Chapter twenty three, Freedom Present. Freedom is hot. She shuffles down the
dirt road, kicking up sand and dust with her converse sneakers. She certainly
isn't wearing the correct clothing for the day. The Arizona sun beats down on
her, baking her through her thin tank top. She rips off the tank,
exposing the gray sports brawl underneath. She wishes she had her bathing suit
on so she could walk around in that, but seeing as she doesn't,
Freedom thinks it best to keep her jean shorts on. She's only been walking
for about ten minutes since she's slammed out of the house, leaving Hannah alone
with the children. She is heading toward the Grand Canyon Caverns restaurant, where
she knows Harry will be. Every week day from two to five pm.
He works as a line cook there, flipping burghers and assembling BLTs for tourists
who have stopped for sustenance. Two and a half hours out from witnessing the
greatest national park in the country, Harry is the fill in line cook.
Customers are scarce at the restaurant between those hours, so he usually has time
to talk. It is about five more miles to the restaurant, so Freedom
stops on the side of the road, legs spread, hip distance apart,
and jerks out her right arm thumb up. She twirls her tank top in
her left hand, lifeguard style, wrapping it around and off her wrist.
She hasn't hitchhiked in a while. She used to all the time before she
turned sixteen, but when she learned to drive, there was less of a
need to. But Harry has the truck today, so she'll take her chances.
Freedom has always liked hitchhiking, the thrill of it, the suspense.
It's a way of life around these parts. She stands for what seems like
hours, but it is probably only a few minutes. This road doesn't get
much traffic in general, but today it seems as if no one at all
is out. Finally, a car comes toward her, sparkling and shimmering the
heat around it, causing it to look as if it had waves radiate from
it. It is an old turquoise hatchback, spluttering along that she can hear
before she can see. Freedom squints, thrusting her chin out so she can
get a better look. As the car comes toward her, she sees that
it is an old man with a bushy white beard and sunglasses behind the wheel.
Freedom waggles her thumb as the old man slowly turns his head to glance
at her, then quickly turns back his eyes on the road in front of
him and pushes the accelerator. Dust sprays in her face, and Freedom coughs,
screw you too, Jerry Garcia. Freedom mumbles, old people never pick
up hitchhikers that much, she has learned, not that she cares. Younger
people are more fun to talk to anyway. The next vehicle to come along
is a semitruck. Freedom's experience with semi drivers have been half good, half
bad. There are the really nice ones who simply want some company because they're
bored. They offer food and smokes and good convert station. They are polite
and have good manners. Freedom once had a truck driver even open the passenger
side door for her. But then there are the perverted ones, the ones
who look her up and down, licking their lips, or the ones who
offer five dollars for a blowjob or twenty for sex in the back of the
cab. Freedom has gotten to the point where she can tell a nice one
from a pervert. She wonders which kind this guy will be. Right away,
she can tell it will be the latter. As the semi rumbles toward
her, Freedom drops her thumb and turns her face toward the front, trying
to ignore the truck and its driver. But she is too late. The
semi slows to a stop beside her, its breaks squeaking and squealing. Hey,
there, a little lady, need a ride. The trucker leans toward
the passenger side window, his gray mullets swaying in the hot breeze, a
cigarette dangling from his mouth. Freedom ignores him and keeps walking, hoping he
will drive on. But he is persistent. Hey, he yells louder.
Now you a little boy or a little girl. I can't tell what those
itty bitty little titties you got there. The trucker laughs, wheezing at his
own joke. His protruding belly jiggling up and down and straining against the seat
belt. Don't matter to me none, though. If you want to ride,
we can talk payment later. Freedom turns back towards the truck and without
a word, sticks up both middle fingers. The truck driver is taken aback
pulling his head and sucking on his teeth. Damn shame, he says,
as he clucks his tongue and shakes his head. Thought you wanted to ride
in my chariot. Your loss. He punches the gas pedal and the truck
starts again, spewing more dust onto Freedom. Bitch, he yells out the
window as the truck rolls away. Loser. Freedom yells in the direction of
the truck, walking again. She walks for another five minutes and is just
about to give up and head back to the trailer park when she hears another
vehicle in the distance. She turns around, walking backward as she scans the
horizon behind her, once again jerking out her arm and holding up her thumb.
