Welcome to Bordertown (57 page)

*   *   *

As soon as we get finished up with the job on Saturday, I go home and take a shower. Afterward I’m standing there in my jeans looking at the half dozen T-shirts I own when Uncle Herbert comes in. Maybe Juliana won’t be able to see what I’m wearing in any kind of detail, but I still want to look good when I’m with her.

Uncle Herbert tosses a long-sleeved shirt onto the bed.

“I think this’ll fit you,” he says.

I hold it up. It’s a soft, thick white cotton with a Kikimi pattern embroidered above the pockets in rusts and pale greens and browns. The colors of the desert.

“I can’t take your shirt,” I say.

“It’s just a loan. But if you’re going to be seeing much of this girl, you might want to take a few dollars that you’ve got saved up for that truck of yours and buy a couple of nice shirts.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“How’re you getting there?”

“The bus goes right by the hotel,” I tell him.

I didn’t want to ask him for a lift.

He nods, then hands me the keys to his truck.

“I’ve found,” he says, “that a girl likes a guy to have his own transportation.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

It’s not just the fact that he’s loaning me the truck. It’s that he trusts me enough to not screw things up.

He grips my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“You’ve been doing so well since you got here,” he says, “that Tía Luba thinks I’m bullshitting when she calls to see how you are. You’ve earned a few perks, Joey.”

I’m not much of a touchy-feely guy, but I give Uncle Herbert a hug.

*   *   *

I find Juliana sitting on the edge of a seat in the lobby when I come into the hotel—she has to, just to make room for her wings. They’ve got to be three feet long, sparkling gossamer wings that lift above her head. Her hair is piled high, showing off her slender neck and the little pointed tips on the ends of her ears, and instead of sunglasses she’s wearing one of her dad’s masks—a green wave of leather with the tiniest of eyeholes.

Alana went all out with Juliana’s dress. It’s the color of a deep forest, with a tight bodice that’s just brocade and lace. There’s more skirt flooding down from her waist than I’ve ever seen on a girl.

“You look gorgeous,” I say when I reach her chair.

She jumps to her feet and throws her arms around my neck.

“You came!” she breathes in my ear.

“You didn’t think I would?”

She kisses my neck, then lets her arms drop. She tucks her hand into the crook of my arm.

“I didn’t know what to think,” she says, “since we’re just getting to know each other.”

“Which I hope will be a long, fruitful journey.”

I don’t know why those fancy words popped into my head. I’m acting so weird I hardly know myself, but she squeezes my arm and rests her head against my shoulder for a moment. Then she gives me a tug.

“Come on,” she says. “You have to come see the faeries and describe them all to me.”

*   *   *

It’s chaos in the hotel’s lobby and halls. Every which way you turn, there are faeries and goblins and I-don’t-know-what-alls, and people taking pictures of them and each other. It’s one thing to be checking out this kind of a scene from the back corridors where the crew and I are bringing in the tables and chairs, but a whole other thing to be right in the middle of it all. It’s wall-to-wall people. The ones with wings sometimes have to turn sideways just to get through the crowd.

I do my best to describe them to Juliana. I think she gets a kick out of me stumbling over my descriptions, but come on, really. What can I do? After a while you just run out of words.

But some stand out. A couple of scarecrows with straw sticking out of their hats and sleeves make me smile. A mermaid with blue hair. A totally wild woman, green body paint on every bit of skin showing, shrieking in a mad, cackling voice. A gnome with a tall red conical hat. A man dressed like a crow walking on stilts that lift him a few feet above the rest of the crowd.

But mostly it’s faeries.

Faeries. Faeries. Faeries.

Baby faeries and old ones. Fat ones and skinny ones.

I think some of the bad ones are here a night early because there are more than a few girls and women wearing seriously sexy outfits. But here’s the thing. No matter whether the people are
going for a dark look or the vaguely S&M look or taking the flower faerie route, everybody just seems genuinely nice. They’re respectful and appreciative of each other. Maybe away from a gathering like this, they go in for the usual petty crap that everybody seems to, but they appear to have left it behind when they came here. And while I get what Juliana means about her disability being like a third person in the room, people seem happy for her to be here, even if they’re wearing sympathy in their eyes at the same time.

