Solomon's Oak (21 page)

Glory placed her hand on Juniper’s hair. Pretty soon they were either going to have to dye it or cut it. Two inches of pale brown hair against the black was not this year’s new look.

“Mom?”

Mom.
Even with all the trouble, Glory loved this kid. “Yes?”

“How do you know if you’re gay?”

“I guess you just know. Do you have emotional or”—Lord, how did she say this?—“physical feelings for women?” That lame description made it sound as if you wanted to be volleyball partners.

“I don’t have any feelings for anyone, except Cadillac.”

“Not even mean old Mrs. Solomon?”

“That’s
not
what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Seeing those women tonight. Some of them dressed like guys, some looked totally normal, like you’d see on the street. That one you danced with looked like Principal Phelps, the bee-oche supreme.”

“You’re right, she did. But Principal Phelps is nice, even if you can’t see it right now. Juniper, every person at the wedding was ‘normal’ no matter their preference in partner.”

“So I went on the Internet and looked up causes of being gay.”

Glory tucked Juniper’s hair behind her ear, revealing the bluebird tattoo on her neck. “Somehow I doubt the Internet is the best source for answers of that nature. There are people out there who say and do hateful things out of fear.”

“Duh! I know what prejudice means. What I mean is, I still hate those boys at my last home. All they did was make fun of my boobs and sometimes grab my butt and not let go until I cried. I hate them. Every guy I look at I think, will he be the next one who tortures me? Does that mean I’m going to be gay?”

Glory sighed. She thought of Beryl’s husband, saving her life. Dan had exuded the kindness of a monk. Why hadn’t God, or whoever, kept him alive to continue to provide a role model for teenaged boys? “Juniper, what those boys did to you was wrong. It has nothing to do with being gay or straight or undecided. They’re just adolescent brats with too many hormones and bad behavior.”

“Like me.”

“You can be annoying sometimes, but you’re not a brat.”

“Every time I think about what they did, I get so mad.”

Cadillac sat up, sensing Juniper’s tone. Dodge rolled over to warm his other side and groaned. Edsel climbed on top of Dodge, lay down, and shut his eyes. This family, Glory thought. It was past time to go to bed, but Glory knew she couldn’t be the one to break the tentative embrace of—she guessed this was what it felt like, having a daughter—mother and child.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Glory said. “Sometimes anger’s healthy. Next time you talk to Lois, ask her about it.”

“Sometimes I have nightmares.”

“I know you do. I hear you crying.”

“I can’t help it.”

Glory rubbed her arm. “A lot of things that have happened to you would have done in a weaker person. Me, for example. You’re so strong. Boy, do I admire that. When I’m mad or sad, I sit in my closet and cry. How dumb is that?”

“I know. I hear you, too.”

“What a pair we are.”

“You don’t like men, either. I can tell. Are you gay?”

“No, sweetie. Some people like women and some people like men. Some like both and some like none, for always, or just the time being. Worrying about it is borrowing trouble. Let life unfold and surprise you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be as happy as Lily and Chris were today. Maybe it’ll turn out that was your path all along.”

“Something more for the kids at school to hassle me about.”

Starting Tuesday, it was holiday break. That meant Juniper 24/7, until January 2. “Have they been bothering you?”

“Oh, you know, they call me ‘tree freak’ and ‘ass kisser.’ ”

“That’s not very nice. Shouldn’t you tell Principal Phelps?”

“Are you
kidding
? Do you know how much worse that would make things?”

“I wish you’d change your mind about this, Juniper. I really do. There are laws against bullying.”

“No.”

The fire popped and crackled as it burned through the logs. Glory was so tired she couldn’t get up. Working hard for herself was one thing, but was life any better for Juniper since she’d moved to Solomon’s Oak? Was this Christmas going to be a disaster? Could she ever stop worrying about money? Edsel twitched every once in a while, triggering a groan from Dodge, and earning a look from Cadillac, who slept with one eye open. Juniper grew heavy in her lap. When she was certain the girl was asleep, she sang her a Neil Peart song, “The Trees.” The oak trees, selfishly hoarding sunlight, were no match for the maple trees that organized like Teamsters bearing hatchets, axes, and saws. Glory substituted junipers for the maple trees, and though that ruined the rhyme scheme, the song held up just fine.

