The Night Watchman(106)

Later on, when the nurse assured Patrice that her uncle’s signs were stable, she left with Millie and walked to her rented room. It was cold inside the little studio, and Millie told Patrice to keep her coat on and sit in the chair. She drew up a stool, next to Patrice, and turned on a small heater. The Salisbury’s coil bloomed red and a comfortable heat flowed toward their legs.

“This is a nice place,” said Patrice, nodding at the table. “What’s that?”

“It’s a plug-in teakettle. There’s no kitchen sink, but I have a full bathroom and that hot plate. I bought some meat pies. My mom calls them shepherd’s pies and over by Michigan they call them meat pasties. There’s this little grocery where they make them fresh or you can buy them frozen. Also, I did buy two apples.”

“We’ve got a meal,” Patrice said.

Millie got up and made the tea, stirring the sugar in with a ceremonial flourish. She had dusted and straightened up her little room. Her pleasure in having Patrice here was so extreme that she found it hard to breathe. Something kept catching in her chest. She handed the teacup to Patrice and also gave her a saucer, matching.

“This hits the spot,” said Patrice.

Millie sat back down on the stool and blew across the surface of the tea.

“You’re the first person who ever visited me.”

“You probably haven’t been here long,” said Patrice.

“Oh yes I have. I just never invited anybody. Not that anybody asked, but that’s how it worked out. You are the first.”

“Well, I like it here,” said Patrice. “I like the bare walls.”

“You like the bare walls?”

It was hard for Millie to contain her elation. “I keep thinking I should put something up,” she said. “Pictures. But then I wonder, of what?”

“People put too much stuff on their walls.”

Millie took a sip of hot, sweet, tea. It was delicious. Soon she would fry up the pies and they would eat the apples. Then they would go back to the hospital and visit Thomas. And after that they would return and go to bed.

“I’m sorry I have only the one bed.”

“We can double up again. You’re a nice calm sleeper. Sometimes when it’s cold I get Pokey and Mom and the baby all of us under the blankets. Pokey kicks, but it’s the only way to stay alive.”

“I leave the window open a crack because of the gas burner. Sometimes when I wake up in here I can see my breath.”

“Sometimes our blanket is covered by frost from our breathing. We have to crack it off in the morning.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I like it so much here alone. Why I’m so happy.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Nobody appeals.”

“Same for me. I’m thinking of Wood Mountain, though.”

“He’s handsome, so I hear. I can never tell.”

“Handsome even busted up.”

“Well, you, you’re beautiful,” said Millie. Her voice thickened, clogging her throat. She opened her mouth to blurt out words of love. She hadn’t really known these words were in her, but all of a sudden they were forcing themselves out of a hidden aperture in her heart. She made a sound, but Patrice spoke first.

“You know, I was thinking, Millie, after Vera comes home I was thinking I want to adopt you. I was thinking that you could be my sister.”

“Sisters. Oh.”

“Could you be my sister?”

“Well, sure.”

Millie knew enough from her interviews to understand that being adopted by a Chippewa was a special mark of friendship and honor. But for some reason what Patrice said didn’t make her feel all one way. She was both happy and for some reason disappointed. And her feelings ran on this way in the silence. Companionable though it was, she felt unsettled and was left wanting by what Patrice had offered. It was as if a marvelous design had flashed before her, and disintegrated, before she could grasp the figures it conveyed.





The Lake, the Well, the Crickets Singing in the Grass




Thomas was ranging far and skimming back and forth in time. He was out fishing on the lake when Pixie got the jump on him. She surprised him by swimming up to his boat. He helped her flop over the side into the bottom. She lay there, gasping. No, he was gasping. He was in a hospital, and he was surprised about still being in the boat. She’d never said why she swam out to him, but he saw the boys back on shore and even from a distance they looked ripping mad. Not long after, Bucky was hit by a twisted mouth. People said that only the most powerful medicine people could fling that twisted mouth. What happened to Bucky scared the other boys, who let out the truth of what happened in the car. So Thomas knew. If that young fool’s face had not sagged, Thomas would have taken him out and thrashed him like a field.

Thomas drifted in the white bed for a while, then found himself back in the boat. Yet again. Pixie wasn’t with him this time. Over to the west, the sky was rolling up a storm. So far no lightning. He started up the little 75 putt putt and sped toward the place he’d parked his car. Too late—in a rush the storm was on him, whirling him from the boat and tossing him high. When he splashed down, shock drove the air from his lungs. Infinitely heavy, he sank. This time, like in the train station. He went down all the way to the bottom, but it wasn’t the bottom of the lake.