The car that slows down and stops beside her is a new looking gray
Pete Cruiser. Freedom peers into the open passenger side window to get a better
look at the driver. The girl, staring expectantly back at her mouth open
in an o, is very pretty. She has long, straight brown hair
held back in a ponytail. It swings violently back and forth as she moves.
Her brown eyes sparkle, and she has perfect straight white teeth. She
wears an Arizona State T shirt and blue jeans. A huge white sportsman's watch
is fastened around her slender left wrist. She is skinny and tan and looks
as if she just stepped out of the pages of an Arizona State College catalog.
She flashes a blinding smile in Freedom's direction and removes her right hand from
the steering wheel to hold up in a small wave as a greeting, Hi
need a ride, she asks, almost too happily. She waves the right
hand, beckoning toward the inside of the car, which is spotless except for
a large bottle of Avion water that sits in the driver's side cupholder and an
empty one that rolls around on the floor in front of the passenger seat.
Where are you going, she continues, without eliciting a response from Freedom.
She catches sight of the empty water bottle on the floor and gives a start
before lunging down with her torso and swiping it from the black mat. Oh
my god, I'm so sorry about the mess, she says, shaking her
head in disbelief. Freedom can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not. I
meant to throw this out at the gas station back there, and I totally
forgot, she laughs, placing the empty bottle in the second cupholder. She
shrugs her shoulders and looks expectantly at Freedom. Again, she is not being
sarcastic. Freedom looks at her, surveying the empty road that stretches out for
miles before her. You sure, she asks the girl, looking down at
her sports brawn flip flops that are covered with sand and dust. Don't want
to get your car all messed up. It's really clean, Freedom says,
with a mixture of admiration and hesitancy. She suddenly feels self conscious and hurriedly
puts her tank top back on, still peering inside the car. Oh my
gosh, it's fine, the girl replies, No big deal. It's a
rental actually, so it doesn't matter. Freedom shrugs and holds her hand out
toward the door handle. Okay, cool, nice car, she says,
appreciatively, swinging her legs inside the car and closing the door. She is
a little skeptical. Girls don't usually pick up hitchhikers, but this one seems
nice and she's so pretty. Freedom twirls her own ponytail, smoothing it down.
And wrings her hands nervously in her lap. I'm only going a few
miles up the road to a restaurant, so i won't be in here long.
The girl bombs her head up and down, nodding, her ponytail swishing
wildly, grazing the tops of her shoulder blades. She rams the gearshift into
drive and places her hand back on the steering wheel. Freedom speaks again.
So you got a name, oh, the girl exclaims again, chuckling to
herself. Of course, I'm so sorry. It's Sarah, she gleefully says,
adjusting the rear view mirror and glancing in Freedom's direction. What's yours?
She is now fiddling with the radio dial Freedom, Freedom responds, crossing her
legs and placing her hands fingers intertwined over her knees. Shut up, Sarah
says, turning back to look at Freedom with an astonished look, as her
right pomp smacks the steering wheel. No, are you serious, she punctuates
every word. That's your name? She looks at Freedom expectantly, mouth open
in an O shape. Again, Yeah, that's my name, although everyone
here calls me Vanilla because I'm so pale compared to the Native Americans. Wow,
Sarah shakes her head back and forth, slapping her palm on the steering
wheel again. What a cool name, way better than Sarah. Sarah is
so boring. And you have a cool nickname too, I've never even had
a nickname. Sarah makes a pouty face, sad for her misfortune, but
suddenly perks up again. Where are you going? What? Freedom is confused?
