I smiled at the preacher and slid into the back pew.
"Let us remember," Reverend Silver Wolf said meekly, thumbing through his Bible with aged brown fingers, "that the Gray Bear, too, showed us the way to eternity. He left his white trail in the sky for us to follow."
The hulking boy sitting to my left was probably the largest boy in all of Nettlebush. He was seventeen, with thick, muscular arms and long, muscular legs. His hair was lank and black, some of it braided, most of it loose; it lay flat over his left shoulder, providing me with a pretty good view of the iron earring dangling from his right ear. On his exposed right arm was a tattoo--self-drawn, as I knew from experience--in the shape of a winding blue chain.
I elbowed Rafael. He started and turned toward me.
Rafael Gives Light was my other best friend, and I'm not kidding when I say you'd be hard pressed to find a friend more loyal than him. Sure, he had the occasional attitude problem, but I didn't mind those so much. I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. I surveyed Rafael, his strong, square jaw and flat nose, the dimples set low in his cheeks, the blue eyes dark and turbulent beneath brushstroke black eyebrows.
That's new, I thought. I stifled a laugh. He was wearing a pair of wiry blue eyeglasses, the frames rectangular and small. He looked kind of bookish now--and if you know Rafael, you know he's constantly reading novels--but no less imposing.
"Shut up," Rafael hissed. I swear he would have blushed if his complexion had allowed it. "Uncle Gabe made me get 'em."
The unique thing about Rafael was that he always--or almost always--knew what I would have said had I had the voice to say it. It had unnerved me, at first, but in a good way. With a connection like that, we'd practically had no choice but to become friends.
I gave him a simpering pat on the shoulder. He took a fake swing at me. Luckily, Reverend Silver Wolf had his face buried in the Bible and didn't notice us; he was a nice guy, and I would have felt bad about interrupting his sermon.
Reverend Silver Wolf read to us about the Garden of Gethsemane. Rafael, surly, slouched in his seat. I side-eyed him with disapproval. He folded his arms, pointedly ignoring me, and loudly snapped the gum in his mouth.
Not on my watch, I thought. I stuck my hand in front of his face, palm open. He gave me a disgruntled look, but obediently spat the wad of gum into my hand. That his spit swimming in my palmlines didn't bother me in the least probably says much more about me than him.
We were the first two out the doors at the end of the service. I tucked Rafael's gum, now dry, into my pocket. The rest of the congregation flooded out the doors after us, a few of Granny's friends waving to me in passing.
I tapped Rafael's shoulder and tilted my head. What was he doing at church? He'd never gone to Sunday services in the past.
Rafael scowled. "Rosa," he said shortly.
My head tilted in the other direction.
The church doors opened again. A young woman with a very round, very honest face came ambling outside. She tucked her arm around Rafael's, maternal and sweet.
Rosa Gray Rain was in her mid-twenties. She worked at the reservation hospital as a nurse. I knew her. I just never realized she knew Rafael.
Rafael shot me a pleading look. I raised my eyebrows.
"Uh," Rafael said. "This is my uncle's girlfriend."
I grinned impishly. A long-standing point of contention between Rafael and his uncle Gabriel--the uncle who had raised him--was that Gabriel was nearing thirty and had yet to settle down. I guessed the pattern was finally broken. Go Gabriel.
"Shut up, Sky."
Rosa's face drooped into a frown. She wasn't a very vocal woman. A lot of Shoshone are reticent, to varying extents. It's a cultural thing. Maybe it's because I'd grown up mute, relying on body language and facial cues to get my point across, but I found that I could read Rosa's face like an open book. She didn't approve of the rough way Rafael addressed his friends.
It's okay
, I wanted to say. I smiled placidly. Rafael didn't mean to come across as harsh. Most people didn't realize, for example, that his usual smoldering expression wasn't borne out of hostility. His face just happened to look that way.