Chapter 7

JOSEPH

When Joseph felt the thundering under his feet his first thought was
earthquake.
Then came the wild-eyed horse, reins flying out behind, and the girl hanging on to the saddle horn for dear life, screaming, “Stop! Stop!” at the top of her lungs. He recognized her immediately. It was the teenager with the earrings in her face, the one who’d grilled him at the pirate wedding. Her name was odd, Spruce or Birch or some other tree species. “Somebody help me!” she yelled, and he guessed that somebody would have to be him.

To stop a runaway horse, you needed to project authority and remain calm, something a horse this worked up rarely noticed. Your best bet was to grab a rein and turn the horse’s head to one side, causing its neck to bend, and its whole body to move in an arc or a circle. Such a move slowed the horse down, and when things were in crisis, it was beneficial to go slow. Lucky for Joseph, the girl looked steady enough; she had a death grip on the saddle horn. Lucky for everyone, the horse hadn’t stepped on a rein and brought them both down. Joseph ran toward the horse and grabbed hold of the left rein, pulling hard. He stumbled, afraid he was going to fall down, but found his footing again and pulled. The leather burned his palm, but the horse slowed from a gallop to a trot, mere feet from the part of the oak grove thickest with trees. Any branch could have knocked her off that horse. Broken her neck, maybe. But the horse wasn’t stopped yet. Joseph had no choice but to run alongside, his back be damned. “Grab his mane!” he told her.

“I can’t let go!”

“Yes, you can!” With all that bending the horse was forced to make, he slowed down to a walk, which allowed Joseph to convince him to halt. Poor guy was as scared as the screaming meemie on his back. His sides heaved, and a scrim of lather had risen on his neck. Joseph kept his voice steady, saying, “Ho, ho,” over and over. The horse’s nostrils flared, but his breathing was slowing down. In a few minutes, Joseph would be able to help the girl down and walk the horse back to wherever they’d come from. “See?” he said. “I knew you could do it. Good girl.”

Now that the horse was still, the girl released one shaking hand and grabbed the horse’s mane. “N-now what?”

“Hold on a second.” Joseph caught the second rein and walked the snorting horse in the other direction. The worst of it was over, but he knew better than to relax. “Ho, buddy. That’s right.” Then he told the girl, “Okay, slide your right leg across his back and dismount.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“I’ll fall.”

“If you do, I’ll catch you.” His heart pumped with adrenaline; he could only imagine how the girl’s was behaving. He’d lived rural long enough that he’d seen his share of horse wrecks. It was a mystery to him why so many people believed they were born knowing how to ride. The emergency stop was the first lesson he’d learned, and the most valuable. He wondered why Glory Solomon hadn’t taught her daughter that lesson.

The girl was crying hard now. He patted her leg. “Come on, take your right leg out of the stirrup. Put your weight in the left.”

Finally she slid her other leg over, and he grabbed her waist to help her to the ground. Immediately after the dismount, she screamed, “Take your hands off me, you pervert!”

This startled the horse again, and he crow-hopped, which nearly yanked Joseph’s left arm out of its socket. He patted the gelding’s muscular neck to calm him down. More luck. Inexperienced rider plus freaked-out horse equaled darn lucky he was in the woods taking pictures. Then he noticed the border collie, wagging his tail as if this occurred every day. “You there,” Joseph said, “looking so calm and all. How come you didn’t herd this animal back home?”

The dog wagged its tail.

The girl was still crying, so Joseph handed her a napkin from his pants pocket to wipe her eyes. Every café he went to, they gave him too many, and he hated throwing them away, so wasteful, that he ended up with wads of them in his pockets, which made for problems on laundry day. “Remember me from the wedding? Ex-cop picture taker? I sure liked the leftovers you sent home with me.”

She wiped her face. “Joseph? What are you doing out here on Christmas Eve?”

