Hulk growls at Edward Gallego from the safety of Geronima’s arms. When she sets him down, he stops growling to smell this stranger’s running shoes.
Edward Gallego’s bear hug of his son is powerful, in keeping with his San Diego State University wrestling prowess. His grip on Gale’s cheeks just short of painful.
Sally looks fresh from the salon, her thick, gray-black hair trimmed, wearing a long white dress under a black tunic into which she has woven small seashells.
“I won’t be able to stay long,” Edward announces, sitting down at the table.
Gale sees the forbearance on his mother’s face as she serves Edward a bowl of stew, then one for Geronima and another for him.
“It’s been a while, Ed,” Gale says. “Almost a year.”
“I miss your mom. And you and Frank. Maybe not so much Frank.”
“Does Isabelle know you’re here?” Gale asks.
“We have our arrangement and a good marriage. So let that one go.”
“Tell Geronima about her.”
Edward gives Gale a sharp look and Geronima another smile.
He explains that Isabelle is his third wife, very young and beautiful, a recognized Cahuilla native. They live out in Aguanga — not much more than a general store, a modest sized casino, and a gas station on Highway 371. It’s a bit of a commute, says Edward, because he teaches and coaches football at the high school here in Capistrano.
Which makes Gale think of the native boy, handy with a football, whom Tribal Councilman Roger Winderling is supposed to introduce him to. Apparently, the boy’s mother isn’t so sure about that.
“Well,” says Geronima. “You’re a lucky man to get a woman like her.”
“It’s not all luck,” he says.
Sally sets her bowl on the table and elegantly raises her long white dress to sit.
“You look great tonight, Mom,” Gale says. “You got all beautified for this conquistador?”
His father gives Gale a steely glance. Same flat gray eyes as his son. “Watch it, son.”
“Come on, you two,” says Sally. “Here, let’s drink a toast.”
“To families,” says Edward.
Gale notes the calm detachment on Geronima’s face as she considers his father. She’s wearing what she left home in with Gale early this morning — black jeans, red canvas sneakers, and a red Western shirt with pearl snap buttons.
They raise the bottles of beer.
“Tell us about that nose, son.”
Gale loosely synopsizes his and Daniela’s inspection of the Wildcoast test pit, courtesy of the student activist Geronima, the mountain lion with the dead coyote in its mouth, the nearly silent pickup that tried to run him down. Geronima cleaning him up. Nothing about lithium crystals.
“Geronima,” says Edward Gallego. “You’ve got a lot of Facebook followers, don’t you?”
“Not really. Ten, twelve thousand. More on X.”
“You’re an attractive warrior, but you do say some ugly things.”
“I’m honest about what I see. I’m sorry if you’re offended.”
“Not in the least. Do you and Lew have a thing?”
“We just met.”
“Another dead end for you, son?” he asks, turning to Gale.
“Ed, please,” says Sally.
“I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings,” says Ed, looking at Sally, then Geronima.
“My feelings are just fine,” Gale says.
Ed looks at his son with disappointment, something that Gale has tried to avoid his entire life. His father’s disappointment, that is. There’s also a vein of sadness in it, which eats at Gale even more. He’s never been square with his dad about the war. And Sally has honored her promise of silence, so far as Gale knows.
“I want what’s best for you, son,” says Ed. “The love of your life. A family. Sons and daughters. All the things your mother and I have. And more. I was hoping that Geronima might prove to be part of that grand scheme.”
The goddamned killer smile again, Gale notes.
“I’ll get what I deserve,” says Gale.
“I wish you held yourself in higher esteem, son,” says Edward. “I feel like something has been beaten out of you, but I know it wasn’t me that did it. I gave you the best I had, until it was time to leave. I’ve forgiven myself for that, as you know.”
“It’s harder to stay than to go,” Gale says.
“I couldn’t disagree more.”
“Seconds on that stew, Ed?”
Silence while she serves him, then Gale.
Geronima declines seconds, sipping the stew thoughtfully, thinks Gale. Knows her well enough to suspect she’s furious but constrained. She gives him an analytical look, then reaches down and pets Hulk.
“Lew, do you know who was driving that truck?” asks his mother.
“I never saw him. I was trying to get away, jump that wall along Camino Capistrano.”
“But why him, not her?” asks Edward. “You know how some women text and drive — she might not have even seen you.”
“That’s pretty far-fetched, Edward,” says Sally. “Lew, do you think it’s tied to the Tarlow case?”
“I do.”
“Not so fast,” says Edward. “No skeletons in the closet from past cases? No released felons who might want revenge on the cop who busted them? You, as a sheriff’s detective can easily get that kind of information.”
“No skeletons, Ed,” says Gale.
“I like that you’re political, Geronima,” says Edward. No smile now, just his gaze boring into her. “That you are passionate about all things native. Big into the social media, very political, always bad-mouthing the European and American oppressors, as you call them. I teach history. I thought you might like that. But you know, the history I teach isn’t the progressive nonsense you espouse. The Franciscan friars who founded the mission here, and converted and taught the natives, were not genocidal oppressors. They were godly and selfless. And don’t forget, Father Serra sailed all the way here from Spain on a wooden boat with no motor and no lights. It took a year and a half. He arrived here with three Franciscan helpers and eight soldiers. That was the invading army you all talk about. Upon first meeting the Acjacheme here, there was a moment when thirty Indian braves placed arrows in their bows. Father Serra, a tiny man, couldn’t speak their language, and the Indians couldn’t understand his. But he knelt before them and looked them in their eyes while he said a prayer. And when he rose, the native chief ordered his braves to disarm their bows. Later, the Spanish set up camp and the natives — mostly naked people — brought them food and water. The food was uncooked, as was the custom. Raw rabbit and deer and quail. Here was their place to build a mission. For naked primitives with blood dripping down their chins.”
Sally says, “That was somewhat moving, Ed, but don’t forget that those Spaniards killed thousands of us — two-thirds — with their diseases in a few short years, replaced our language with their own. Changed our names. Choked our customs and beliefs as they baptized us into their church, then married the young women and made families.”
“They made you into God-fearing, tax-paying citizens of New Spain,” says Ed.
“Using whips and chains.”
“The Franciscans saw in you what I saw two centuries later, Sally. Native beauty and strength. Unlimited potential.”
“Edward, we’ve been having this conversation since the day we met. I don’t blame you for what your ancestors did to mine. I loved you as well I knew how, but our marriage was a brief moment. I don’t blame you. I forgive you.”
Edward swallows the last of his beer.
“My kingdom for a toothpick,” he says.
Sally moves the shot glass of wooden toothpicks to him.
Edward takes one, sets it deep between his teeth and stands.
“I love coming over here,” he says. “I miss you both. And Lew? I’m sorry we don’t get along and your anger does hurt me. Again, for the thousandth time, I am sorry for what happened to you, though I have no idea what it is. All I know for sure is that I am not responsible.”
“You’re off the hook, Dad,” says Gale. “Except for abandoning your wife and sons.”
“A genuine pleasure to meet you, Geronima Mills. You are native strength and beauty at its finest. I wish you all the best. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”
Edward heads out the door, Hulk growling along behind him.