s hands dropped from her shoulders and he took several steps back.

“Well, you don’t waste any time,” he said. Miranda shivered, then remembered what she had been doing and pulled the jacket out of her trunk, shrugging into it and slamming the door shut.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Bradley, this is Michael, Rick Fuentes’ brother. Rick is also in the hospital, with a bad fever. We ran into each other there and left at the same time. Michael, this is Bradley.”

“He your boyfriend?” said Michael, his chin tilted at a troublesome angle.

“No,” she said, at the same time that Bradley said, “yes.”

They all stood around looking at each other. “Look, I need a lift home,” she said finally. “Anyone want to volunteer?”

They both did, glaring at each other like heavyweight contenders. “Save me from macho shitheads,” she muttered. She turned to Bradley. “It’s 2:00 a.m. I don’t want to fight. If you can promise not to fight with me, I’ll go with you.” He nodded stiffly.

“I can take you,” said Michael, shifting his weight. She was again reminded of a wild animal, a panther perhaps, readying itself to pounce.

“Thanks, Michael, I really appreciate it, but I think this is best,” she said. He retreated.

“Call me if you need anything,” he said, before getting in his car and peeling off up the hill.

She shifted all her nursing gear into Bradley’s Bronco, and he pulled an illegal u-turn and took her back up the hill.

“Your car’ll be okay there overnight?”

“There’s nothing in it to steal. I guess someone could push it over the edge, but hey, I could use the insurance money and get a new car.”

“So what’s wrong with Lupe?”

“She’s old, Bradley. She’s just really old, and she’s dying. There’s nothing exactly wrong with her, but I don’t think she’s going back to the apartment. She’s just too weak.”

“Can I visit her?”

“Of course. She’d be happy to see you. Room 404.”

“Thanks.” They rode in silence the rest of the way to the house. She started pulling out her gear and he helped her, making a pile just inside the front door.

“I appreciate the lift,” she said. He closed the front door behind him and leaned against it. “What are you doing?”

“Staying the night, so you’re not completely stranded here tomorrow. I don’t think there’s a rental car agency in walking distance from here.”

“Oh,” she said. It hadn’t really occurred to her what to do in the morning. “Thanks.”

“Miranda,” he started, but she held up her hand.

“I said no fighting.”

“I don’t want to fight,” he said, peeling himself off the door and coming to put his arms around her. “I want to sleep with you.”

“No,” she said, but he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, which looked strangely bare to her, stripped of his small items, a drawer of her dresser open and empty. No one seemed to be listening to her lately. “It’s over,” she whispered, but her hands found the buttons of his shirt and then his radiant, silky skin.

“You still talking?” he said, and proceeded to shut her up.