They turned off Sheridan Road onto Dempster. Astrid waited until they stopped for a light. “Hold out your hand,” she commanded.
Sighing, David Ladd obeyed. With a deft twist, Astrid removed a knuckle-sized diamond ring from her finger and dropped it into the palm of her grandson’s hand. “You could give Candace this,” she said.
“That’s your engagement ring, Grandma,” Davy protested. “I can’t take that.” He tried returning it to her. Astrid took it, but instead of keeping it, she leaned over and dropped it into his shirt pocket.
“Why not?” she returned. “Who else is there? You’re my grandson and my only living heir. Who else would I leave it to but you? That’s why I don’t want to sell the house, either. I plan to give it to you and Candace as a wedding present, you see.”
Her voice broke. She sounded close to tears. With a lump in his own throat, David almost drove the DeVille into a passing truck. “You can’t be serious, Grandma,” he protested.
“I’m serious as can be, Davy. If you pass the bar in Illinois and go into practice, in five years, you’ll make partner, especially with Richard Waverly’s connections. You and Candace will need an address like mine to help establish your place in the community. You’ll need to fix it up some, decorate it to suit you and all that, but that’ll be a lot less expensive than buying new.”
“Grandmother,” David Ladd said carefully, wanting to be firm, but not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I don’t want to practice law here. I want to go home, to Arizona.”
Astrid tossed her head. “I can’t imagine why,” she said crossly. “I don’t know how regular people can tolerate living in that godforsaken place. I remember when your grandfather Garrison and I went out there for your father’s memorial service—it wasn’t even a funeral, mind you. It was so ungodly hot. I don’t know when I’ve ever been more miserable.”
It would have been simple to talk about the weather. David Ladd was an expert on that. He had suffered more from both heat and cold during his three years in Illinois than he could ever remember enduring in the desert back home. Although this was only the second week of June, Chicago was already soldiering through the first real heat wave of summer.
During the previous week, afternoon daytime temperatures had hovered in the mid-nineties with humidity much the same—mid-nineties. And although the humidity was that high, the weather forecasts held no hope of rain or relief. Davy was looking forward to Arizona. At least there, the heat was honest. When the summer rainstorms came, evening temperatures could drop as much as twenty degrees in a matter of minutes. In Chicago, the sweltering, smothering heat never let up. And rain, when it came, seemed to make things worse, not better.
At that moment, however, David Ladd couldn’t afford the luxury of a digression into weather. His grandmother had issued a serious challenge, one that had to be met head-on.
“It’s a wonderful offer, Grandma,” he said at last. “It really is, and it’s a wonderful house. But I can’t see myself living there.”
“You can’t?” She sounded shocked. “Why not?”
“Because it wouldn’t ever be really mine,” David answered. “I wouldn’t feel like I had earned it.”
“That’s not it,” Astrid said sharply. “It’s because of your mother, isn’t it? Diana has always resented me, and now she’s turned you against me, too.”
“That’s not true, Grandmother. Not at all.”
David turned into the club entrance and then stopped at the front door to let Astrid out. The place wasn’t all that full, so there were plenty of parking places. Even so, by the time he made it into the dining room, Astrid had already finished her first Bloody Mary and had started on the second.
David Ladd sighed. For a farewell celebration, it was not an auspicious beginning.
Lani Walker left a note for her parents on the kitchen table. “Have fun at the banquet. Remember, Jess and I are going to that dueling bands concert at the Community Center tonight. Her parents are giving us a ride both to and from. I shouldn’t be too late, but don’t wake me for breakfast. Tomorrow’s my day off.”
The Tucson Mountains loomed in deep shadows against a rosy sky when Lani rode her bike up to Mr. Vega’s parking place. She had worried overnight that maybe he wouldn’t show up, but he was there with his easel already set up by the time she braked the mountain bike next to his station wagon.
“Nice hat,” he said. “And nice shirt, too, but you’re right. Those clothes make you look more like a cowgirl than an Indian.”
“Hardly anybody wears feathers anymore,” Lani told him. “And most of the people who go around in leather ride motorcycles.”
“Point taken,” he said, with a mock salute. “I think maybe I’ll have you sit over here on this rock with the saguaro in the background. By the way, do you want anything to drink before we get started? I brought along orange juice just in case you didn’t have time for breakfast.”
Lani took off her hat and smoothed her windblown hair. “Some orange juice would be great,” she said. She settled onto the rock and tried to get comfortable while he brought her a glass of juice.
“What do I need to do?” she asked.
“Relax and try to look natural,” he said.
“That’s a lot easier said than done,” Lani said, taking a long drink of the juice, hoping it would settle her nerves. “I don’t like having my picture taken, either. That might be part of what was wrong with the kids you tried to draw out on the reservation. When the white man first came west and tried taking pictures of Indians, people believed that the photographer would somehow end up capturing their spirits.”
“No kidding.” Mr. Vega was busily sketching with a stick of charcoal now, pausing every few moments and studying Lani’s face. “And you’re saying that some people out on the reservation still believe that’s true?”
“Probably some of them do,” she said.
Lani had no idea how much time passed. She was aware of a sudden buzzing in her head, like the angry hum of thousands of bees. Her first thought was that she was dreaming, that something had brought to mind the old story of
