His voice breaks. I move to put my arms around his shoulders. I’m stopped mid-gesture by the sound of a car approaching. I feel Frey tense and draw in a breath.
George is here with John-John. I push up from the couch.
“I’l let them in.”
Frey doesn’t answer or move. I hardly know John-John, but my heart is as heavy as Frey’s at how that little boy’s life is about to change.
I don’t wait for a knock but swing the door open.
It’s not George coming up the porch steps. It’s a man in a beige uniform, a gun on his hip. He’s wearing a badge and the car parked in front of the house bears green and yel ow stripes and emblazoned on the side
He is as startled to see me as I am by his unexpected presence. He sweeps a round-crowned, broad- brimmed hat from his head. “Ma’am. I’m here to see Daniel Frey. Is he in?”
I nod him inside. When he brushes past me, I get a whiff of citrus aftershave and the fresh scent of fabric softener. His uniform is crisp, ironed creases as sharp as a ruler. His gun leather creaks where he rests one hand on the holster. In the quiet of the house, it’s like the rasp of a ghostly voice.
Frey has the same reaction I did. He stares a moment, then recovers and stands to greet the officer.
“I’m Tony Kayani. Officer with the Navajo Nation Police. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Frey shakes his hand, gestures over Kayani’s shoulder to me. “This is my friend, Anna Strong.”
Kayani half turns, nods in my direction, turns his attention back to Frey. “Can we sit? I have a couple of questions to ask you.”
Frey sits back down on the couch. Kayani takes one of the chairs across from him and I take the other.
Kayani takes a notebook from a breast pocket. But no pen. He rests the book on his knee. “I understand you arrived yesterday.”
Frey nods.
“And that you have been estranged from your wife and son for some time.”
“Yes.”
“May I ask why you came back now?”
Involuntarily, my shoulders tighten. How is Frey going to answer that?
“I came to visit my son. As you noted, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him. It was time.”
“And what business did you have with the tribal council?”
Another involuntary shoulder twitch. How could he have known about that? Frey is quiet for a long moment. Maybe too long. Kayani leans toward him.
“Is there a reason you don’t want to answer that e of questtion?”
Frey bristles at the tone. “Is there a reason you’re asking it?”
Kayani smiles in a tight, determined way. “Sorry. I realize this is a difficult time. I also realize Sarah wasn’t addressing the council on her own behalf, was she?”
He doesn’t look at me. Perhaps he doesn’t know, but the implication hangs heavy. In profile, Kayani reminds me of the picture on the old Buffalo nickel. Broad forehead, straight nose, tight lips turned down at the corner. His dark hair is short and brushed straight back. His greyhound-lean frame is as tightly strung as the close weave on Sarah’s rugs. His posture and attitude suggest something more than a law officer’s impartial inquiry into a tragic accident.
“Officer Kayani?”
He turns slowly, as if reluctant to look away from Frey.
“Did you attend the tribal council tonight?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I heard what happened.”
“Can you tel us? We don’t know any of the details except that Sarah and Mary had their accident on the way home.”
He seems reluctant at first to answer. His jet black eyes bore into mine. But there’s nothing accusatory in his gaze.
It’s more resentment that he has to talk to Frey and me.
Hardly professional. He hasn’t written anything in that little notebook stil perched on his knee, either. It dawns on me that he’s not here to shed light on the accident. In fact…
Before I can complete my thought, he says, “I don’t know.
Exactly. Nobody’s talking. Sarah had a request of the elders.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t wel received. She was asked to leave. She was pretty upset by al accounts.”
His voice has lost the demanding “me cop/you suspect”
staccato. His shoulders sag a little before he catches me studying him and recovers himself. Too late. He’s not here on an official visit. He’s here on a personal one.
If I had to guess, I’d bet Kayani had something going with Sarah.
Frey hasn’t picked up on the same vibes that I have. At least he gives no indication that he has. Not surprising, since his main concern now is his son’s grief.
Kayani is quiet for a long moment. He and Frey stare at each other but I suspect, for different reasons. Frey is waiting for more questions, Kayani sizing up the man he may see as having been his competition. For the first time, I wonder if Sarah stil loved Frey. If, in spite of everything, she put off a life with anyone else because of it.
The sound of another car approaching draws us al back.
Frey’s eyes dart toward the door. Kayani stands up, as do I.
I touch Frey’s hand. “I’l go.”
This time, I wait for the knock. When I open the door, George is there, holding John-John. There is a momentary flash of surprise in his eyes when he sees me. Then it’s gone and al I see reflected there is sadness. He puts John-John down and the boy scoots around me, his arms out flung. It’s not until I turn that I realize Kayani is behind me and it’s to him that John-John runs. The surprise I saw in George’s eyes becomes clear. He did not expect to see Kayani.
Kayani scoops John-John into his arms and stands up. I tense, wondering if he’s going to say something about Sarah. They’re talking in Navajo and from John-John’s reaction, it’s only friendly greetings beng exchanged. Maybe Kayani caught the warning look on George’s face or maybe he just didn’t want to be the one to break the kid’s heart.
One thing’s for sure — Kayani is no stranger to John-John.
Kayani puts John-John down, nods to George and me, and leaves without a word. I shut the door behind him and we join Frey in the living room.
John-John has run to Frey, scrambled up on the couch to climb into this lap. He’s chattering in Navajo until with a kid’s intuition, he realizes something is wrong. Frey hasn’t moved, not even to put his arms around John- John.
George taps my arm. “We should leave them.”
I’m reluctant until I realize Frey is nodding at me, a tiny, subdued movement. “We’l be in the kitchen.”
I can’t think of anything else to do. I fol ow George like an automaton into the kitchen. We sit at the table — not across from each other but side to side. Harder to look at each other that way.
But it’s harder stil to turn off that acute vampire hearing and not listen to what’s going on in the next room. I’m almost relieved when I succumb and find Frey and John-John speaking in Navajo. I can’t understand the words, but the emotion comes through in heartbreaking clarity. I think they are both crying.
I close my eyes and wil my thoughts to center on something — anything — else.
I turn to George. “Who is Officer Kayani? What was he to Sarah?”
The abruptness of the question catches him off guard. He answers just as abruptly, without taking the time to censor his reply. “Kayani loves Sarah.” He stops himself, draws in a breath. “He
“Did she love him?”
George looks away, toward the living room. “I think she did. In a way. He was good for John-John.” His eyes slide my way. “A father he didn’t have.”
There is accusation in his tone. Accusation directed at me.