Where am I taking you? Sarah tries again, motioning to the road
out the windshield with her hand. Oh right, Freedom uncrosses her legs and
sits up straight. Just a few miles up to the Grand Canyon Caverns restaurant.
Oh cool, Sarah says again. Is it good? Yeah, it's
really delicious food. Freedom responds and what she hopes is her most authoritative and
sophisticated voice. My dad works there or owns it, she finishes, before
she even realizes the lie has escaped her lips. Wow, Sarah says again,
slapping her palm against the wheel for a third time. That is so
great. I bet you get a ton of free food. I do,
Freedom nods, her tone serious. Well, that is pretty neat. I
just got out here to sightsee. I went to Arizona State and graduated last
year, she says, as she grazes the front of her T shirt to
display it. But I've realized, and this is so dumb okay that after
four years of college here, I never saw the Grand Canyon. Isn't that
weird? Can you believe it? Sarah stops talking, and Freedom realizes that
she is waiting for a response. No, I can't, Freedom says,
shaking her head too. So Sarah glances up in the rear view mirror,
staring at the vast expanse of nothing behind her. So, my boyfriend suggested
that we go hiking here as kind of like a graduation gift to ourselves.
She watches Freedom glance around the car, and, as if knowing what she
is going to ask, continues, My backpacking stuff is in the trunk.
I didn't want anyone to steal anything by having it here in the car.
I read in a guide somewhere that sometimes people steal backpacking equipment. That stuff
is not cheap, you know, I know. Freedom responds at a lack
for anything more to say. So, where is your boyfriend? Sarah laughs
again, her ponytail jerking and her eyes flashing. Her teeth make too perfect
Rose, and her laugh sounds like tinkling bells. You must think I'm making
him up, But he is real, I can assure you. He's at
the Grand Canyon with his parents right now. I just flew in earlier this
morning, and I'm going to meet them there. Then his parents are flying
back to Portland and we're going to hike it without them. We invited them
to come along, but I think they were too scared to do it.
Sarah laughs again, so she continues waggling her eyebrows and adjusting the watch on
her wrist. Do you have a boyfriend? Freedom considers her answer for a
minute, and then decides to lie again. I do, yes. His
name is Dan. He's a federal marshal. I don't get to see him
much because of his job. Though it's tough, stop, Sarah exclaims,
flinging her head back against the headrest. No way, that is so cool.
My boyfriend is going to be an accountant. That is so not is
exciting. She sighs, her shoulders moving up and down with the process.
Yeah, well, it's very dangerous work. Freedom continues, propping her elbow
up against the window of the car. I'll need to call and make sure
his last hold up went okay for sure, Sarah agrees, nodding her head
and breaking for a stop sign. She turns toward Freedom, her right hand
resting on the gearshift, the white watch on the other wrist glinting in the
sun. I'm so glad I met you. I really am. Your life
seems pretty effing cool. Freedom smiles, appreciative of the fact that the most
beautiful girl she has ever seen thinks her life is fascinating. She clears her
throat, suddenly becoming uncomfortable with the silence. Well, my dad's restaurant is
right up there. See that building on the right. Freedom points toward the
white stucco building with the brown roof that is a quarter of a mile out
of them. Oh, yeah, I see it, Sarah says, taking
her foot off the brake and slowly easing the car toward the building. They
drive in silence the rest of the way. Sarah posed the pt Cruiser into
the small parking lot and cuts the engine. She turns to Freedom and says,
here, you are too bad. We couldn't have talked more. This
was really fun. Freedom, again, embarrassed and at a loss for words,
just says yeah and reaches for the door handle As she climbs out of
the car. She slams the door and peers into the passenger side window once
again. Thanks for the ride, she says, no problem. Sarah sings
songs, placing her hands back on the wheel. Buy Freedom, Tell your
boyfriend, I say Hi. With a wave of her hand, she pulls
out of the parking lot and back onto the road. Freedom stares after her
for a long time, placing her hand against her brow to shield the sun
from her eyes. After a while, she sighs and heads into the restaurant.
