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CHAPTER 2

A Tough Night

      AS SOON as Lucy opened the door, Uncle Bob called, "That you, Sister?" He turned his weathered face toward her, sharp with concern.

      "Yessir."

      Although it was almost one in the morning, he never liked to get to bed until she and Bobby were home at night. Helpless as he now was, he still saw himself as her protector. And Bobby's too, for that matter. And of course, he liked to know how business had gone.

      Lucy stood and looked at him from the doorway of the front room. He looked comfortable in his big chair, his two canes neatly perched on the chairback, newspapers strewn all around on the floor where he had discarded them. Rooster, their elderly beagle, almost as hoary and crippled as his master, was snoozing beside him, his short little legs spread out by the base of the floor lamp, his chin resting comfortably on the trailing edge of Uncle's lap robe.

      Normalade was sound asleep on the couch. Lucy went over and picked up the afghan that had fallen on the floor and spread it over her. Without waking up, Normalade huddled down under it until only her hair was visible, a mound of pinkish-gold fluff like cotton candy.

      "Make a profit tonight?" Uncle Bob asked.

      "I guess. Not a whole lot of business for a Friday."

      "Where's your brother?"

      "He and Tagg are throwing that bachelor party for Gene tonight. There's no telling when they'll be in. You and I better go on to bed."

      "Oh yes, the boy's getting married soon, isn't he. I'd meant to get in there this week and wish him well. But that's okay, I'll see him next week, when I'm in."

      Lucy took a deep breath. "Remember Uncle Bob, Gene's going to be on vacation the next two weeks."

      "You gave that boy time off?" He cut her off with a hard look. "I don't remember your asking me if you could do that."

      "Now Uncle Bob, you know Gene asked you about it himself. You remember — when he came here to the house and told you he and Melida were getting married? You said he could have that vacation as a wedding present. So they could take a nice honeymoon," she said gently.

      He looked doubtful. "I did that?"

      "You sure did. And he was so pleased, and thanked you so nicely, and you shook hands."

      "Well . . . maybe so."

      "Sure. And you told him you were happy for him, that he was marrying such a nice young woman."

      "All right then. I guess you and Bobby and I can manage without him a while."

      "Sure we can, Uncle Bob." Lucy took off her sweater and came to sit beside him. "But one thing I was wondering . . . do you think I could maybe get somebody to help out in the kitchen, just while Gene's gone. Only part-time, of course. Would that be okay?"

      "Now you stop right there, Sister." The old man began to look really dangerous. "I won't stand for that, and you know it! You're not the one who hires and fires employees for Cowboy Bob's. I'm the one. I'm the one that worked my fingers to the bone to start it, and it was my idea and my money. And you got no right to do anything unless I say so. You understand me, Sister?"

      "Yessir. I know that. That's why I'm asking your permission. I wouldn't ever have anybody new without your say-so."

      "Don't interrupt me," he snapped. But then, when Lucy fell humbly silent, he went on a a surprisingly calm voice. "However . . . I know it's hard for a young little thing like you to keep managing without me. So . . . I guess you can get somebody for two-three days if you need to. But only for while the cook's out."

      "Oh, thank you, Uncle Bob. That'll be such a help."

      "But make sure it's only temporary. Because soon as I'm in again, I'll let him go, and the three of us'll take care of everything, just like we always did."

      "Of course we will."

      "And . . . I'll probably be in again by Monday. Or Tuesday, at the latest. And after that, there'll be no more hiring strangers there, because I'll be coming in all the time. Hear me?"

      "Yessir." She could hardly believe that he'd given in without a struggle. "It'd be good to have you there, Uncle Bob. Because you know, I try to do things the way you like them — but I don't always know what you'd want done."

      He nodded, accepting that. Lucy went to hang up her sweater and then began picking up the scattered papers. What a relief. And here she'd thought she'd have to battle it out.

      Then it occurred to her that while he was in such a good mood it might be a good time to remind him of a problem that was hanging over her. "Uncle Bob? Speaking of not knowing what you want done — the beer man keeps asking me . . ."

      "Never mind him, Sister. I know what that gouger wants. And I'll deal with him when I'm good and ready," Bob said, dismissing the subject, "Now stop fussing and give me those papers. I've got something I want to read you."

