LITMIR.BIZ

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assured her. “So you suddenly decided, after all these years, that you’d like to work for room and board and paltry pay in the isolation of this school?”

      She didn’t reply.

      “It’s been a bad homecoming for you,” Canaan said. “I’m sorry I’m not making it any easier.”

      “You sure aren’t.”

      He glanced at her, appreciating the profile of the grown-up Sheila. She looked a lot like her mother, though her hair was darker; her mother had been blond. Evelyn Metcalf had been a beautiful woman—at least, from the viewpoint of a ten-year-old boy who didn’t know very much about women. Sheila had inherited those looks.

      It appeared that she’d also inherited a strong strain of her father’s dynamic personality. Although that strength seemed to have left her earlier today.

      “I think you’ve had a difficult couple of years,” he said.

      She didn’t look at him, but slowed her steps to match his. “You’ve been talking to your grandfather.”

      “Of course. I was sorry to hear about the death of your husband.”

      She nodded but said nothing.

      Canaan wanted to ask why she’d resumed using her maiden name, but that was pushing it too far. Maybe after dinner.

      “I gather you’re not thrilled about my presence here,” she said.

      “I am, in a way.”

      Amusement came and went in her expression. “A very small way.”

      “Fishing for compliments?” he asked.

      She chuckled suddenly, and he couldn’t help smiling. When they were kids, any time Canaan became frustrated and bemoaned his size, she’d poke him in the ribs and say, “Catch a big one, York, but you’ll have to clean it yourself.” Since Canaan wasn’t a fisherman, she’d had to explain the fishing reference she’d learned from her father.

      “We’re not talking about how I feel right now,” Canaan said. “We’re talking about your true mission here.”

      She scowled at him. She even had a pretty scowl.

      “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “If I weren’t in the position I’m in, I wouldn’t be asking any questions, I’d just be happy to see you, no matter why you came.”

      “That wasn’t the impression I got.”

      He spread his hands. “Things aren’t as I’d like them to be.”

      “What did your grandfather tell you about me?”

      “Not enough for me to form an opinion, only that you’d had a rough two years, you needed a break for a few weeks and that you were the best nurse in the county.”

      She glanced at him.

      He shrugged. “Direct quote from your father, I think.”

      “Are you still open to discussion about the dog this afternoon?”

      “To be honest, though I was upset about Moonlight, something else about your behavior concerned me.”

      “Because I didn’t realize I’d hit her?”

      Canaan shook his head, not sure, exactly, why he had even admitted that much. “Because you probably didn’t hit her.”

      Her steps slowed further. “You really think that?”

      He nodded.

      “You could have fooled me.”

      “You didn’t defend yourself, Sheila. Tanya jumped to conclusions because of that.”

      “I had the impression that she didn’t need much encouragement. It’s been a long time since I’ve been called a biligaana with such vehemence.” She shrugged. “Hillbilly, yes, but not biligaana. ”

      “That’s another thing,” he said. “The words I used in an attempt at a joke, you interpreted as hostility.”

      As a group of children marched past them on the sidewalk, Canaan called greetings to them, then returned his attention to Sheila. “You weren’t yourself today.”

      “You don’t know me as an adult, so you can’t say that.”

      “Okay, sorry. I meant to say that the Sheila I once knew would never have allowed anyone to unfairly accuse her.”

      “Well, this Sheila couldn’t help second-guessing what she saw. Did you ever think that there might have been two dogs on the road today? The dog I saw in the desert distracted me at the wrong time, and the dog alongside the road—perhaps a buddy—got under the wheel of the tire as I veered from the road.”

      “So now you’re trying to work out a scenario in your mind that you can accept. The Sheila I knew would never try so hard to place herself in the wrong.”

      “That makes the third time you’ve mentioned the Sheila you knew. Mind telling me a little more about this other me?”

      No difficulty there. He’d given it a lot of thought since his last conversation with his grandfather. “The Sheila I remember best is the one I knew when her mother was alive.”

      She looked away. This interested him, since he could have sworn Sheila had returned to Twin Mesas, at least in part, to discover more about Evelyn Metcalf, her death and her life here. He had no idea what her father had told her, but Canaan wasn’t going to pass along old hurtful gossip about Evelyn.

      Although there hadn’t been much. The People did not make a habit of speaking ill of the dead, because they rarely spoke of the dead at all.

      “Don’t you and your father discuss your mother?” he asked.

      “We’re talking about young Sheila right now.”

      He nodded. Fair enough. “She laughed a lot, she spoke her mind and she despised bullies. She wasn’t afraid to face down the biggest kid on the playground if he was picking on the pip-squeak.”

      Canaan saw her wince at the name he’d been called so often.

      “No one would call you that now,” she said.

      “Sometimes I wonder if I grew so tall just to prove those bullies wrong.”

      She smiled at him. “Or maybe to prove me right? That you were the best guy at Twin Mesas.”

      He tentatively returned the smile. “I sure missed that after you left.”

      Her smile was a fleeting thing, and once again she stared at the ground, looking pensive.

      “I often wondered if the real Sheila ever resurfaced,” he said. “By the time you and your dad left here, your heart had gone into hiding. You never cried for her.”

      She looked at him, obviously startled. “I cried.”

      “For your mother? I know you cried about leaving here, and about leaving me. You never mentioned your mother’s name, never talked about her.”

      “My father never mentioned her.”

      A troop of little girls pranced across the sandy playground from the dormitories. Their dorm mother, a plump woman with short black hair and olive-toned skin, waved to Canaan. He waved back as the group filed through the cafeteria entrance.

      “You remember the day of my mother’s death that well?” Sheila asked.

      “It isn’t something I’m ever likely to forget, the day Granddad carried you in from that desert, dehydrated and nearly catatonic.” He could still close his eyes and see his grandfather’s gaunt face and tortured eyes as he carried her, surrounded by teachers and dorm parents from the school.

      “It was the day I lost my best friend,” he said softly. “You were never the same.”

      He

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