Green Lake (20 page)

She shook her head as she held her pencil and supposed she was entering another stage in her life, one centered on experiencing the very things that interested her now. Now that she felt the way she did about someone who felt the way he did about her. It amazed her how much more alive she felt, how much more aware of every breath, every sensation, every nerve she had become. It was a battle to keep from being swallowed by sensation. To keep herself somehow intact beyond and separate from the relationship.

She was no giddy teenager about to collapse into the identity of another, but all the emotional trappings and stirrings were being observed by the scholar in Madeleine even as she experienced them. The anxiety. The euphoric sense of elation. The overwhelming joy she experienced just to hear the sound of his voice on the phone when he called. The desperate loneliness she knew without him. The aching and yearning for his physical presence. His touch.

Perhaps she had never shown any interest in man's emotional side because she herself had never been exposed to emotion at such levels. Perhaps some cautious part of her had avoided it, been leery of the pain involved.

She sighed and continued writing. She wrote about Shelly Bigelow, and the fate that had befallen her. She wrote about Shelly's father, Bill, and the many friends he appeared to have gained through his generosity with the pontoon boat, including Denise and Tim Lansky. She wrote for two pages on the violent man in the baseball cap, and briefly compared him to Dale Russell. Dale Russell, she believed, would never actually harm anyone or abuse them physically, but the man in the ball cap apparently knew of no other way to salve bruised feelings. He would take what he wanted when he wanted and he would do it with force if he had to. His was learned behavior, Madeleine wrote, and in a sidebar she added what he had said about his father having dinner with the judge.

When she realized her arms and legs were becoming pink even with the umbrella shading her from the sun, she closed her notebook and packed up her gear. Windburn could do just as much harm as sunburn, and it appeared she had a good dose of it. She drove back to the cabin and looked with a start at the clock. It was almost four. She had been sitting out and writing much longer than she realized. She put her things away and went to the bathroom for some witch hazel to apply to her tender skin. She tidied her bun and applied lipstick, then she poured herself a glass of iced tea from a pitcher she had prepared earlier. She opened the door of the cabin and looked out in time to see Eris's truck stopping by his mailbox. A woman was in the cab with him, and both of them were laughing.

Madeleine stared. She had never seen Eris really laughing before. He looked as if he had known the woman beside him for years, instead of having met her just a few days ago. And the woman beside him looked too young to be his mother. Far too young.

While she was looking, Madeleine saw Eris lift an arm and gesture to her. He pointed to his mother, then to Madeleine. She nodded and went hurriedly to change. If he was bringing his mother now, then Madeleine needed to look less pink and wind damaged. She pulled off her top and shorts and put on a pale yellow sundress. She took her hair down and shook it loose, allowing the natural curls to fall around her face and neck. Before she could run to the bathroom and apply makeup, there was a knock at her door. She shoved her feet into slim strap sandals and went to answer.

Eris stood on the porch beside a woman only a few inches shorter than he. She was long and slim and darkly attractive, and her eyes revealed surprise when she saw Madeleine.

Madeleine greeted them and stepped aside to allow them to enter. Eris's eyes on her made her feel instantly warm. He was as happy to see her as she was to see him. When he came inside he surprised her by reaching for her hand. She gave it to him gladly.

“Madeleine Heron, this is Sara Bent Horn, my mother.”

Madeleine extended her free hand. “I'm pleased to meet you.”

Sara Bent Horn only touched her fingers. “Eris didn't tell me you were such a beauty.”

“Thank you,” said Madeleine. “I could say the same of you.”

Sara lifted her head and looked around herself. “This is a nice cabin. What does your sister's husband do?”

“Manuel is a neurologist. My sister Jacqueline is an anesthesiologist. They work at the same hospital.”

“Manuel is Hispanic?”

“He's from
Mexico, yes.”

“Do all the women in your family go for ethnic types?”

Madeleine's heated flesh went suddenly cold. She felt Eris's hand squeeze hers.

“I've never thought about it,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Would you care to sit down?”

“Eris tells me you're an anthropologist,” Sara said, ignoring the invitation. Her dark eyes swept over Madeleine's form. “You look almost too fragile with your sweet pink skin and dainty little hands and feet.” Madeleine glanced at Eris and saw him staring at his mother with a slight frown on his face. His mother saw the frown and quickly apologized. “I meant it as a compliment, of course.”

“Can I get either of you something to drink?” asked Madeleine, forcing another smile.

“Nothing for me,” said Sara, and Eris declined as well.

Before Madeleine could ask how Sara liked what she had seen of
Kansas, Sara asked the question Madeleine dreaded.

“What are you doing here for the summer? Are you working?”

“It's a long story,” said Madeleine.

“I'd like to hear it,” Sara told her, her smile cool. “I'm interested in everything Eris is interested in.”

“I'd rather not go into it,” Madeleine averred.

“You don't have to,” said Eris. He turned to his mother and told her they needed to be going if she still wanted to eat out that night.

“Aren't you going to ask Madeleine to join us?” she inquired, her fine black brows lifting into arches as she looked at her son. Eris looked at Madeleine.

“Jacqueline and Manuel will be here soon,” she said. “They come up every weekend.”

“You couldn't leave them a note?”

“I assumed you and Eris would want time alone together.”

Eris squeezed her hand again and opened his mouth, but Sara said, “We've had time alone together, and we'll have plenty more to come. We're only just beginning to know each other, my son and I. And as I said before, if he is interested in you, then so am I. Surely you'll change your mind and your dress and come have supper with us.”