      So Lucy sat down in her mother's old armless rocker with the faded petit point cushion that she'd made the year before she died, and the old man folded back a page for easy handling, glanced over to be sure she was paying attention, and read aloud:

CENTRAL NEW MEXICO SUITABLE FOR CALIFORNIA CONDORS

      Thousands of years ago, California condors soared over the mountain valleys of southwestern New Mexico, and soon they may be seen there again, says John Fischer, leader of an environmental group dedicated to protecting this near-extinct species. "There are only about 50 of these condors remaining in the wild," Fischer says, "And this is an ideal spot for their relocation. It has a very low human population, almost no pollution, and enough small game to support many dozens the great birds, which — although related to the common vulture, which is a scavenger — will frequently kill and eat small prey." Another reason for the tentative selection of this location was the unearthing, in areas close to the Animas valley, of hundreds of 11,000-year-old fossil eggshells which researchers have tentatively identified as condor eggs.

      In hopes of rescuing the admittedly unhandsome bird from the endangered list, plans are underway for the release of two adult pairs and as many as six juveniles. When that happens, these magnificent birds, with the broadest wingspan of all the great birds of prey, will soar New Mexico's skies once again."

      "Look, here's a picture." Bob added, holding it out.

      Lucy looked. The bird certainly was ugly: it had a bald head and a long, hooked beak. It's bald neck was hunched down into a ruff of disorderly black feathers that looked like a tatty fur collar. But what struck Lucy most — she wondered whether it was a trick of the photograph or something about the creature itself — was the grim, long-suffering look of it. It was much like the look on her uncle's face at that very moment, she thought.

      "Poor ugly old thing," she said, still looking at the picture. "But I kind of like him, Uncle Bob."

      "I thought you would," he nodded approvingly. "You're just like your mother, Sister — nothing's so ugly or hopeless but what she could find something about it to love. Your Dad for example. But you don't have to feel too sorry for these fellows. I saw one in the air, years ago, and they're sure beautiful flyers. Beautiful."

      He eyed her for a moment. "You know how I'm always thinking of what to do about my land?"

      Lucy's heart sank. Not that again.

      "And you know, since it looks like those oil companies aren't ready to drill out here — and the land's not making money anyway . . ." He looked over at her, his old head cocked to one side. "I think I'll write those Condor people and offer to let them use it. What do you say?"

      "You think so, Uncle Bob?" Seeing him in the yellow light from the floor lamp, Lucy was struck by how fragile he looked. She wondered again how old he was. Mother had been fifty-five when she died ten years ago. Papa had been older than Mama, and Uncle Bob was his elder brother. By how much, Lucy wondered. Ten years maybe? Fifteen?

      "Think about those condors, Sister. Eating up useless snakes and jackrabbits, spreading those big, wide wings and flying around . . ."

      "What's flying around?" Normalade asked sleepily. She propped herself up on one elbow, yawning hugely. "You home Luce? Where's Bobby?"

      "Tonight's Gene's bachelor party."

      "Stupid party." Normalade sighed. "God, I feel awful. I'm going to bed." With great effort, she heaved her hugely pregnant stomach into a sitting position. She probably did feel miserable. Lucy thought. There were dark circles under her eyes tonight, and Lucy had to give her a hand to help her off the couch.

      Once on her feet, Normalade headed up the stairs. "Good night, all."

      Lucy got up. "You ready for bed too, Uncle Bob?" He nodded, and she went into his room and got a pair of clean pajamas out of his drawer and put them on the counter in the bathroom and turned down his bed. When she returned to the living room she moved his wheeled chair close, set the brakes, and went to him and held out her hands.

      It wasn't easy to get him up. When she'd helped Normalade off the couch, that had been nothing more than Normalade's hot little hand and wrist slipping into Lucy's hand. One heave, and she was up.

      As she lifted her uncle, he with both his hands clutching his canes, Lucy had to lean over and get him around the chest. Tonight, with her back bent, she almost lost him halfway up, and it flashed on her that she had to be careful of him, not to break him. Because he was like nothing so much as a little sack of birds' bones.

      Then he was upright. "You okay now?"

      "All right. But . . . just a minute, Sister. Seems like I'm having trouble remembering which one is my bad leg."