“Oh, the usual. Pulling my gun on reindeer. Looking for a solemn ceremony to crash. Saving girls on runaway horses.” The horse was breathing normally now. He’d recovered and so had the girl. Joseph looked around. “You’re not riding alone, are you? Where’s your mom?”

“I’m not alone. Cadillac’s with me. My dog.”

“I see that. Now, pardon me for sounding like a cop, but ride in pairs or a group until you’re more experienced. Your horse could’ve stumbled, thrown you, any number of unfortunate scenarios.”

She had stopped crying, but not trembling. “I’m not a beginner! I’m fine now.”

You’re a beginner until you can keep control of your horse, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “You lost your reins and you were screaming your head off.”

She smoothed her two-tone hair back behind her ears. “So? What if you stumbled all alone here on Christmas Eve and nobody saw you?”

It was a good point. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where’s your mom?”

She looked away. “Aren’t you supposed to be at church or home with your family? I don’t have one, so I can do what I want.”

“That might come as news to your mother.”

He turned and walked the horse in the opposite direction. “My family’s eight hundred miles away. I miss them.”

“So then why aren’t you at the movies with your girlfriend, or helping out at the homeless shelter? Serving up instant mashed potatoes with that canned brown gravy.”

She laughed her head off after that. In moments she’d gone from big sobbing tears to hysterical laughter, and he wondered if she was high on some drug or drunk, or if that was her normal behavior.

“Homeless people are funny?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But two holidays out of the year is all they get?”

“It’s better than nothing.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Like people want to be reminded they have no family so they go into the shelter expecting something halfway decent. It smells good; it looks like it should taste good. But put a spoonful of gravy in your mouth and it’s like eating brown snot.” She laughed again. “Sorry. Guess you had to be there.”

“Sounds like I’m glad I wasn’t. Juniper, like the tree.”

“What?”

“Your name. I just remembered.”

“Give the man a prize. How about some extra gravy?”

She was laughing again. Juniper wasn’t such an odd name. Where he came from, people had last names like Spottedhorse and Twohills, or hyphenated mouthfuls like Valle-Sanchez-de-Gallardo-Iglesia-Montoya. “Your mother doesn’t know you’re out here, does she?”

Juniper patted the neck of the now calm horse. “She’s at the store buying crackers and a cheese ball. Tonight is a very big deal.
Blood
relatives.”

What did that mean? “Do you have permission to ride by yourself?”

Juniper shrugged. “So I broke out of jail for a half hour. Big wow. I’ll be back before she gets home, the horse will be cleaned up and she’ll never know. Are you taking pictures today?”

“I was.”

“Of what?”

“All these oaks.”

“I bet I know why. If you photograph trees in an orchard to make a pattern, the negative space becomes just as important as the subject. That’s what Michael Busselle did.”

Joseph was shocked to hear her mention Busselle. Knowing that name meant she’d been looking closely at photography, exploring the greats. “Well, no more trees for me today. I’m going to follow you home. My car’s the yellow—”

“Land Cruiser, I know.” Juniper gave him a dirty look. “I’m very disappointed in you, Joseph. You look cool on the outside, and the gun is major bonus points, but open your mouth and you sound just like every other adult. You don’t trust teenagers.”

“I trust ’em. It’s the rest of the world I have trouble trusting around them. Come on, I’ll give you a boost up. You keep that horse at a dead walk.”

“I’ll lead him home by hand.”

Joseph knew if she did that, she’d never get on another horse again. “Oh, no. You wanted to ride, so you’ll ride.”

“Why should I listen to you? We hardly know each other. Technically, you’re a stranger.”

“Did you forget I’m armed?” He patted the left side of his jacket, where the gun used to be snug in its holster. The day after the wedding he’d bought a lockbox for it and put it under his bed, finally admitting that the likelihood of getting mugged at Lake Nacimiento was low unless the chipmunks had taken up arms. “I’ll rat you out to your mother in a heartbeat. Once a copper, always a copper.”

“Copper.” Juniper laughed at that, but she let him boost her right leg up and over the saddle.

