all. 'No, Peter. Things changed while you were… gone.'
'Uh-oh. Like what?'
'I'm in love with someone else. I've been in love with him for a long time. You can't come back to me.'
Peter stiffened in hurt and disappointment, and an image of struggle, fighting, rocks falling flashed through his thoughts. Julieta was vaguely aware that Cree had stirred in her blanket. The dawn light was much stronger now. Tommy held her waist in his thin hands and looked into her face with Peter's eyes, now very confused. He was so weak his legs were trembling with the effort of standing. Peter needed consoling.
'Everything is okay now, my love. I'm happy now. Your son is good. You are free. No diapers, no bills-some relief there, huh?'
Still he looked wounded, but his face admitted there was truth in what she said. He would never have stayed, she knew with certainty. He'd have flown away.
'Who?' he asked.
'Joseph.'
Peter nodded once, not surprised. He looked away from her for the first time. 'You're sure this is how it goes?'
'Very sure.'
He was coming undone. It was harder to see Peter in the face of the shaky teenager who stood before her clinging to her sides. Julieta suddenly saw the world as Cree must: All the forces that had converged to bring Peter back were starting to slip away. All the longings that had propelled him had been answered or denied by the only person who could. Again the scary horrible dream tumbled in the back of his mind, fighting and guns and falling rocks, but it was remote and irreconcilable with what was happening. This was so much preferable. Still, he felt dismay.
A thought came that had never occurred to her before, and an overwhelming gratitude blossomed in her. 'You did something wonderful for me.'
He turned back to her. 'Oh, yeah? What was that?'
'You showed me how to fly. From that very first day at the mesa. You didn't know it, but you gave me freedom from Garrett. You broke his hold on me.'
'Glad I could be of service, ma'am.' He was imitating a cowboy, protecting himself with some swagger. But she could see she'd pleased him.
'Can you help me that way again? Would you?'
'You know I would. How?'
'You… be free. That makes me free. You fly. Then I can fly.'
'Where should I fly?'
'Out there,' Julieta said, choking.
She couldn't be sure which landscape she indicated with her gesture. Behind Tommy, the sun still had not risen but was so close to the horizon it gilded the rim of the land with golden fire. Where Peter was, on the front porch of the house in Oak Springs, the stars had come out through the darkening blue and the sky looked deeply domed at the zenith. The shape of the mesa and the rolling swells of sagebrush were magical in the near dark, turning faint as the ghost's world lost conviction.
Peter looked out at it as if he'd just seen something astonishing. He turned back to give her a confiding smile and turned away again. Something like a reflection of light skipped out of Tommy as Peter stepped off the porch.
His foot never touched the ground.
Tommy almost fell, but Julieta caught him in time.
50
It was a strange procession that made its way out of Julieta's corral: three women on horseback, two men walking behind. They didn't hurry. The horses were content to amble, occasionally turning their heads aside to nip mouthfuls of sage. Joyce was having a blast, sitting high astride Breeze with her jet-black hair rippling, eyes sparking; she'd borrowed a cowboy hat from Julieta. Forty feet back, Joseph and Edgar were talking, but Cree couldn't hear what they were saying over the dull clump of hooves. The rhythm of Madie's strides and the movements of her muscular shoulders felt good to Cree, and she wished she wasn't too tired for anything more than a walk.
'Ellen called to invite us to the ceremony. She wanted to make sure you knew you were invited,' Julieta said. 'It starts on Tuesday. Can you stay till then?'
'I wouldn't miss it,' Cree told her. Right now, every bone in her body ached with exhaustion. But a few days of rest would patch her together.
It was Friday afternoon. Behind them, the school was a buzz of activity as the kids milled between buildings. The five yellow buses had parked in front of the dorms and soon most of the students would head home for the weekend. The night had been cold, but the sun had brought warmth and now the air was a mild, cool caress, perfect for riding. To the east, the mesa rose with walls of red-brown.
It looked obscure, Cree thought. Completely anonymous.
'Can I, you know, make him go faster?' Joyce asked.
'Breeze is a mare,' Julieta told her. 'A female horse. Just tap your heels and make a cluck or kissing noise. First comes a trot, and you have to post-that's support yourself on your legs. Then a canter, what we call a lope, then a gallop.'
'What do I do then?'
'You hang on for dear life.'
Joyce was already off. Her hair streamed behind her as she cantered off ahead. Her cowboy hat fell back and hung by its cord at her back. Cree smiled, realizing how much she would miss this wide-open land, the dry cleanliness of it.
'I talked to Tommy this morning,' Julieta said. 'He's doing fine. He's eating. Says his aunt is feeding him big meals, making him drink Gatorade. He's drawing again and wants to come back to school.'
The family had taken Tommy to Ellen's house in Burnham until the ceremony. Just the thought of Ellen made Cree smile. 'She'll fix him up in no time.'
Julieta grinned and then got serious. 'Cree. Did Peter… did he know he was a ghost?'
'Ordinarily, I'd say no. But I'm never really sure about ghosts' self-awareness. They're usually very confused by the discrepancy between the world they were alive in and our current world. Especially when you intervene in their world dream, they experience a conflict of realities that's fundamentally irreconcilable. Most of Peter's actions were a perseveration, practically just a tape loop replaying his final hours. But whenever his hand moved on its own, I couldn't help feel that it had become the instrument of a conscious being. I have no idea how that would work, Julieta. None. But when I was talking to Ellen about it, she pointed out the parallels with something I should have thought of, the Navajo tradition of hand-trembling. Do you know much about that?' Julieta shook her head.
'If I've got the traditional explanation right, the Hand-Trembler diagnoses the sick person with the assistance of some helping spirits-not human ones, the four Gila monsters, kind of half gods. They animate the diagnostician's hand and reveal what's wrong with the sick person. At least there's some precedent for the idea of such a selective possession, that… isolation of consciousness in one limb. But I don't know how it might work. I just don't know.' Cree blew through her lips in frustration. Every case seemed to generate more possibilities and uncertainties than answers. And yet that gave her joy, too: world without end. Infinite mystery. 'But I was going to say-at the very end, I did get the sense Peter realized what he was, what was going on. That it was time to let go. That he wanted to do as you asked.'
'I think so, too,' Julieta said softly. 'I'd like to believe that. That he'd be so… graceful.' She frowned, and Cree knew what she would say next. It was a moment she'd dreaded.
After helping get Tommy to Burnham, they had returned to the school and had talked for a long time. Cree had given Julieta a rough idea of what had happened after Garrett met Peter at the door. The burial in the ravine