      "You sat still too long, that's all," she said reassuringly. "Just one little step now." He did so, swinging his canes forward and narrowly missing the dog, who hastily got out of the way, looking reproachful.

      He took another step, wavered, and sank down in the wheeled chair. Lucy took him to the bedroom, helped him wash, got him into bed, turned on the little night light, and left him at last, heading for her own bed.

      In the hallway, a voice stopped her, "Lucy?" It was Normalade, halfway up the stairs.

      Lucy paused. "I thought you were going to bed."

      "I woke up." Normalade sat down on the stairs. "Did Uncle Bob tell you we'd had company tonight?"

      "He didn't mention it." Lucy was tired. Normalade might feel like talking, but she'd had a nap. And she hadn't worked all day, and Lucy had.

      "It was Gene's aunt — the one from El Paso that he lived with when he was a kid? She's here for the wedding, and she came over to say hello. Stayed . . . oh, maybe half an hour. She's nice. And he liked her. She'd heard him on the radio one time. He liked that a lot."

      "That's nice."

      The young woman came the rest of the way downstairs and followed Lucy into the living room. "Come on, don't run off. I want to tell you about this. Gene's aunt looks like she's really rich. How come you never told me about her?" Normalade demanded.

      "I never met her."

      "Listen — she had on the most beautiful suit you ever saw. It must have cost a hundred dollars. Maybe even more. Her name's Rosana Sanchez, and you know what — this is interesting — she's not really a Mexican. Did you know that, Lucy?"

      Lucy yawned ostentatiously. "I told you, I don't know anything about her."

      "Well, I asked her. And she told me she's a full-blooded Indian. She owns some kind of a store in El Paso, and she was married to Gene's great-uncle for years and years before he died."

      Normalade sat back down on the couch and put her little chin in her hands. "And I know something else about her, too. One time Gene told me that she's . . ." Normalade lowered her voice. "A broo-ha. A witch!"

      "And you believed him? Come on, Normalade, there's no such thing as brujas."

      Normalade looked miffed. "Well, there are too witches — in Mexico, anyway. Anybody knows that. And Gene said it, and I guess he'd know. But anyway, she's nice. And it was nice having some company for a change. Maybe she'll come again and I can get her to show us some magic tricks. Not that you'd care."

      "Normalade, I'm glad you had a pleasant evening. And I'm glad you liked Gene's aunt. But I'm really tired, and I need to get to bed."

      "Lucy, I don't know why you have to be so mean. All you care about is work-work, and even when you're here, you're always doing something all the time. But you don't know what it's like for me — stuck out here in the boonies. This is the most boring place in the world. Nobody ever talks to me, Bobby's over there tending the bar all the time, and I never get to go anyplace or do anything nice. Half the time, I can't even watch what I want to on TV! When the old man's reading, he won't even let me turn it on." Normalade's voice went up and up, getting thinner and more tearful.

      "Normalade, you know Bobby has to work nights. You knew it when you married him," Lucy said, a little impatiently. ". . . And if I work all the time, it's because the work has to be done, and — "

      She stopped. She'd been on the verge of saying '. . . and you could pitch in yourself, once in a while —' but that was unkind. Normalade was hugely pregnant, and certainly none of them wanted her over there waiting on customers.

      Normalade got heavily to her feet. "Well, seems like Bobby used to have time for me. When he and I used to go out. But all right. I know nobody around here cares anything about what I want." She returned slowly to the stairs and began climbing them, hanging on the bannister, taking one step at a time.

      'Just like a child,' Lucy thought as she watched her go. 'And how is she going to manage when that baby is born.'

      She went around the room, turning off the lights. As she passed, Rooster got up suddenly, as if concerned she might step on him.

      Poor old thing. Tired as she was, she went and sat down on Mama's chair and put out her hands to him. The old dog came and laid his head against her knee and Lucy rested her own head against the back of the chair and petted him a while. "Roosty," she said aloud, rubbing the soft loose skin of his jowls. "Did Mama have hard days like this, too? Are all my days always going to be like this?"

      Rooster looked up at her with his beautiful mournful dog eyes, as if he understood every word and would answer her, if he were able. And that look was so comforting, Lucy petted him some more.

      "Poor old boy." Lucy said. "Poor old Roosty; maybe you have hard days, too."

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