The minute she steps inside, the cool air greets her. As the
rush of air conditioning blasts her face, she sees the hostess, Eileen,
who has been working there forever. She greets Freedom with a nod, and
then motions to the back, toward the kitchen. Your dad's back there,
she says, turning back to the book in her hand. Freedom heads toward
the swinging metal door that separates the restaurant from the kitchen. She notices there
is one family of four in the restaurant, besides that it is empty.
When she enters the kitchen, she sees Harry sitting on the stainless steel countertop,
his hair in a hairnet and his white lined coat stained reading a Field
and Stream magazine. His feet are propped up on the counter in front of
him. Is that up to sanitary code? Freedom says sarcastically, addressing Harry,
while spiping a slice of tomato from the bin in front of her.
She bites into the tomato, seeds and juice spilling down her tank top.
Harry puts down the magazine with a thud and hops off the counter. Not
positive, but I'm pretty sure your outfit isn't funny, Freedom responds, finishing
the tomato slice and wiping her hands on her tank top. What's going on?
Not much, Harry says, crossing his arms and staring at Freedom to
what do I owe this pleasure of your visit? Fight with Hannah again?
No, Freedom responds defensively. Why because the only time you come here is
when you and Hannah go at it? Is it about the kids again?
Can you just watch them? Please? Without smoking marijuana at the same time?
Is that so hard for your information? Freedom begins. It was not
about the kids. Hannah just I don't know. She doesn't get what it's
like. What's like Harry shifts his gaze from Freedom to the printer that is
noisily printing out an order. He reaches for the piece of paper, tears
it away from the machine, and, after glancing at it, expertly cracks
three eggs at once on the griddle. The yellow liquid hisses as it hits
the black grill top, bubbling and crackling. Just being stuck here in this
town, not being able to be free. I hear you, a kid,
Harry responds, pushing the eggs around with a spatula. He reaches for
two pieces of rye toast and pops them in the toaster near his left arm.
But at least you're safe, right. Harry stops cooking and turns to
Freedom, a look of concern on his face. I mean, there's some
bad stuff out there, you know, some bad people. Only nice people
around these parts. But that's the good news, yeah, right, boring
people. Freedom starts to complain. Nothing exciting ever happens, except with glasses.
She looks to Harry, expecting him to ask who Glasses is, but
Harry has turned his attention to the printing machine once again that is spewing out
three tickets. Harry ignores her and waves his hand in Freedom's direction. Hey
kid, Yeah, I'm sorry, but I gotta get these orders fired up.
He reaches for a set of keys that are dangling from a hook on
the kitchen wall. He tosses them to Freedom. Why don't you take the
truck home? Eileen can give me a ride home in an hour after my
shift. Thanks, yeah, whatever, Freedom snarls, suddenly, itching to
leave, see you later. She turns toward the door, pushing it open
in front of her. Love you, honey, Harry says, as he
grabs various food items. Freedom ignores him and storms out of the restaurant,
past Eileen and to the white truck that is parked at the far end of
the parking lot. Before she starts the car, she lights a cigarette and
cranks up the volume of a country song as loud as it can go.
As she drives, she rolls down the window and lets the hot breeze blow
through her hair. She is starting to calm down, and by the end
of the five mile trip, she's mellowed enough to start to sing along.
As she drives up to the entrance to the trailer park, she notices a
white van with the front windows tinted. Parked along the side of the road,
the van is tilted to the left, with two of its wheels on
the road and the other two wedged in the ditch that runs along the side.
