finished project baking under the August sun. The buildings are smal, rectangular and marked with the familiar symbolic logos proclaiming them bathrooms.
Bathrooms barely big enough for a toilet or two. Just a toilet or two. If there’s a shower in there, I’l eat some of that blue corn pudding and the consequences be damned.
“The place looks deserted.” My tone is hopeful, suggesting it’s time to turn around.
Frey pul s the Jeep behind a clump of brush and glances at his watch. “We’re a little early. George wil be here in a few minutes.” He turns to John-John. “Want to get out and stretch your legs?”
Before I can fol ow up with any more questions, John-John has wiggled out of his seat belt and is holding out expectant arms to Frey. Frey jumps out of the Jeep, hefts his son to the ground and the kid is off.
He studiously avoids looking in my direction.
“Kid’s got a lot of energy.”
I’m gritting my teeth so hard, my jaw aches. “Where exactly are we sleeping tonight?”
Befo'>Frey motions in a vague away. “There.”
“There? Where? I’m tel ing you, I’m not going to sleep on the ground. I did that once on a rafting trip down the Grand Canyon with my folks. We were told to put our sleeping bags perpendicular to the river so the critters coming down at night to drink wouldn’t crawl into your bag. It was a nightmare.”
One I’m not about to revisit.
Another vague arm wave. “No river, see?”
“Shit, Frey. I don’t care. There’s got to be a hotel around here. This is a major tourist attraction. What about the lodge where Sarah works? Why can’t we stay there?”
Frey hesitates, directing his attention to his son, pretending John-John
“So what about the cars in the lot?”
“They belong to people taking tours. They’l be back soon and tonight, we’l have the camp to ourselves.”
Oh great.
I plop down on the bumper of the Jeep, the acid of frustration and anger eating a hole in the pit of my stomach. I cast a look in John-John’s direction and lower my voice to a whisper. “Are you going to let Sarah dictate every fucking detail of this trip?”
“Are you going to tel me that a hot-shit vampire is afraid to sleep in the dirt?” Frey is whispering, too.
So not fair. “Did I say I was afraid? I said I don’t like it — not that I was afraid.”
“Right.”
John-John circles back toward us making me swal ow the earthy response that had sprung to my lips. Having a kid around activates an internal censor I didn’t even know I had.
He screeches to a stop in front of us. “Did you tel Anna that you were sleeping in the hogan tonight?”
Frey looks confused and then consternation furrows his brow.
John-John picked that out of his father’s brain.
“The hogan?” I glance behind me. “We’re sleeping in that?”
Frey lifts his shoulders. “It’s not outside.”
I tromp over for a closer look. The wal s of the hogan rise about twelve feet from the desert floor. It looks like an igloo fashioned from red mud instead of ice. Its dome shape has only one door, a rectangular piece of heavy leather pul ed back and secured with a rawhide cord. When I peek inside, I’m impressed in spite of not wanting to be. The wal s and ceiling are interwoven branches of juniper. Beautiful in a primitive way. Then I look up. There’s an open, square hole in the top. Just the thing to let in al sorts of unwelcome creeping, slithering or flying guests. No furniture, just a couple of sleeping bags and mats rol ed up against one side and a woven rug covering the dirt floor.
No windows. No beds. No shower.
Shit.
When I turn around, Frey is right behind me. “What do you think?”
He doesn’t want to know what I thinkcast a glance toward John-John, who doesn’t seem to be interested in our conversation but stil, I keep my voice low and a lid on what I might project telepathical y. “I think you’re nuts to want us to stay in a mud hut.”
Frey bristles and gives me a little push inside. When we’re standing out of the sun, he says, “Look around, Anna. This is not a mud hut. The hogan is respected and cherished by the Navajo. In their creation stories, the first man and first woman built the original hogan to represent the universe and al things in it. It is more than a home. It is a sacred place to conduct ceremonies. It is built of and is harmonious with nature. It is eternal. You of al people should understand that.”
His words carry the sting of reproach and for the first time, I see a spark in Frey I never saw before. “Do you have Navajo blood?”
He gives his head an impatient shake. “No. Do you think one has to be Navajo to appreciate their culture? I don’t have vampire blood, either, and I get you pretty wel. What’s wrong with you? I never thought you’d be so narrow-minded. It’s an honor to be invited to stay in a hogan. I even had the stupid notion you’d be excited to try something different. I never suspected a fucking shower was more important to you than the chance to connect with the earth and its people in a unique way.”
Wow. I’ve just been verbal y spanked and adding to the humiliation is the realization that I deserve it. His passion robs me of any snarky comeback I might throw back at him even if I could come up with anything. Right now, my immediate response is the desire to crawl through that hole in the hogan’s ceiling and disappear.
I offer the only gesture of conciliation I can think of. An apology.
“I’m sorry. Real y. I came off like a prima donna when you’re here to do me a favor. I have no right to denigrate Navajo heritage. I didn’t understand. It’s no excuse. I do have a great deal of respect for Native Americans. If this is where we’re to stay tonight, I’l do it gladly.”
Frey’s dark irritation shifts into something that looks like dark skepticism. “Gladly? Don’t push it, Anna. But apology accepted. I might have come off a tad strongly. Since John-John, I’ve learned a lot about the Navajo and their belief system. I respect them enormously, but I can’t expect everyone to.”
I’m saved from further chastisement by the sound of a vehicle approaching the campsite. Frey and I step outside.
“Here comes our host,” Frey says.
In the distance, a plume of dust marks the return of a group of day-trippers. Frey cal s John-John to his side, and we slip inside the cool interior of the hogan to wait out of sight.
I surreptitiously sneak another look around as we wait.
Okay. I can sleep in here. As long as there are no spiders hiding in the chinks of those log wal s.
I real y hate spiders.
CHAPTER 22
IT TAKES ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES FOR THE NAVAJO guide to answer a spate of last-minute questions, accept gratuities pressed on him by enthusiastic tourists and herd them to their cars and off. Frey and John-John and I wait in the hogan. Soon after we hear the echo of the last car heading back for civilization, soft footfal s approach our hiding place.
“Here, brother.” Frey steps out, John-John and I at his heels. Frey and the Navajo embrace, talking quietly in the language that sounds magical to my untrained ears. After a moment, Frey turns in my direction.
“Anna, I’d like you to meet my very good friend, George Long Whiskers.”
I take a step forward, hesitantly because I’m unsure of protocol. But I needn’t have worried. Before I can acknowledge the introduction, John-John has scooted around my legs and thrown himself into George’s arms.
