Chapter 4

The next morning I had one of my rare early awakenings. Sometimes, though I sleep soundly, I wake up much earlier than I would otherwise – even without setting the clock, and we didn't expect to set the clock at all on this vacation unless the next morning was Sunday, it being our vacation custom to sleep as we want. This morning I woke up a bit after 6, realized I wasn't going to go back to sleep, and quietly got dressed. Cecelia was still asleep when I softly opened the door and stepped outside, my light jean jacket on in deference to the slight chill of the morning. It might be a sweatbox by noon, but the same humidity that made Oklahoma so intolerable in full summer daylight made any lowering of the temperature more tangible.

As I looked around I saw a Red Hawk police cruiser parked on the shoulder across the road. As I stood regarding the vehicle, it moved, pulling across the road and parking in a slot out in the parking lot, opposite where I stood, even though – because the motel wasn't full – there were plenty of places next to the building. I am not more than medium dense, and I walked over to the cruiser, not hurrying.

As I approached the driver climbed out. He was a big man, with a bit of a gut, and two stars on his collar points and two more on the badge, which was in the oval shape of the LAPD. I remembered that badge; it had been new for the department when I wore it, and the resemblance was deliberate. The man who'd been chief then had come from LA and chose it specifically for that reason.

The man I faced now was someone I'd known then, and as I approached he smiled and stuck out his hand. "Well, Darvin," he said, "fancy meeting you here."

I took his hand – and my left arm went around him and we hugged each other. "You knew very well I was here, Harry. You're a good cop, and anyway I'm not so civilianized that I didn't observe your actions."

"You always were a good cop, Darvin. I hated it when you left the department – you could have been chief now."

"Maybe – but you're the chief, and if you're half the cop you were when I was here, you're a better chief than I would have been."

He scuffed at the blacktop with his toe. "I'm still all the cop that I was, though maybe a bit slower. But I guess that I am a better administrator. You're a good cop, but I'm not sure you could run a department the way I do."

We had, by this time, both leaned our backsides against the hood of the car, still warm from the engine's heat. I'd seen the big metal bumpers on the two cruisers I'd seen around town the day before, but there wasn't one on the chief's car. He wasn't likely to be spinning out any fleeing suspects. "I suspect you're right, Harry," I said. "Probably one of the reasons I've always kept my operation small is that I don't want to mess with administration."

He nodded, and changed the subject. "I bet you used your police abilities to tell that I'm the chief now."

"Yeah – all I had to go on was the collar brass and the shield. Sherlock Holmes would have had to work to figure it out."

He laughed out loud. "You haven't lost your sarcastic streak, have you?"

"I'm still me, Harry."

"Yeah, I guess you are. Of course I only knew you for three years or so, before, but if I'd had to guess, I'd have guessed that you'd be more like yourself down the road than anyone else. You've always been pretty much who you are, and happy with it."

"Pretty much – there've been things I've changed, or wished I had changed, or wished I could change, but basically, yeah, I'm happy with who and what I am."

He rubbed his eyebrows with his thumb. "There aren't many people like that."

"You're one of 'em, you know, Harry."

"I suppose so ... I've never thought much about it."

"We're a lot alike, aren't we ... always were, at that, even though you're older than I am."

He glanced at me. "I've been a cop for 40 years, Darvin – just about as long as you've been alive."

Now I looked at him. "I get the feeling you're leading up to something."

Just then the door of our room opened and Cecelia stepped out. It was like the day suddenly began – everything seemed to be brighter, sharper, more in focus. She was wearing a denim western shirt with roses embroidered on the front – yellow on the left, red on the right, with the flowers at the shoulders and the stems gently meandering down to the pockets. I remembered when she'd made that shirt. Her skirt was calf-length, of purple velveteen after the traditional Navajo pattern, and I could see that she was wearing her Apache style moccasins. She gave me a smile and a nod, and knocked on Darlia's door. I saw the curtains twitch as Darlia checked to see who was there, and then the door opened and Cecelia went inside.

Harry was indeed still a good cop. "I see," he said, "that you've taught your daughter to be careful."

I wasn't surprised that he knew we were there, or that we had a daughter. It wouldn't have been hard to find out. "Yeah. We live in a nice section of town, but it never hurts to be careful."

"Y'all are in Albuquerque?"

"Yeah."

He nodded at the door Cecelia had gone into. "Your wife's a ... striking ... woman." I'm one of the few people who calls Cecelia beautiful, but there's no question that her looks are unique.

"I guess so. To me she's just the whole world, that's all."