Freedom knows almost every car around the Peach Springs vicinity, and she realizes
that she has never seen this vehicle before. She slows down, looking out
the window to her left. She stops the truck about twenty feet from the
van. Wondering if the driver needs help. She turns the key in the
ignition and opens her card door. Freedom hops out and walks up toward the
van, whistling a Johnny Cash song as she goes. Before where she can
react, the front doors of the vans swing wide open and two men jump
out. For the flash of a second, Freedom can comprehend what she is
seeing. The men are all wearing black and have masts over their faces.
Without a sound, both come barreling toward her, running at full speed.
Freedom opens her mouth to scream, but before she can, a strong tricept
closes around her mouth. Her chin is jerked upward with so much force that
her feet come off the ground and she feels her neck crack. She struggles
fighting against the man, but it is hopeless. He takes a switchblade and
with one fluid motion, opens it and holds it against her collar bone.
Shut up, he whispers, his Spanish accents strong, come with me,
don't fight. Freedom feels herself being dragged toward the back doors of the van,
the toes of her converse scraping against the dirt road. She wiggles and
screams, but the screams are muffled by the man's arm. The other man
holds open the back doors, and Freedom feels herself being forced into the darkened
van. The only thing she can see is black, and the reverberation from
the doors being slammed causes her to shake violently. The van peels away from
the ditch, its back ends swinging back and forth along the road. It
is then that Freedom screams out loud. One hour later, Eileen turns onto
the trailer park road, Harry in the passenger seat. As she rounds the
corner, Harry sees his own white truck parked by the side of the road,
half in the ditch, the driver's side door wide open, the keys
still in the ignition. A surge of panic rises up in his throat.
He feels like he is choking. He scrambles out of the car without so
much as a word to Eileen, and runs toward the truck. In total
disbelief. He goes to the driver's side door, and, yanking it wider,
stares inside. On the bench of the bed, he sees Freedom's purse.
Harry frantically searches around for any sign of life. When none is to
be found, he yanks his cell phone out of his pocket, his hand
shaking so violently he drops the phone, scooping it up and swearing, He
punches a number into the phone. As he brings it to his ear.
He begins to pace beside the car. The familiar voice answered with a hey,
big brother, what's up. It's Freedom, Harry yells into the phone.
She's in trouble. I found her car by the side of the road.
Something happened to her. I can't find her. What do I do?
The other end of the line goes silent for what seems like forever.
Finally the voice speaks again, this time uttering only one word in the quiet
tone of disbelief. Fuck, Ryan whispers. Chapter twenty four. Ryan passed.
Ryan's brother Harold had been born three years before Ryan. Growing up,
he felt those three years between them may as well have been thirty. Ryan
felt total indifference toward Harry for the first few decades of his existence. He
also believed Harry felt the same towards him. He gave him no reason to
suspect otherwise. After those decades, Ryan began to realize that what he felt
towards his brother was contempt. He was aware that the contempt stemmed from Ryan's
own relationship with his father. Ryan had always had the better relationship with the
patriarch, and this was because he was a great skier and a good all
around athlete. Ryan's father, David, had tried to teach Harry to ski
at a very young age. Ryan had just been a baby. Harry never
liked it and didn't take to it. Ryan felt that that had started the
divide between Harry and his father, and then Harry and Ryan himself. David
tried again with Ryan, taking him to the slopes, teaching him the ways
of the ski town in which they lived. You were no one if you
didn't ski in Deer Valley, Utah. According to David, Ryan agreed with
his father and so began their great relationship Harry and David's suffered. Harry was
the quiet one, the nerdy one, the book smart scholar, and Ryan
was the jock. Ryan was tall, handsome, and had an air of
confidence about him, while Harry had blonde, reddish hair, bad posture,
and wore glasses. Harry was interested in school and did well in it.
Ryan's teachings consisted of white powder and moguls. Their father connected more with Ryan.
His younger son wanted to ski with him, and he was on the
path to the Olympics. Harry only wanted to spend time with his studies and
his books, all but shunning the slopes. Near the end of his high
school, Harry began to withdraw from the family, concentrating more and more on
getting into a good college and becoming an architect or an engineer. Harry worried
about these things while Ryan swooshed down the slopes. Sometimes the brothers would only
see each other a few times a week, if their schedules allowed. Ryan
felt like he had no sort of connection with his older brother, nor did
he care to have one. They were like two ships passing in the night.