“The dress is fine,” said Eris, frowning at his mother again. He looked at Madeleine and she could see the confused irritation in his expression.

“I'll come,” she told him, rising to the challenge. “Just let me put up my hair and write a quick note.”

His nostrils flared slightly, and his hand held on to hers just a second longer when she would have tugged it away. She gave him a tender smile and left the living room to hurriedly pin up her hair again and write a note to her sister.

Sara Bent Horn's assessment was cool as Madeleine rejoined them. Madeleine propped up the note on the counter and grabbed a jacket and her purse before moving to the door and locking it from the inside. Sara went out, followed by Madeleine, and Eris pulled the door closed behind them. His hand slipped around Madeleine's waist and his lips brushed her temple as they walked behind his mother. Madeleine looked up into his face and told him with a glance how it felt to be near him again.

His eyes darkened and his hand on her waist tightened in response.

Inside his house Madeleine looked in surprise at all the new furniture and watched jealously as Sara Bent Horn tossed her things casually onto the sofa before removing herself to change. Eris, too, went to his room to change, and Madeleine was tempted to go with him, just to remain close to him. She forced herself to sit on one end of the new sofa and wait. When Eris came out he was dressed in dark indigo jeans and a navy pullover. Madeleine smiled in appreciation and he took her by the hand and pulled her out to the porch with him, closing the door behind them. They reached for each other before the screen door shut, and when they kissed it was as if they had been apart three months instead of three days.

Eris lifted his head when he heard the door opening, and Madeleine released him to wipe the lipstick from his mouth with her fingers. Sara looked outside and said, “I'm ready when you two are.”

“We're ready,” said Eris.

The three of them rode together in Eris's truck, with Madeleine beside him and Sara near the passenger door. He was taking them to a family-owned steakhouse near
Emporia, and on the drive over his mother asked Madeleine endless questions about her education, career, and other aspects of her life. Madeleine could feel the tension in Eris building, and she deflected the questions as best she could and finally succeeded in asking a few of her own.

She complimented the woman on her colorful style of dress and asked if her clothes were made by Indian artisans in
New Mexico.

“Everything I own is Indian-made,” Sara replied. “With the exception of my car, which was made in
Germany, but is maintained by an Arapaho mechanic.”

“Have you always been an artist?”

“Have you always been an anthropologist?”

Madeleine smiled and tried again. “What I meant was have you always been interested in drawing and painting?”

“I was more interested in drawing and painting than I was in making dolls, jewelry, or doing complex beadwork. I felt there was more freedom of expression in painting, and obviously more money.”

“You appear to have done well,” said Madeleine.

“Yes, I have,” Sara said honestly. “I have more money than I ever dreamed possible. White people just love to buy pictures painted by Indians.”

Madeleine was not offended. During her years in the field she had become accustomed to the barbs and the thinly veiled insults. White intolerance of Indians and Indian hatred of whites were more examples of learned behavior, the same as any other intolerance passed on through ignorance.

“Maybe I even have enough money to entice Eris away from his job here and come to New Mexico,” Sara said, her dark eyes shining as she smiled at her son. “I want him to meet his younger brother.”

Eris only glanced at his mother.

Madeleine looked at him and said, “You have a brother?”

“Half brother,” said Eris. “He's going to school in
New Mexico.”

“Right now he's working in my gallery,” said Sara. “I'm sure you could find a position with the parks department in
New Mexico. In several places they actually give preference to Indians.”

Madeleine was silent, listening. She had been to
New Mexico many times. Eris would probably like it there.

But she hated the thought of his leaving. In the back of her mind she had been toying with the idea of finding work—even teaching—and a place to live somewhere within a reasonable driving distance, so she wouldn't have to leave him. She had never considered the possibility that he might leave her.

His mother went on talking, telling him how big her house was and how little space she used. When Clint was home from college the two of them encountered each other only when they planned to do so. There were two spare bedrooms besides the one Clint used, so there was more than enough room for the three of them.

At that point Eris took one hand off the wheel and placed it on Madeleine's knee.

Madeleine felt Sara's look, heard a pause in her speech, and she tucked her hand beneath Eris's arm. She wanted to look at him, but it was unnecessary. He had spoken volumes simply by touching her and leaving his hand where his mother could see it.

Sara drew breath and continued, undaunted. She talked about
New Mexico and its inhabitants until they reached Emporia and were out of the truck and approaching the doors of the restaurant. Once they were seated inside and had given their orders to the waitress, Eris's beeper sounded.

“Sorry,” Eris said, and he got up
to make a call.

As he walked away, Sara looked at Madeleine and said, “Dedicated, isn't he?”

“He is,” Madeleine agreed. “Do you mind if I ask where you came up with his name? It's unusual.”

Sara gave a brief shrug, as if it wasn't important. “I saw the name spelled with an A in a children's book and decided to do it differently.” She paused, briefly. “What exactly do you want with my son?”

Madeleine looked up, surprised at the bluntness of the other woman's question.

“You're older than he is, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

Sara leaned back. ‘‘You obviously have a thing for Indians. How many did you go through while you were in the field? One at each reservation? You must have missed it while teaching.”

Madeleine stared at the other woman. “You're very wrong.”

“I can't be,” she said, shaking her head. “Don't play stupid with me, you know exactly what I'm getting at here. I'm his mother and I already love him, but he's no beauty.”

“Wrong again,” said Madeleine, her gaze unwavering. “You've known him only a few days.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Long enough to know there is no one else like him.”