Harry now regarded me steadily. "That's about what you thought of Tina."

I examined the blacktop. "Harry, I've been kicking myself over that for a long time."

He nodded. "I didn't mean to hammer you, Darvin. It was more a comment on your marriage than on your relationship with Tina. Sorry if it came out wrong."

"Naw, don't worry about it. If I'm going to be here, I'm going to have to face the whole mess with Tina – Cecelia made that clear yesterday, and she's right, as usual."

"None of us had any idea until you came back," Harry said, "of where you were or how you were doing. We never thought of you as married – at least I didn't. But somehow, I don't know how since all I know is what I've learned and what I saw a minute ago, you and your wife seem to belong together."

"I certainly think so. I'd sooner you gouged out my eyes, or lopped off my arms and legs, than took Cecelia away from me – though the only way to take her away would be to kill her, and then I suspect I'd be pretty vengeful."

"You have changed some, Darvin. There was a time when such a thing would have had you making dire threats."

"Time, Christianity, Cecelia – they've all moderated me. I'm the same guy, but I think maybe I'm getting a little wisdom. It's about time, too."

Darlia's door opened, and my wife and daughter came out. Darlia had put a clip on her hair, down at the base of her neck, so the heavy mass of it covered her ears before gathering together; below the clip it spread a bit, and caressed her back almost down to her waist. She'd put on her own western shirt, this one white, and a pair of jeans – but sandals on her feet. Her feet were the same golden color as the rest of her; she goes barefoot as often as she wears shoes, as long as the weather's nice.

Cecelia led Darlia across the short expanse of parking lot to meet us. My wife let go of Darlia's hand and gathered me into her arms. She kissed me full on the mouth, holding it for a long moment while one hand caressed the back of my neck. When she released me I squatted down and took Darlia in my arms; she hugged me back with all her considerable strength, then took my head in her hands and gave me one of her trademark slobbery kisses, disarranging my hat in the process. As I rose I replaced my hat with one hand and wiped my mouth with the other; Darlia watched me with the solemn wide-eyed expression that I suspect is laughter hiding so as to confuse me.

"Harry," I said, "I'd like you to meet my family. This is my wife Cecelia, and my daughter Darlia. Ladies, this is Harry Thomas, the chief of the Red Hawk PD."

Cecelia had moved into the circle of my right arm, snuggling against me, but she extended her right hand, saying, "It's nice to meet you, Chief Thomas."

"It's a pleasure, Mrs. Carpenter."

Darlia also stuck out her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise, Miss Darlia. You know, that's a very pretty name."

"Mommy and Daddy say they accidentally named me after themselves."

"Accidentally?"

Darlia shrugged. "They can explain it better than I can."

Harry straightened up and looked at us. "Maybe you ought to; I'm confused. How do you accidentally name someone after yourself?"

Cecelia and I looked at each other. Her left hand, resting on my waist, gave a slight pressure which I knew meant that she wished me to handle the answer. "When Cecelia was pregnant, and we were casting about for a name, one of us – I disremember which one, now – thought of Darlia. It's such a pretty name, and it seemed to fit her so well, that we went with it. It was only a year or two later that someone pointed out that it uses the first syllable of my name and the last two of Cecelia's."

Harry nodded. "I did notice the pronunciation of your name, Mrs. Carpenter. Most women would say it see-seel-ya, in three syllables, but you say it se-seel-ee-a, in four."

"That's how Mama and Daddy have said it all my life. They might, perhaps, have mispronounced it initially, but by now it's the correct pronunciation for my name, if not for everyone with the same name, and it would sound distinctly foreign were someone to call me by name without the fourth syllable."

Harry nodded. "It's good to be individual, I think. Sometimes I think I'm too much part of the herd. I've been wearing a uniform nearly as long as your husband's been alive, as I'd just mentioned to him, and following rules and procedures, and perhaps I'm just deluding myself when I think I'm not just like everyone else. But I do like to think so." And he smiled at her.

She smiled back. It was her smile that launches ships, or would if any were around when she smiled it. "I don't know you, Chief Thomas – at least, I do not yet know you, though I imagine I shall by the time we return to Albuquerque. But my husband clearly likes you, and he is not apt to be overly friendly with herd creatures. He is the most independent person I've ever known, and his tacit endorsement tells me that you are not as much an anonymous fragment of the mass as you might believe."

Harry stared at me, his jaw hanging open. "Darvin, of all the people to marry someone who speaks perfect English, you're the last guy I'd have expected it to be."