Harry's dream was to attend mit in Massachusetts, while he was in high
school. Ryan could never figure out why anyone would want to go all the
way across the country to some nerdy college when everything anyone could ever want was
right there in the West. But Harry's excessive studying paid off, and before
Ryan knew it, his brother was gone attending classes in the East. He
couldn't say he missed his older sibling. The house felt the same without him,
and Ryan was on his way to leaving town for the Olympics himself,
but he did wonder how he was faring so far away. He pictured Harry
with his nose stuck in a book like it so often had been, probably
playing dungeons and dragons with the other bespectacled geeks who attended that prestigious institution.
Ryan hoped he was happy at least. Then his dad dropped dead of a
heart attack, and Ryan's life spun out of control. He remembered his brother
returning for the funeral, but instead of Harry comforting him and assuring him that
Ryan wasn't the reason his dad was six feet underground the thing everyone else was
doing, his brother blamed him fully and completely blamed him. Ryan could see
it in his eyes. They barely spoke two words during the forty eight hours
Harry was home. He flew in from Massachusetts on a red eye, and
the morning after the funeral he was gone again, back to the East Coast.
But during the time he was home, Ryan felt the tension. He
felt the blame radiating off of his brother like heat from a furnace, and
he felt shame and sorrow and confusion in spades. Who was he, Ryan
thought to himself, to blame him for David's death when Harry wasn't even around,
when he had run off thousands of miles away. Who was he to
act so sad and depressed about their father's death when he had never seemed to
like the man in the first place. Ryan had been the one who was
close to him. Ryan had been the one who spent time with him.
Ryan had been his favorite because they shared similar interests, not Harry. Harry
was the loser, the recluse, the geek. How dare he blame Ryan
for something that was beyond his control? Ryan felt the contempt rise up again
for his brother, and also anger. Ryan was glad when he was gone
again and left The next few months go by in a haze of drugs and
drinking and nothingness. Never inquiring about his own brother, He figured Harry had
gone back to that fancy school of his, graduated with honors, and was
well on his way to designing the next Boeing jet or coordinating the next rocket
Space shuttle launch. Almost a year after his father's death, Ryan came home
to find his mother on the phone on one of the rare occasions he and
she were in the house simultaneously. He didn't pay much attention, figuring it
was one of her mother's snooty friends inviting Patricia to one of her many socialite
events, or to a boozy lunch at the club. It was neither of
these people or things. It had been his brother. That was your brother,
Patricia had exclaimed, turning toward Ryan with a look of excitement on her
face. Like I care, was Ryan's response. He stood in front of
the refrigerator, surveying his options for a snap. Patricia, ignoring Ryan's snide
comment, continued as if he had said nothing. He said, he has
been in the Arizona Desert the past few days and loves it and thinks he
might stay. Patricia slapped her hand on the counter and began puttering around the
kitchen, swiping a towel over the stove top in a half hearted attempt to
clean it, humming a tune as she did. Ryan turned around slowly,
his right hand still gripping the refrigerator door handle. Thinking he had not heard
his mother correctly. What are you talking about, he asked, in the
accusatory tone of a teenager. Patricia still didn't seem to take notice of Ryan's
rudeness. Either that or she didn't care. Ryan thought it was most likely
the latter, as Patricia didn't care about much besides art galleries and children's charity
balls. Ryan dropped the attitude and confusedly asked, do you mean he's not
still at MIT? Patricia laughed and snapped the towel at him. No,
Ryan, your brother dropped out of MIT months ago. He's been backpacking through
the Southwest for weeks. You're kidding. Ryan's hand fell off the handle and
dangled at his side. Was his mother on drugs? As she found his
dash of pills and taken one or nine to clarify? He tried again,
this time, his tone one of utter disbelief. Harry, my brother,
your son, the total dork? Quit Mit? And is now backpacking through