“Relax,” Joseph said.

“I am relaxed!” The horse startled.

“Stop yelling.”

“I’m not yelling! Let’s go, Caddy.” The stealthy, blue-eyed dog led the way, the horse following like a thousand-pound magnet.

Joseph drove alongside her at five miles an hour. They crossed the county road and went up the Solomon Ranch driveway. He parked by the vine-covered fence in front of the barn and got out. Juniper was through the gate before he shut his car door. She groomed the horse at Mach 1. She was still so young that she expected if she brushed hard enough, no evidence would remain to convict her. Joseph knew from his years in the crime lab that most criminals left glaring calling cards. Well, riding horses without permission was her problem, not his. The pinto horse behind the fence whinnied and screeched as if her best friend had threatened to move cross-country. “Those two look inseparable,” he said. “What made you take the horse out by himself?”

Juniper didn’t answer. She offered the mare a handful of oats, but the horse let them fall to the ground. “Cricket, shut up!” she yelled. “How was I supposed to know Piper would flip out like some nutcase?”

“Imagine if Cricket jumped the fence and ran to the county road. A horse that freaked-out isn’t going to stop and look both ways. Your mom could’ve come home to a real train wreck.”

“That’s such a cliché.”

Ouch. The tyranny of teenage girls, Joseph thought. It’s a wonder anyone gets married.

Once Piper was settled in the turnout arena that led to the stalls, Juniper turned to Joseph. “You can go now.”

She’d left the grooming tote outside the barn, which Mrs. Solomon would spot right away. Should he tell Juniper, or let her bust herself? “Because it’s Christmas Eve, I’m going to give you a present. But I want something in return.”

“What? Sex?”

He sighed. “That’s not funny. I want your solemn promise that you won’t go riding by yourself anymore. Deal?”

“Depends on the present.”

He pointed to the tack tote, spilling brushes and a cake of saddle soap. “Put that back exactly where you found it or your mom will know immediately what you did.”

Juniper packed the tote and carried it into the barn, where, Joseph imagined, every single piece of equipment had its assigned space. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s weird how you show up every time there’s a problem.”

“Coincidence.”

Juniper shook her head. “I’m totally exhausted. Already today I’ve fed the dogs, the goats, and the chickens, I’ve scrubbed the kitchen tile grout with bleach and a toothbrush. I waxed the mantel and buffed it, swept the floors, and folded the laundry. I even put the cider and spices in a Crock-Pot so it’ll be ready when the
relatives
arrive. I should change my name to Cinderella.”

He chuckled. “What’s so bad about relatives? We all got ’em.”

“They’re
her
relatives, not mine. I’m a foster.”

“Lucky you,” he said, and meant it.

“Yeah, well, she treats me like a slave.”

“Do you get an allowance?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“I’m not telling you that just so you can beat me up with it.”

“Some kids grow up without an allowance.”

Any gratitude she’d shown was replaced by a dead, icy look in her eyes. “Some kids don’t grow up at all, Joe. Merry effing Christmas. Now get out of my sight or I’ll tell Mrs. Solomon that you tried to touch me.”

“Remember the story about the kid who cried ‘wolf’? Merry Christmas, kid.”

GLORY

“Come in, come in,” Glory said, taking hold of her mother’s arm while Bart held the front door open. Chilly winter air mingled with the heat from the fireplace, and the smell of the hot cider was everywhere. “I made appetizers,” Glory said, leading her mother, who was wearing a red pantsuit and her silver squash-blossom necklace, to the mission-style rocker. The oak chair back and arms made it easy to get in and out of. “Mom, you look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you, honey. It’s so good to see you. I haven’t been to your place in I don’t know how long.”

Glory knew. Nearly ten months. The day after Dan died, her mother, who rarely ventured past a ten-mile-radius comfort zone, had braved the freeway and back roads to stand at the stove and make her daughter “milk toast,” a childhood tradition whenever Glory was convalescing. After that she sat on the couch and hugged Glory, singing her all four verses of “The Gate Ajar for Me.”