Chapter 25

After a bit I closed my Bible and went to wake Cecelia. She dressed in the Blazer, putting on a white unadorned t-shirt, a pair of black jeans, and her trusty battered cowboy boots. She had her hair back in its usual short ponytail at the base of her skull, and carried her grimy gimme hat in her hand. She sat down across the table from me and asked, "What is it, Darvin?"

Of course I'd known what she'd deduce from my waking her, which I never do while we're on vacation. I told her about the call from Sergeant Castro, though I didn't mention what I'd said about guns. I knew I wouldn't have to.

She thought for a minute or two, and a grimace of distaste crossed her face. "You gave me my first lesson on shooting right here," she said, "and I have greatly enjoyed that recreation. But to think that here in our sanctuary we must go armed for protection is repugnant – but we must. Get our guns, Darvin."

It was an order, and I obeyed, though if she hadn't said it I'd have done it anyway. Cecelia and I think so much alike on the truly important matters that I don't mind taking her orders ... of course, the fact that she almost never gives orders, and then only when absolutely necessary, makes it easier too. I got my gun out of the clip under the seat, and hers from the glove compartment. I clipped mine onto my belt, and she did the same when I handed it to her. I sat back down and asked, "How do we explain this to Darlia?"

"We tell the truth."

"I know that – I didn't mean to hint that we might conceal things from her. But how do we phrase it?"

"I apologize, Darvin – my umbrage got the better of my good sense. I ought to have comprehended you. I propose that we say that a bad man is in the area and we wish to be prepared, and leave it at that. We could, of course, go into town until this is over."

I looked at her, and saw from her face that the idea of letting a vague possibility drive us out of our valley didn't please her any more than it did me. "We're probably being too careful anyway, C. I can't see any reason to run, and if I did, I'd head us for Vegas, not Needles – or maybe not Vegas, maybe Frisco or somewheres else away from the desert. I been to Vegas, an' I ain't lost nan thing there."

"That, my husband, is because you've never gambled there." And she smiled fit to launch ships even there in the waterless desert.

"True, true. Of all the places I've gambled, that ain't one of 'em."

"I wager, though, that it's one of the many places where you've utterly mutilated the English language."

"Shoot, I gotta meet your expectations."

"And so you live down to them – I having long since learned not to expect you to rise above me in that field of endeavor."

I took her hand, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. "Cecelia, you know I can talk right when I want to. But they ain't no way on earth I could ever be as good as you when it comes to fancy English. Proper, yeah, I can do that, and you almost never let loose with a word I never learned. But to actually use those words, well, I just ain't got what it takes. So no, I won't be risin' above you thataway."

"Nor will I ever write a poem as well as you, much less better; that is your arena in the world of words, and you are far better suited to it than I. I tried and tried in college, and couldn't write a passable poem to save my grade – and only the obviousness of my earnest endeavors prevented my professor from failing me. I've never gotten a worse grade in my life than I did in that class, all because I cannot write anything better than doggerel or uninspired wooden adherence to form. So do not feel inferior in your working vocabulary; mine may be larger, but you do more with yours than I can."

I grinned. "C, if they was about to shoot you at dawn, an' asked if you had any last words, you'd make a speech."

"I cannot deny that I am longiloquent; if it isn't a failing, it is at least a trait that sometimes annoys others. But I find myself not merely using long words, but using them in great batches, as though I can't get enough of them. I—" She covered her mouth with her hand, giggling. "There I go again!"

"Yeah, that's you all right." I smiled at her, and then said politely, "Now shut your fat mouth."

"I hear and obey, O Most Glorious and Magnificent Sultan of My Soul."

I would have poked her in the ribs with a finger, but she was across the table, and getting up and walking away still giggling. And I can never do it to her anyway – she always sees it coming, and dodges.

That day we loaded up with water, and made sure we had munchies in our backpacks, and set out to walk to Lanfair. Cecelia and I, in making the plan, weren't sure we could carry it through. We both could do the walk, though Cecelia never walks for pure enjoyment the way I do; the only time she walks any distance is when she's with me, though she can run for miles at a time, and does. No, it was Darlia we had in mind. She's a walker like me – she does it for fun, and she can walk for hours on end without problems. But she's still just 10. I know that when I was 10 I wouldn't have thought of walking to Lanfair, even though Tony and Anna let me have free run of the desert, the only conditions being that I let them know I was going and that I be back by sundown. I wish we could let Darlia roam that free, but it'll never be possible as long as we live in a city, not with all the perverts running loose these days.

By my standards Lanfair – the old ghost town that's barely there these days – wasn't much of a walk. By Darlia's it would be a major expedition. And so Cecelia and I knew that we might never get there – but we knew we'd all have fun trying.

Cross-country, as we were going, the distance would be shorter than if we'd gone along the roads. And the whole point of being in the desert was to get away from civilization anyway. If I wanted to walk along the roads I'd have stayed in Albuquerque. So we set off through the Joshua trees, pointing to cut south of the Grotto Hills. We'd climbed the hills already during the vacation, and probably would again, for it was only half over, but doing it today would expend energy we wanted to put into distance rather than altitude.

We hadn't walked far before Darlia asked what I'd known she would sooner or later. "Mommy, why are you and Daddy wearing your guns?"

"Because, honey, there's a bad man who might be somewhere in the desert, and we're being careful."

"Are you going to shoot him, Mommy?"

Cecelia's jaw tightened, not at having to answer the question, I knew, but because the question was necessary in the first place. "Only if I have to, Darlia. I have never pointed a gun at a human being, and I wish to die with that record intact. But if he meets us, and if he makes it necessary, I will shoot him – if the only other choice is to allow him to harm you or your father."