the southwestern United States. Ryan emphasized the keywords that were the most shocking to
him. Yes, silly. His mother still didn't act like this was much
of a surprise at all. Ryan shook his head back and forth in the
wilderment. But what about becoming a rocket scientist or whatever it was that he
always wanted to do? What about that? Ryan felt like his world had
been turned upside down with one statement. He had never really liked his brother,
had never cared or understood much of anything he had ever done. But
to find out that Harry was now someone completely different than he had thought or
known was suddenly very disturbing to Ryan. Patricia shrugged her shoulders, moving up
and down in a nonchalant fashion. She opened the cabinet under the sink,
through the towel inside, and brushed past Ryan toward the staircase. Well,
Ryan, sometimes people change, and without another word, his mother had ascended
the stairs. For the next few weeks, Ryan hounded his mother for information
about this totally new and different older brother of his. He was fascinated by
what Harry could pie possibly be up to. His mother found it odd that
Ryan would suddenly take such an interest in the brother he used to abhor and
as her response to his incessant questions would tell Ryan to just give him a
call. Ryan refused. He was too reticent, too frightened to talk to
the brother he thought he had known. Once he realized his mother didn't know
many more details or simply refused to tell him, he gave up trying to
glean information from her. He went on with his life, from time to
time, wondering how Harry was doing, but thinking not much of him.
Besides that, a few months after becoming a Federal Marshal, Ryan was out
drinking with the boys and one of the patrons in the bar was loudly bragging
about the fact that she had been accepted to MIT for graduate school. This
got Ryan thinking about Harry, and, with a feeling of sadness, realized
he had not spoken to his brother in almost a decade. That night,
after stumbling home from the bar on one of the rare nights he was not
accompanied by a female, Ryan rifled through an old file folder where the scrap
of paper was that Harry's number had lived for the past ten years. Untouched,
Ryan snatched it up and without thinking, fortified by beer and whiskey shots,
dialed the number and waited as the line rang. He noted the late
hour, even for West Coast standards, and was about to hang up when
Harry himself answered the phone. A few weeks later, Ryan found himself driving
to Peach Springs, Arizona, in order to reconnect with the brother he had
not seen for ten years. Ryan had had some vacation time, and Harry
had insisted that Ryan c the Southwest, meet his wife and experienced firsthand the
life Harry had carved out for himself. Ryan had no idea what to expect.
When he pulled up to the trailer park. Ryan checked the mat for
the thousand time, squinting at the trailers before him, wondering if he had
gotten the address completely wrong. He could not believe his brother lived in the
southwestern United States, in a ship hoole town in Arizona, in a trailer
park, no less, with a wife. Harry, his brother, who
had had dreams of money and PhDs and mansions and white picket fences, was
now a handy man on an Indian reservation in the middle of the desert.
Ryan was about to turn the car around in order to point it in the
direction of where his brother must have actually lived. When he saw Harry come
out of the trailer at the far right end of the park, followed closely
by a short, plump woman with flowing blond, almost white hair. Harry
had the same reddish blonde hair himself and blue green eyes, but he had
put on weight. The bigger stature suited him, as he no longer looked
like a geeky high school teenager. He wore a mud stained white tshirt,
cargo shorts, and a ball cap balanced on the top of his head.
He put his hand up in a greeting, motioned to the woman behind him
to follow, and jogged toward Ryan's car, the desert dust flying up behind
him. Hannah had enveloped Ryan in a hug even before he had shut his
car door. Ryan was almost knocked back by the force of her greeting as
she pulled back after what felt like years and held Ryan at arm's length.
Hannah had tears in her eyes. I'm so glad you're finally here, she
said, shaking Ryan and wiping the tears from her eyes. I have heard
so much about you. Please come in and I'll get you something to eat.