I’m one of only a few people not in costume, but they’re pretty welcoming to me as well.

When we get to the big room where the bands will play, there’s already piped-in music and people dancing. I see Alana and Tom across the room and give them a wave.

“Your parents are here,” I say.

“What are they wearing?”

“Well, your dad looks like a tree and your mom … well, she’s kind of got the leafy look going on, too, but she looks way better than the Green Men.”

“She’s a dryad.”

“Which is?”

“The spirit of a tree.”

“That makes sense,” I say. “You can tell she’s got a spiritual thing going for her.”

“What she has,” Juliana says, “is a gift for reading character. She can tell a lot by just looking at someone, but if she has physical contact, they’re laid out for her like she’s reading a book.”

I think about how long Alana was holding my hand yesterday.

“Great,” I say.

“Oh, don’t worry. She likes you. She said if she had to sum you up in two words, they’d be ‘loyal’ and ‘kind.’ She also said you could be dangerous, but never to me.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

“She’s teaching me and Dad how to do it,” she goes on, “but he’s better than I am at it.”

I smile, but she can’t see it.

“So did you ‘read’ me yesterday?” I ask.

She nods and starts to blush.

“Oh, come on,” I say. “What did you get?”

She mumbles something and I think I catch the words “soul mate.” I don’t push her, but I give her hand a squeeze.

It explains a lot. Her quick acceptance of me and the way I feel about her after knowing her for such a short time. I’m not sure what I think, or what I believe. But I know what I feel. It makes me happy and nervous at the same time, and I can see she feels the same.

Uncle Herbert would say the little thunders are whispering to us.

When the first band comes on, they play music I’ve never heard before. It’s somewhere between folk songs and European dance music. I like holding Juliana in my arms but we listen as much as we dance. At one point a couple of very athletic faeries do a fire dance using long orange and yellow ribbons as their flames. In the flickering light, with the music throbbing, you can almost believe the fire’s real.

When the set’s over, Juliana’s parents join us and Alana goes with Juliana to the ladies’ room.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Tom says. “I’ve never seen Juliana as happy as she is tonight.”

I guess this is the concerned-dad talk.

“I know it seems to be going really fast,” I tell him. “It seems like that to me, too. But I really like her.”

“I can see that from how you look at her. But what I like better is how you look out for her—because I see that as well.”

“I try. But she’s pretty independent.”

It’s a little weird talking to a guy in a mask of leaves where all you can see are his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” he says.

When the next band starts to play, he claims his daughter for a dance, so I partner with Alana.

“You’ve got strong, artistic hands,” she says. “Do you play music or paint?”

“I do some wood carving.”

She smiles. “I envy you. I’ve never been able to do three-dimensional work myself.”

“I’m not that good. I’ve just been figuring it out as I go along.”

“Well, if you’ve ever wanted to try your hand at leatherwork, Tom’s been looking for an apprentice for ages.”

I just look at her.

“I know,” she says. She pretends to be embarrassed and raises an eyebrow. “Step too far?”

I find myself wondering what it would be like to have parents that love you as much as the Hills love their daughter. My mother passed when I was twelve, and the aunts took us kids in; no one knows what happened to my father. One day he just left the house and he never came back. He could be dead, or in jail, or living a whole other life somewhere. I’ll never know.

But I do know that I feel like I’m in over my head. All of this is happening fast, but at the same time it doesn’t seem to be happening fast enough. Mostly I have trouble believing that it’s real.

“I’d have to ask my uncle,” I say.

“Well, think about it,” she says.

My next dance is with Juliana and I tell her what her mother said.

“Wow,” she says. “Didn’t see that coming. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Making masks sounds a lot better than hauling around tables and chairs.”

“Dad’s workshop is at the house,” she says, “and the way I hear it, apprentices usually live in their teacher’s home.”

