Aunt Rhea dug her wrinkled fingers into my shoulders. I couldn't help but notice the dirt under the nails. Her scuffed cowboy boots, covered in dust, peeked from under jeans, stained with oil and gaping with holes at the knees. She smelled like a horse stall.
"I can't believe you're here," she said, and pulled me into a bear hug. I dropped my car keys to return the embrace.
She felt good, sturdy. Like there were muscles and substantial breasts beneath the plaid shirt, but tough like an uncle more than an old aunt. I guessed that hard work had been her lot in life up here in the high desert. Especially after Uncle Francis died.
"You turned out right pretty," she said. "The spitting image of my baby brother, you are."
I had never seen a picture of my father, so I had to take her word for it. I had never met this side of my family before. Twenty years of questions and heartache burned in my belly. My mother and stepfather had protected me, they said. But I didn't want protection, I wanted answers.
The wind was strong. Rhea led me across the sandy driveway toward the ranch house which seemed to list a little to the right, giving a dilapidated appearance embellished by chicken-wire fences enclosing the yard. A clothesline flapped with laundry and shutters clattered against the windows. The fence gates swung free and clanged against their poles. I squinted against the grit blowing in my eyes and mouth as we leaned forward to get to the door.
"You living here all by yourself?" I asked. The house was dark inside, except for the kitchen which was sunny and in total disarray. Bags and boxes, dishes and food covered all the surfaces except for the chrome dinette chairs. Rhea pulled one out and said, "Sit down."
She took a seat across the table from me and grinned. "I got a burro and chickens out back. I live here with Blue. We do just fine."
"Blue?" I badly wanted to wash the sand off my face. I could feel a fine coating on my neck and arms, in my ears. The shutters slammed over and over against the clapboard.
"Your Uncle Francis's dog. He oughta be around pretty soon. He likes to hunt mornings. We'll hear him coming when he comes."
"I like dogs," I said.
"Of course you do. Your daddy liked dogs. He liked to fish and hunt too. You ever do any of those things?"
I shook my head. "Guess I turned out a city girl."
"Them folks of yours wouldn't let you near us, would they?"
"Mama was pretty bitter," I said, lowering my gaze. Aunt Rhea's face had flushed with anger.
"Well, your daddy was a war hero. That should have been enough for her."
"They divorced before he went to war," I said.
"I heard she was pissed off because she didn't get no insurance money when he died."
"She wanted it for me," I said softly. "She said he didn't tell the government he had a child."
Rhea was quiet for awhile, and folded her hands in her lap. "That don't sound right," she said finally.
A long, low sound carried on the wind. It seemed to come from a distance, like a fog horn or the moan of a woman in pain. It was a throaty, eerie sound that seemed to move closer and closer.
"That's old Blue," Rhea said. "Sounds like he got himself a prairie dog or a weasel."
The howling somehow made me want to cry. It resonated in me like a soundless sound from within my own chest. Mournful and inevitable. "I don't like killing things," I said.
"Killing is men's ways, honey. Francis killed everything he could. Shot moose and rabbits. Bear and deer. And I suppose your mama's right. In his own way, your daddy was a killer too. He had an eye for the ladies and was as determined as a dog. And old Blue, he just does what comes naturally too."
My breathing felt shallow now. "But you loved them all, didn't you?."
"What you need to know, Missy, is that they loved you and your mama too. That's something your mama never understood about men."
Blue barked at the kitchen door and Rhea opened it to him. A huge, swaybacked bloodhound loped into the room. He went to a large water dish in the corner and slurped noisily. Then he turned to look at me, drool hanging off his loose lips. His red-rimmed eyes were sad and yet congenial. His tail swung in big arcs.
I leaned down and put out my hand. He came to me, and I could see remnants of blood staining his snout. He nuzzled my hand and put his big head on my lap.