Page 29 of Nightcrawler
“Nana.”
“Raven,” came the elderly voice from inside the room. “Come here.”
He turned and gestured for me to come forward before turning back to her. “Nana, I want you to meet someone. His name is Miguel. Miguel, this is my grandmother, Angelica.”
I walked to the open doorway, not exactly sure why he wanted to introduce me to his grandmother. I had to admit I was curious but at the same time, nervous. The small woman sat in a comfortable armchair in one corner of the room with a Navajo blanket covering her legs. Her wrinkled skin was both tawny and translucent at the same time and she was—just as Ned had described—frail. Her gray hair fell over her shoulders in two long braids, and as I stepped into the room, she held out one gnarled hand.
“Come here, Miguel.”
I walked over to her and it was only when I noticed the cloudiness in both pale eyes, that I realized she was blind. I took her hand and bent down. “It’s nice to meet you.”
She smiled up at me, covering our clasped hands with her other one. “It’s nice to meet you too.” Her voice, though weak, belied the strength in her arthritic fingers and I felt suddenly overwhelmed by protective instincts for this total stranger. When she reached up and slid a palm over my cheek, letting it linger, I had the overwhelming urge to lean into it. “So strong.” She dropped her hand and let go of mine, before holding out her arms. “Raven.” I stepped aside and Raven went to her, grabbing his side, and leaning down to her. She immediately reached out and cupped both of his cheeks before worry furrowed her brows. “You’re hurt. What happened?”
“I’m okay, Nana,” Raven replied, taking her hands and squeezing them. I could hear the sigh in his voice, and I knew he wasn’t doing as well as he said he was. He’d been going strong all morning and I kicked myself for allowing him to talk me intodriving his own truck. He needed pain medication and to rest. The towing company was open until six, so we had plenty of time before we got out there. I’d have just as soon told him to forget it and leave it for the next day, but I knew the storage fees for leaving it overnight would add another 200 dollars to the bill, making it even more astronomical. At least here at home, I could make him rest for a few hours where he’d be comfortable before we had to hit the road again.
“You’re hurt,” she repeated. “Sit down and tell me what happened so that I don’t have to ask your friend.” Her accent was definitely Native American, and I guessed, like Raven, she was Navajo. They came from the Southwestern part of the United States, and it showed in the blanket with the strong red, turquoise, black and white design. So that meant Arizona most likely. One of the guys in my unit had come from those parts and he’d been raised on the largest reservation in the state—in the nation—as it so happened.
He straightened and walked over to a hard-backed chair, picking it up and dragging it over to her where he sat, much too gingerly for my liking. “Now, Nana. What do you want to know?”
She sighed and sat back in the chair, glancing up at me with unseeing eyes before looking back at Raven. “What happened?”
“We went out on a recovery for a piece of stolen property and the man in the house shot me.”
Her slow nod was surprising to me. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised but when she looked at me, I was almost convinced her gaze was accusatory.
“Miguel helped me get out of that situation alive, called a friend who’s a medic, and then saw to it that I was patched up. I’m going to be fine, Nana, really.”
I thought it was interesting that she’d somehow known Raven was hurt but hearing him be so frank with her about the details of the gunshot felt strange. Clearly, the two had a very close relationship, close enough that they could trust each other with something as scary as a gunshot.
She looked up at me. “Thank you, Miguel.” She glanced over at Raven. “Now, you need to go lie down.”
“I’m fine, Nana.”
“Don’t argue with your grandmother,” Ned said from the doorway. I turned to see him standing there holding a tray with a cup of tea and several pill bottles on it. I’d heard him come up behind us and could only hope he’d not heard anything about being shot. Ned was just the kind of guy who’d call the police and report Raven’s gunshot. I was relieved when he merely swept into the room, and Raven stood up, moving the chair out of his way, setting it back where it had been. He met my eyes, and we both walked to the door.
“It was nice meeting you, Angelica,” I said to the older woman.
She smiled. “You take care of my Raven.”
I was shocked by her trust, and the feeling of warmth that settled in my belly was something I hadn’t felt for twenty years.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, turning and following Raven back down the hall.
“Would you like something to drink while I make breakfast?” Raven asked, continuing through the living room and into the kitchen.
“Listen,” I said, catching up with him. “You need to rest.” We walked into a room bathed in sunshine. I wasn’t sure if it was the lime green tile on the walls, the hand painted flowers onmany of them, or the simple black and white checkerboard floor tile, but the entire room made me feel lighter somehow. “Why don’t you sit down and let me make you some breakfast.” I took his elbow and steered him to a dinette table in a corner and he scooted onto one of the fluffy, red Naugahyde cushions. I caught the grimace he tried to hide before turning to the refrigerator, a white, older model Frigidaire which was a throwback from the 60s, complete with chrome hardware and the rounded corners of vintage refrigerators.
The whole room, from the green tile on the walls and countertops to the sunlight pouring in from a window over the double sink, reminded me of my own grandmother’s kitchen. Several pill bottles sat on the countertop with Angelica’s name on them and I turned to make sure Raven was still seated and relaxing. I opened the refrigerator to pull out eggs. I didn’t think he would mind if I made him some food. The inside of the fridge was well stocked, and to my surprise, confirmed it to be an original, not a fancy retro reproduction, though, I might have been wrong. I pulled out a green, plastic bowl filled with extra-large eggs and a butter dish before opening cupboards and taking out a bowl.
“Silverware is in the drawer to the right of the sink,” Raven said, sounding tired. “And if you don’t mind, my Nana keeps some Tylenol in the cupboard behind you.”
I turned around and felt all the air being sucked out of my lungs. Inside glass-fronted cupboards facing the fridge was a set of china in a pattern I recognized. It was set on an ivory background were large, pink, hand-painted roses with green leaves outlined with pale brown branches. My own mother had owned a set of the very same china pattern and I’d never liked it. I thought it was gaudy and ugly, and now it held nothing other than bad memories for me…memories of the last time I’d seenthe china smashed on the ground, covered in their blood. I stood stock still in the center of the kitchen, staring at the cupboards, trying desperately to scrub the images and the twenty-year-old memories from my brain.
“Miguel, what’s wrong?”
My ears were ringing as I stared at the dishes, remembered my mother and father tied back-to-back on chairs in what was left of our dining room. Both of my beloved parents had been beaten and stabbed by home invaders who’d come into the house while my mother was preparing dinner, and my father was changing clothes after just arriving home from work.
I’d been at high school football practice, and I’d walked into a scene of horror. I can still remember screaming and falling at my mother’s feet as I stared up at her bruised face. They’d brutalized her. I’d called the police and young patrol officer, Cassidy Ryan, had shown up with his training officer, Mike Williams. They’d taken a shaking, sobbing, grief-stricken boy to the bedroom and waited for Children’s Services to arrive, keeping me calm.