She doesn’t have to say any more. I can fill in the blanks.

“I’m getting tired,” she tells me when the dance ends. “I’m not used to being around so many people for so long.”

“What do you want to do?” I ask, willing to follow her lead.

“How did you get here?”

“Uncle Herbert lent me his truck.”

“How about coming back to the house for a while? I’ll play you romantic songs on my ukulele.”

“Really? You play music?”

She pokes me in the chest. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. I’m delighted.”

She grins. “So let’s find my parents and tell them where we’re going.”

*   *   *

Juliana does play her ukulele for me, and not only is she good on it, the instrument’s got a lot more going for it than I’d have ever thought. In her hands it has a sweet, bell-like sound to match the bell-like tones in her voice.

We talk some, too, and drink an herbal tea that tastes like cinnamon and nutmeg.

But mostly we neck on the sofa until Juliana takes my hand and puts it on her breast.

“Want to see my room?” she asks, like she did last night.

I have to clear my throat.

“What about your parents?” I say.

“They’ll be hours still.”

She squeals when I pick her up, but then wraps her arms around my neck as I carry her through the house to her room.

Uncle Herbert says that sometimes things are exactly what they seem to be. Since that’s how I want it to be with the Hills, that’s what I choose to believe.

I get how everything’s happening so fast. I do. But I’m almost eighteen now. I wasted so many years in a drunken and stoned haze that I need things to move fast just so I can catch up with what I missed—all the things that normal kids get to do. But it’s not like I step right into the middle of a whirlwind. Connecting with Juliana and her parents happens quickly, but the day-to-day relationship moves at a much more reasonable pace.

Still, before I agree to anything, I make sure that Uncle Herbert has a chance to meet the Hills. I owe him and Tía Luba for giving me the break I would never have had if I’d stayed in the desert.

A couple of nights after FaerieCon ends, we have dinner at the Hills’ house. I help Alana prepare the meal as Juliana sits on a stool chatting with us, while Tom and Uncle Herbert are out on the porch with the dogs, getting to know each other. I don’t have any worries about them getting along. Since Uncle Herbert was a medicine man back on the rez and Tom’s got that whole Green Man thing going, they have plenty to talk about.

When Uncle Herbert starts talking over dinner about growing up on the rez, telling funny stories about his brothers and their adventures, I know he likes our hosts as much as I do. But I don’t
get to know what he’s really thinking until it’s just the two of us in the cab of his truck and we’re driving home.

“Well,” he says, “that Juliana’s a fine-looking young lady all right. It’s not hard to see what caught your eye with her.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Are you sure? You’ve only known her for a few days and here you are, already set on working for her daddy.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

I look out the windshield and try to find the words.

“She’s everything you said and more,” I tell him. “She’s smart and serious and funny and sexy. Anybody’d want to be with her.”

“Even with her being almost blind?”

“I don’t even think about it—I mean, not as a negative. It makes me want to look out for her, yeah, but it’s only a small part of who she is.”

I keep staring out the windshield, hoping to pull what I want to say out of the darkness and the lights going by. Uncle Herbert waits patiently.

“Maybe this is going to sound selfish,” I finally say, “but beyond everything I like about her that’s obvious, I also really like who I am when I’m with her. I’m not an addict or a recovering drunk. I’m not an ex-con. I’m not the guy just looking for someone to say the wrong thing so we can fight. I’m—I’m someone I never thought I’d get the chance to be: an ordinary guy. A
happy
ordinary guy.”

“Do you think you make her feel better about herself?”

“I don’t know. God, I hope so. But she’s got so much going for her—that’s the thing that worries me, I guess. What does she need from me?”

Uncle Herbert chuckles. “You don’t see the way she looks at you?”

“What do you mean? She can’t actually see me.”

“I’m not talking about that kind of seeing. I’m talking about how whenever the two of you are in the same room, her spirit starts to glow. You can almost see the light spilling out of her. She’s always turned in your direction, or leaning toward you like a flower following the sun.”