A Different Blue(161)

money and the car, I most likely would have given them to her. She ended up staying with a

friend in Salt Lake City, and she found a job. The friend's mother ran a daycare, and you were

being looked after by people I knew and trusted. I kept tabs on her through her friend and

thought things were going fairly well. She was there for about six months until she wore out her

welcome. She ended up stealing a fairly large amount of money from the friend's mother. And they

did report her. After that, I heard from her every once in a while, enough that I knew she was

okay.”

The conversation trailed off, and I studied my grandmother's face as she studied mine. It was

Wilson who finally spoke up.

“The police report says they had a tip from someone in Oklahoma who swore that a girl matching

your daughter's description was caught shoplifting several items from a convenience store. The

shop owner ended up not pressing charges because he felt bad for the girl. She was stealing

diapers and milk. He ended up giving her the milk, some groceries, and a case of diapers, along

with some money. When the store owner saw her picture on the news, he remembered your daughter

and her little girl and called the police.”

“Oklahoma?” Stella Aguilar seemed stunned, and she shook her head, muttering under her breath.

“No . . . that isn't possible.”

“The police say nothing ever came of it. It only muddied the waters without giving them

anything more to go on,” I interjected. “I just noticed it because my father – the man who

raised me – had family on a reservation in Oklahoma. I wondered what in the world she would be

doing there.”

“What was your father's name?” Stella Hidalgo's voice was faint and there was an odd stillness

about her, as if she were waiting for an answer she already knew.

“James Echohawk . . . I called him Jimmy.”

Stella slumped back in her seat, shock and dismay written in bold across her face. She stood up

abruptly and raced from the room, leaving us without a word.

“Something's wrong. Do you think she knows Jimmy?” I whispered.

“She sure acted like she recognized his name,” Wilson replied, his tone just as hushed. We

were interrupted by crashing and muttering, and we rose to our feet, all at once anxious to

leave.

“Maybe we should go,” Wilson said loudly. “Ms. Hidalgo? We didn't come here to upset you.”

Stella rushed back into the room holding a box.

“I'm sorry, but I need you to wait . . . please. Just wait . . . for a minute.” We sat back

down reluctantly, watching Stella as she pulled the lid from the box and lifted out a photo

album. Frantically, she flipped through the pages and then stopped short.

“Some of the pictures are missing. Someone has taken some of the pictures!” Stella tore

through the pages, her eyes flying from one photo to the next. “Here. This isn't a very good

shot . . . but it's him.” She tugged the picture from beneath the plastic covering. It had

obviously been there a long time, and it had adherred to the plastic sheet. She tugged and the

picture began to tear. She gave up and brought the book to me, walking across the small space on

her knees as if she were six instead of sixty.

“Do you recognize the man in this picture?” she demanded, tapping the page.