Craig Johnson
Divorce Horse
It was Memorial Day weekend, and I was having dinner with my best friend, Henry Standing Bear, and my daughter Cady at the Busy Bee Cafe. Still convalescing from my experiences chasing after escaped convicts in the Bighorn Mountains, I fingered the oversize ring on my thumb and watched the turquoise wolves chase the coral ones on the silver band; then I plucked it off and stuffed it in my shirt pocket under my badge.
I’d been sheriffing solo since my deputy, Victoria Moretti, had flown back to Philadelphia for the long weekend to help with the upcoming wedding arrangements on that end. Cady was marrying Vic’s brother Michael at the end of July, and Vic was consulting with her mother Lena about the nuptials. It was complicated. Boy howdy.
Generally, Cady and Vic just shared a cup of coffee in the Denver airport as they traded time zones during their assorted holiday layovers, but on this stint they’d had a little more time to talk, since Cady had driven Vic to the airport in Billings. They’d engaged in what I’d feared-a wide-ranging conversation.
“Vic looks really good.”
I continued to sip my iced tea and joined Henry in studying the fast-flowing water of Clear Creek riffling by the cafe in a torrent of melt from the Bighorns. “Yep.”
The Greatest Legal Mind of Our Time leaned in with a few strands of strawberry blond hair slipping in front of her face, reminding me so much of her mother. “She bought a house?”
“Yep.”
“So she’s sticking around.”
I turned my head, aware that Henry wasn’t the only one occupied with fishing, and studied my daughter. “I didn’t know that she had been talking about going anywhere.”
She brushed away my remark with a fan of her fingers. “I just wasn’t sure if she’d stick.”
I concentrated on the creek and considered the statement. It was true; the high plains were a place of transition-people came, people went, a few stayed. Economics had a lot to do with it, but so did the loneliness of the topography. It was as if the land had hollowed out spaces in people until they treated each other with that same distance. Some never came to a truce with that within themselves, but some did. Vic had threatened to run off with the Feds and a number of other agencies, and had even thought about Philadelphia again, but those threats seemed to come less and less often. “I think she likes it here.”
“I think she likes parts of it.” Cady took a sip of her diet soda in her continuing effort to be a size 2 by the July wedding. “How old is she again?”
Reaching for my glass, I almost tipped it over but caught it in the last instant. “We’ve. . never discussed that.”
She nudged the Cheyenne Nation with her shoulder. “How old is she, Bear?”
He shrugged. “I have found in most relationships with women it is best to remember their birthdays but forget their age.”
“Look who I’m asking.” She rolled her eyes and redirected them, looking into the golden light reflecting off the buildings on the east side of Main Street. The stores were staying open just a little longer than their usual five p.m. in the hopes of plying the tourist trade that the American Indian Days Parade and Pow-Wow had engendered. Most of the crowd had adjourned to the county fairgrounds, but the barely beating heart of commerce sprang eternal.
I glanced at Henry, who continued watching the water.
She leveled her cool, gray eyes on my face. “So, what’s going on with you two?”
Tipping my hat back, I turned to give her a stare. “That would be in the none-of-your-business file.”
She slid down in her chair and twisted the hair that had escaped her ponytail around her index finger. “How come I can’t ask you about your personal life, but you can ask me about mine?”
The Cheyenne Nation grunted but said nothing so as not to add to the table’s verbal minefield.
I nudged my glass and glanced around to make sure that no one else was within ear reach, but the only other patrons on the remarkably clear, warm, and velvety early evening were a threesome of cowboys at a table by the front door, and Dorothy, the owner and proprietor, who was busily putting our dinners together. “I have never asked you about your personal life, ever.”
She thought about it and then grinned. “I kind of volunteer it, don’t I?”
Henry smiled. I didn’t say anything.
“Sometimes too much?” She fingered her napkin, and I noticed that her nails were blush pink and not their usual dark red. She must be practicing bridal etiquette.
I listened to the radio playing behind the counter; Hank Williams crooning “You’re Gonna Change (Or I’m Gonna Leave).” I thought maybe I should soften my response. “It’s normal-women ask about relationships but men hardly ever do.”
She slipped on the smile she always did when she didn’t particularly believe what I was saying-I had gotten that smile since she was six. “Never?”
I glanced at the Bear and watched as he turned to Cady, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Hardly ever.”
“I don’t believe that.”
I shrugged and sipped my tea as Dorothy arrived with two deluxe chicken-fried-steak sandwiches piled high with fries, and another plate with a small mound of cottage cheese and a slice of tomato. I asked, purely for form’s sake. “The usual?”
She placed the plates in front of us and raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”
I pointed at the marginal board of fare on Cady’s plate. “Not that.”
Dorothy smirked. “I’ve named that Chef’s Choice.” She put a bottle of no-fat, low-calorie balsamic vinaigrette in front of Cady and glanced around. “How are the sheriff’s department, Indian scout, and learned counsel tonight?”
“Hopefully slow.” I checked my pocket watch. “Especially since-with the exception of Ruby and Saizarbitoria down at the fairgrounds-I gave the rest of the staff the night off.” I returned the watch to my pocket and unrolled my napkin, depositing the flatware by my plate, not because I needed it but because I thought I’d better put the napkin on my lap. “And Ruby’s off in three minutes.”
Dorothy’s attention was drawn back to Cady, who had reached for the salad dressing. “How are you, sweet pea?”
“I’m good.” She rearranged the tomato. “Business finally slowing down?”
Dorothy sat on a stool adjacent to the counter and rubbed her ankle. “Yeah, finally. It was crazy all day, especially during the parade. This is the first chance I’ve had to sit down. I think everybody’s out at the pow-wow now.” She reached over and tugged on the Bear’s hair, and I tried to remember if I’d ever seen anybody do that except her. “Damned Indians. I suppose people would just as soon eat fry-bread and cotton candy.” She glanced at me and then back to Cady. “Your father lure you away from that young man of yours?”
“Just till I’m sure he’s feeling better after his mountain adventure.” My daughter’s eyes held on me for a moment, and I could see the worry there. “And besides, I figured I’d stick around a little while and see if I could get some preliminary wedding work done. You know I want you to make the cake, right?”
“I’m planning on it and consulting with Vic’s uncle Alphonse next week about the recipe.” She let go of her ankle and stood up. “You’re getting married up on the Rez, right?”
“Yeah, Crazy Head Springs.”
I felt a private little sorrow overtake me at that thought but continued eating.
“That’s a pretty spot. Have you gotten permission?”
Cady nudged the Bear’s shoulder. “I’ve got an
Dorothy laughed and kissed the top of Cady’s head. “Congratulations, honey.”
Cady glowed. “Thanks.”
The owner/operator glanced at the three cowboys, whom I recognized as the wranglers from Paradise Guest Ranch, and one raised his coffee mug as the other two smiled at us. “I better go refill the Wild Bunch over there.” She placed her fists on her hips. “You folks need anything else?”
