store. Is it all right
if I drop by for a few minutes?"
"Tomorrow? You can get away on a Friday?"
"When the day is as open as tomorrow's
schedule is, I can. So is it okay if I come by?"
She drew a long, slow breath. "Do you think
that's a good idea?"
"Just to talk," he clarified.
She nodded but realized he couldn't hear
that. "All right, but tell me when you're coming, or you'll likely
find me grimy and spotted in paint."
"I can't be sure when I'll get there," he
said, "but it doesn't matter to me if you're grimy and spotted.
That is, if you can indulge me for a few minutes, just for a
talk."
“Okay.'' She answered him quickly, and he had
the feeling she had blurted it out before she thought better of it
and changed her mind. "Drop in whenever you're ready."
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and hung up
the phone.
Eden sat looking at the receiver in her hand
and finally set it in its cradle. What just happened here? After their kiss on the porch, she'd have sworn that Logan had been
at least as profoundly affected by her as she had by him. Then
today he had called her to tell her he couldn't see her anymore,
and had ended by making a date for tomorrow? She walked away from
the phone, as bewildered as she'd ever been and not even wanting to
think about what tomorrow might bring.
Miles away in Many Farms, Logan sat looking
at another telephone receiver. I can't believe I just did
that, he thought, aghast. Had he really just called the most
attractive woman he'd seen in years to tell her he couldn't see her
again, blurted out that he couldn't see her anymore without so much
as an attempt at explanation, and then made a date to see her
tomorrow? Yep, Logan, that's exactly what you did . He
wondered if he was losing his mental faculties. He wondered if the
People's doctors had a ceremony for the sickness that ailed him. He
wondered how many ways he knew to say "idiot" in Navajo.
It wasn't fair to Eden, either. What must she
think of him, hurting her when she'd done nothing to hurt him, and
then setting them both up for a repeat performance? He walked back
toward Philbert, counting all the Navajo expressions he knew for a
person of limited capacity and applying each to himself.
Philbert . As if he needed more guilt!
With a jolt, he recalled he had promised Phil the chance to drive
into Chinle tomorrow to pick up the very list of items he'd just
used as an excuse to see Eden. Well, at least he could make good on
that one. He'd give Phil the list and let him make the trip to
Chinle early, and then he'd drive into Holbrook anyhow. There were
a few items in the hardware store he'd been thinking of picking up
someday, whenever he could get around to it. His dad's old trailer
would soon disintegrate under his feet if he didn't do some basic
repairs. Maybe his foolishness over the pretty belagaana could serve a useful purpose after all.
Taking little comfort in the thought, he
returned to give Phil the list and explain his plans to be away
tomorrow.
* * * * *
Eden rubbed an itchy spot on her face with
the back of her hand, fearful of smearing herself with paint or
grime if she used her fingers. She cast a quick glance at her
wrist- watch; almost noon. The morning had disappeared in washing
and spreading and masking. With half the day gone, she was finally
ready to begin the serious work. A bead of sweat trickled down her
face and dripped from her nose onto the lid of the paint bucket. It
was going to be a long afternoon.
She sighed and took a break, sitting on the
newspapers spread on her living-room floor and leaning back against
the dry, fresh-scrubbed wall. The room was nearly empty now, most
of the old furniture hauled away by the local thrift store, most of
the accumulated trash loaded into the twenty-cubic-yard Dumpster
which she had filled to overflowing, and then paid a half-dozen
neighborhood boys to stomp down so she could fill it up again. She
planned to paint the ceiling first, then the walls, and finally
Learning to Kill: Stories