Shutter(22)

Travis broke the silence. “How come you can’t talk Navajo?”

“I just never learned how.”

“Doesn’t your grandma talk Navajo to you?” He looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Not all the time. Not like your grandpa talks to you. You’re lucky.” In the distance, I could see only a shadow, a movement deep in the rabbitbrush, but I was certain it wasn’t an animal. It stopped and listened. Mr. Bitsilly’s voice lingered through the canyon.

“I hope that Grandpa’s singing helps to find her son.”

Travis walked back into the house. I had no idea what the woman’s son looked like, but someone was standing in the darkness. I ran back into the house and closed the door.

“Are you okay?” Travis said. The television flashed on his face.

“I just need to come inside,” I explained, and joined him in the living room, watching the silent images flicker.

There was a violent bang, shaking the windows and sending Travis and me running into the kitchen. It sounded like someone had thrown a brick at the door.

“Are you two okay?” Mr. Bitsilly came into the room.

We couldn’t talk or move, only stared at the door waiting for the next thump to ring out, but nothing happened. Mr. Bitsilly opened it wide. Nothing. We looked out into the darkness with Rosemary Nez by our side, tears streaming down her face. Mr. Bitsilly sent us to our beds on the couch. A short while later, I heard Mr. Bitsilly take Rosemary to her car, then trudge back up his porch steps. When he stopped to look at us, I pretended to sleep. He shuffled to his room and the whole house went black, helping me to close my eyes and rest.

In the morning, I woke before anyone else, and I knew that Mrs. Nez’s son was dead. I dreamed about him all night. I dreamed about his car and the sound of laughter. It had been an accident. He and two girls had gone up to the cliffs above Chuska Lake and drank until they could barely stand. As the two girls slept off their drink in the backseat, Deswood Nez made his way to the edge to look out onto the darkened water. Then he slipped. His body flipped and turned on the rocks and trees below until he came to a stop at the bottom, a hundred feet from his car and his companions. When the two girls woke up the next morning and found Deswood gone, they figured he had walked home. They did the same. He was still lying down there, a slight smile on his face.

I walked outside into the crisp air before the highway began to move, before all the reservation dogs began to howl and chatter about their nights beneath the scarce, barren streetlights. I lingered across the street from Mr. Bitsilly’s house, looking out into the bushes and grass that lined the field, feeling the pull of the leaves on my fingers.

“Rita,” Mr. Bitsilly called out. “What are you doing over there? Get back over here.”

I ran back to see Mr. Bitsilly get down on one knee and look straight into my eyes.

“Rita, you can’t just run off like that without telling me where you are going.” He squeezed my hand. “I promised your grandma that I would take care of you.” We walked hand in hand to the steps and sat down.

“I think I saw him, Mr. Bitsilly,” I said. I pointed out into the field. “His shadow was standing out there last night while you were singing.”

“Whose shadow?” I could feel his blood coursing through his fingers as he held on to my hand.

“Mrs. Nez’s son. He’s dead, you know.”

Mr. Bitsilly released my hand. “You don’t know that, Rita.” Mr. Bitsilly stared out into the empty field. “You shouldn’t say that kind of thing.”

“It’s true,” I said. “He visited my dreams last night and told me right where he is.”

“Rita.” Mr. Bitsilly was angry now. “You can’t lie about this. Mrs. Nez is so worried about her son. How would you feel if your grandma went missing? Wouldn’t you want to find her?”

“I’m not lying.” I began to cry. The thought of missing my grandma filled me with anxiety. “He fell. He fell right by the lake. He is still there.”

I could feel Mr. Bitsilly shaking. He stood up and took my hand once again, walking us into the house, into the kitchen, where he grabbed the phone and dialed.

Travis couldn’t stop staring at me as Mr. Bitsilly called the police over to the house. We sat waiting for them in the kitchen, silent except for the occasional pop from the coffee pot. When they pulled into the driveway, they spoke to Mr. Bitsilly from their cruiser windows. I strained to hear what they were talking about.

“It’s true what they say about you, isn’t it?” Travis said.

I didn’t answer.

“People say that you see ghosts and things. Is that true?” Travis kept at it. “It doesn’t scare me, you know. You have some kind of special gift, like Grandpa. You just know things.”

I stayed silent. It was only my second day away from my grandma and I couldn’t stop thinking of her leaving me here— like my mom left me, like Gloria left me—to live out my days with Mr. Bitsilly and his grandson. I was terrified.

Mr. Bitsilly came into the room and sat down with me and Travis. “The police are going down to the lake to look for Deswood,” he said. “They will let us know what they find after they talk to Mrs. Nez.” He never took his eyes off me, but it wasn’t the look of mistrust. He was worried about me. “Do you promise me that you’re telling me the truth, Rita?”