"Uh," Rafael said again. He coughed. He turned to Rosa. "Can you go home without me?"
She chewed uncertainly on her lower lip.
"It's okay. Just tell Uncle Gabe I'm with Sky. He knows him, he won't mind."
The heavy expression cleared from Rosa's face. She smiled sweetly and nodded in concession. She released Rafael's arm, gave us both gentle pats on the head, and bustled away. I knew she was headed north. Rafael lived as close to the badlands as humanly possible without actually sitting on top of the canyons.
I smiled warmly. Cute as a button, that Rosa. Rafael gagged.
"Wanna go into the cupola?" Rafael asked.
The church had an open, room-sized cupola above the steeple that was meant to house a bell, but never had. Rafael and I had secretly taken to using it as a private hangout over the summer. It was easy to get into, too: All you had to do was climb the ladder behind the apse wall.
Someone had propped open the church doors. I glanced inside. Reverend Silver Wolf was still standing by the pulpit. He was deep in conversation with a friend of Granny's, Hilde Threefold, a garrulous lady who wore sunflower-shaped earrings. Granny, too, lingered by the altar, because she liked to argue with her friends. Dad, looking awkward, stood sullenly at Granny's side.
I pulled back and quirked the corner of my mouth. Mrs. Threefold could talk for hours. There was no sneaking past them any time soon.
"Damn," Rafael muttered. "I don't wanna go home. I hate being indoors."
Do you want to go to the grotto?
I signed.
Annie's not going to be there, though.
Rafael didn't actually know sign language. He knew the alphabet, though he sometimes got A and E confused, and a few words I'd taught him over the summer, like "race," "grotto," and "father." I was still working on teaching him more.
"Annie's at the grotto? What?"
I smiled wryly. Close enough. Then I remembered something I'd forgotten to do.
Wait
, I signed. I knew Rafael was familiar with that word, at least; the finger wiggling is kind of distinct.
I went around the church to the square, compact graveyard and pushed open the black iron gate.
The headstones were small, uniform, and pristine. I had visited the graveyard many times over the summer, seeking my mother's burial place as a source of solace.
It wasn't my mother's grave I was looking for this time. I walked slowly up and down each row until I had found it--a tiny, out-of-the-way mortuary on the east side of the graveyard.
"Julius Looks Over," the headstone read. "1966 - 1971. Our children have a wisdom all their own."
My father's brother--my uncle--had died in childhood. I hadn't even known about him until this summer. In fact, I still didn't know whether his death had been an illness or an accident. Like many things, it was a topic neither Dad nor Granny was keen to discuss.
I knelt in the dirt; I read and re-read the words engraved in stone. It was surreal to think that Uncle Julius should have been a thirty-four-year-old man--maybe he would have had my Dad's winter-gray eyes--but instead lay sleeping undisturbed beneath the soil, an eternal child.
I'm sorry
, I wanted to tell him. Because he had an amazing brother, an incredible mother, and he couldn't enjoy them the way I could.
I promised, silently, that I would enjoy them for the both of us.
I kissed my fingertips and touched them to the smooth headstone. I stood up, a smile on my face, faint and content. I turned to leave.
Rafael had followed me as far as the fence. I hadn't realized it. In hindsight, I find that curious: Bulky and sluggish, Rafael wasn't the sort to tread lightly.
I smiled, quizzical. Rafael gazed at me intently. He looked as though he desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't find the right words. I found that sort of funny, considering which of us had the busted vocal cords.
I crossed through the gate and closed it behind me; it creaked with weary protest and old age. I touched Rafael's arm, gently, prompting.
"Nothing," he grumbled, and turned pointedly away.
He was embarrassed about something--that much, I could tell, but whatever had embarrassed him, it was a mystery. Much of Rafael was a mystery, a mystery I was constantly chipping away at, constantly trying to solve. I was proud to have solved at least half of the enigma: No one would have guessed it by looking at him, but underneath his gruff exterior, Rafael's innermost nature was shy.