And a beer. She finished. Pulling Ryan along toward the trailer,
Harry intercepted his brother, wrapping him in a bear hug and clapped him on
the back. Ryan couldn't remember a time when he had ever hugged his brother.
Glad you can make it, Harry echoed, Hannah, shuffling along beside
Ryan as the three of them made their way to the trailer. Come on,
I'll show you around. For the next three days, Harry took Ryan
all over the county, playing tour guide and explaining every little piece of history
about the Huallapie people and their land. It was their land, Harry explained,
they were just nice enough to let them live on it. It helped
that Hannah was half Indian and had grown up on the outskirts of the reservation.
One night, over too many beers at the dive bar, when it
was just the two of them, Ryan mustered up the courage to ask his
brother why in the hell this was his life now. Harry laughed, and,
tipping back in his chair and crossing his legs, told Ryan he had
been wondering when he was going to ask him that. Harry explained to Ryan
that it had begun when their dad had died that Harry was filled with remorse
at not spending enough time with the man, being too rigid about his studies
and his future plans, and just all around depressed. He realized he needed
to decompress, to grieve and to mourn, and that he wasn't going to
be able to do that completely and successfully if he didn't do something outside his
comfort zone and make a change, if only for a few weeks, if
not, he would likely never feel fulfilled. A couple of guys from his
dorm were going backpacking in the Southwest over springbreak, and Harry, seizing the
opportunity, decided to join them. He told Ryan that almost immediately Harry fell
in love with the land, the people, the nature, and the excitement
of backpacking. When the week was up, most of the guys went back
to MIT, but Harry and another decided to continue on into northern Arizona.
It was when they got to Peach Springs that Harry decided he would never return
to MIT. He had met Hannah, and within a few days knew that
this was the woman he was going to marry. He had some money from
their father's trust, and he didn't need much. He explained, especially out
in these parts, no one needed much money. Everyone just existed peacefully and
happily for the most part, and Harry seemed happy. Sublimely so, Ryan
thought as he surveyed his brother across the table. His eyes sparkled, His
demeanor was casual and relaxed. He was nothing like the geeky, anxious,
high strung brother he had known most of his life. He was nothing like
the boy who had had lofty goals and aspirations. He was now a person
who worked as a handy man on an Indian reservation, who lived not the
land as much as he could, who had neighbors and friends, and a
wife whom he loved very much. He had different priorities and dreams. Now
he was a man. Ryan was impressed by the man before him. He
liked him better than the person he thought that he had always known. He
and his older brother talked deep into the night. They shut the bar down
before Ryan left early the next morning to head back to d C. Harry
confided in him that he and Hannah wanted nothing more than to have children,
but that unfortunately, Hannah was unable to. Harry also told Ryan that Hannah
was eight years older than he, so they needed to decide on what to
do soon, and she wasn't getting any younger. They had discussed the option
of adoption, but were considering others as well. It was a long and
frustrating process, Harry explained. Ryan saw the look in Harry's eyes, he
heard the longing in his voice when he spoke. He knew his brother and
his wife would make exceptional parents. All Hannah had done was tend to Ryan
and feed him the whole time he had been in Peach Springs. She was
nurturing and kind, and Ryan felt remorse at the fact that Hannah could not
bear her own children and that his brother would not be able to give her
what she most wanted. Ryan felt an urge to help, although he was
at a loss for how A year or so later, when Ryan was assigned
to his biggest case, he held the report in a folder in his left
hand in his office in the district. As he flipped to the back page,
where the girl's picture was attached with a paper clip, he saw her
brown eyes and wide smiles staring back at him. The little girl needed a
mother who would tend to her and feed her, who would love her and
make sure she was okay. She needed a father who would support her and
love her, who would keep her safe. Above all, she needed a
place to go that was as far away as possible from her current one.
Nicole needed a home. He knew exactly who to call.