My smile softened, then faded. My fingers trailed their way up his arm to his shoulder, where my hand came to a rest. He followed my hand with his eyes--until I touched my fingertips to his face. His eyes jumped and met mine.
I'd never seen a blue like the blue in Rafael's eyes. Like indigo and oceans and hot summer storms.
His lips crashed down on mine. My lips parted and I tasted the sugar in his mouth, on his tongue, our tongues brushing together, his hands possessively biting my hips and the black gate behind me bumping hard against my spine. I ghosted my fingers down his strong profile and his square jawline, and he liked that, I think, because he kissed me even harder, and my fingers wandered, sinking into his coarse hair, twisting around his braids--
His glasses bumped into the bridge of my nose.
Ow,
I mouthed, surprised. We broke apart. Stumbling, Rafael looked dizzy, like someone had bopped him on the forehead. And technically, someone had; my nose had knocked his glasses, hard, into his brow. He swore loudly, confused. I won't repeat the word here. I'm a gentleman.
"Cubby?"
Heat flooded my face with embarrassment. How long had Dad been standing there? He approached us from the back of the church. I couldn't make out the expression on his face--but then I never could. He always looked somber. His face didn't come in any other variety.
Rafael, oblivious, rubbed his brow in pain. He took off his eyeglasses and squinted at them like they were his mortal enemy.
"We have to go to the doctor's, remember?" Dad said.
Oh. Right. Turns out I was missing a few immunizations I needed for the start of school. I should have gotten them years ago, but it's not exactly Dad's fault. I'd imagine raising a kid on your own is hard enough for anyone, let alone a guy.
"You're leaving?" Rafael said. There was an earnest expression on his face, the sentiment mirrored in his tone.
I smiled at him. Much as I didn't like the prospect of Dr. Stout poking me with needles, it wouldn't take long. Rafael seemed to come to the same conclusion. He nodded and replaced his glasses.
My heart swelled with familiar warmth. He looked good in glasses. He looked good in anything.
He looked away from me, embarrassed again. But I thought I saw the hint of a shy smile playing at his lips.
Dad and I walked through the reserve together--without Granny; she had gone west to play cards with Mrs. Threefold and Mr. Marsh. A silence settled between us. That wasn't particularly unordinary; Dad was prone to bouts of pensive silence. I looked sideways at him and tried to glean the thoughts from his bear trap mind. Nothing. On the other hand, it seemed like he was pointedly avoiding my eyes. I was certain, suddenly, that he had seen me kiss Rafael. Maybe he was more comfortable with it in theory than in practice.
That made me feel pretty lousy.
The hospital was at the southern end of the reservation: one story, because it only serviced Nettlebush, with solid caramel walls and wood floors. Dad signed us in at the front desk, and we sat together in the waiting room.
He still wasn't looking at me.
This is ridiculous, I thought. I jostled his shoulder.
"Cubby," he started, mid-thought. "Sorry. What?"
I gave him a pointed look.
You know what.
He looked me dead on, his eyes like still water beneath a midwinter sun; muted, slate-gray, revealing none of the thoughts hidden beneath. Finally, he sighed.
"I told you I don't mind," he murmured, his mouth barely moving. "I do mean that. But it's still a shock."
I raised my eyebrows.
"...To see my only son kissing another boy."
Poor Dad; I wished I hadn't made him say it out loud. He was such an awkward guy, the kind who stammered whenever he had to talk to an unfamiliar woman. I reached sideways and cupped his shoulder. He smiled at me fleetingly.
The nurse called my name and Dad and I rose together, edging out of the waiting room.
"It's just," Dad went on, as we walked down the narrow hallway between examination rooms. "It's more than that. Considering the history between our families--"
I swallowed.
Rafael's father was a serial killer, and the reason I didn't have a voice. The reason Dad didn't have a wife.