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choices influence your judgment with this child of the Navajo. We have our own
set of problems, and they don t always correlate with others outside the
reservation.
But I can t help wondering how Tanya must feel.
I realize that. I feel for her, too, but unlike you, she sees her parents
when they re home, and she knows the dorm parents, teachers and the other
kids. The school isn t new to her. Something besides homesickness is troubling
her now. Don t confuse your issues with hers. You re two different people.
Ah, yes, this haunting menace that has to be exorcised from the Sheila
caught sight of a movement out in the desert, and raised her binoculars to
study it. The movement turned out to be a couple of shepherd dogs playing
together.
She lowered the binoculars.
You were saying? Canaan prompted.
She looked at him, noting the scruffy shadow of beard growth on his normally
clean-shaven face. Maybe you re right. Who am I to suggest ways to help
Tanya? I m not in her situation. No way for me to identify with her. Sheila
glanced toward the field again, pulled the binoculars to her eyes and studied
the shepherd dogs for several seconds.
You see something suspicious? Canaan asked.
Until now, I haven t been able to remember a time when I wasn t afraid of
dogs. She lowered the binoculars and looked at him. Until now.
His black eyebrows rose above the line of his ball cap. Really?
She nodded. Now I remember.
You re afraid of dogs?
You don t remember how terrified I was of dogs? What kind of best friend
were you?
But you loved dogs, Canaan said. Are you sure you re not hallucinating?
After we moved to Hideaway, we never had a dog, even though Dad could have
used one on the farm.
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Maybe your dad was being overprotective.
She shook her head.
I can remember a time when dogs didn t scare you.
She glanced toward the shepherds and again had a spontaneous recollection.
Do you remember the two puppies we rescued from the side of the road one
Saturday?
I sure do, he said. We were about eight.
You named them Amy and Bluebird, she said, surprised by the clarity of this
memory. She looked at Canaan. Something about being with him seemed to trigger
that kind of clarity of thought at times.
All the kids laughed at the names, he said.
But they still liked the puppies, even though we got into trouble sneaking
them into the buildings at night.
So at age eight, Canaan said, you obviously were not afraid of dogs.
Maybe that s just because they were helpless puppies. Someone had dumped
them, left them to die.
We raised them at the school, Canaan said. And they grew almost as tall as
we were, but you were never afraid of them.
Canaan was right. Sheila remembered playing with them, running and wrestling,
laughing, and never once being frightened by either dog. The memory was so
vivid.
So what changed? Canaan asked softly.
Maybe that s something I need to find out.
Canaan drove in silence for a few moments, and Sheila stared out at the open
plain. As if a spigot had been turned on, more memories rushed into her mind,
happy ones about the good times.
I remember you tutored me in science and math, she said.
And you re a nurse now, so it obviously helped.
In exchange for the tutoring, I provided the muscle. She glanced across the
cab in time to see Canaan grimace, and knew she hadn t chosen the most
comforting memory on which to focus. You obviously no longer have need for
that, she offered. I remember how we found the puppies, she said softly.
What do you mean?
You knew they were there. No one had seen them, because they were out of
view. You just knew.
He shrugged, eyes narrowed as he continued to study the landscape. I heard a
whimper. I know the sound of distress. He glanced at her. I also know the
look. I ve seen it in your eyes several times, and I don t think you re just
homesick.
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Watch the road, and don t change the subject. It s a special gift you have.
Changing the subject?
Empathy.
Canaan shrugged. I d hope both of us would tend to have some empathy,
considering the professions we chose.
Well, when you think about it, that might be counterproductive. It s hard to
be objective when you identify too much with your patients.
I know. I ve always had to struggle with that.
Maybe it s because you experienced so much rejection because you were half
white, half Navajo.
I was always too sensitive.
And you re not now?
He shot her a wry smile. Maybe I am.
I especially remember your sensitivity to others, Sheila said. You always
seemed to be tuned in to others feelings. I remember you cried for people.
Canaan groaned. I didn t cry that much. Have a heart, Sheila. A grown man
doesn t like to be reminded of stuff like that.
Brief memories flashed through Sheila s mind of a much-younger Canaan bending
over one of the puppies, crying because it had been abandoned; Canaan crying
when a little boy fell from the swing set and broke his arm; Canaan crying for
Sheila about something& but this memory didn t focus.
Why do I remember you crying for me? she asked.
You were leaving.
No, before we left. It was& I think you were sorry because I was hurt& or my
feelings were hurt.
He looked at her. Do you remember getting into trouble the year before you
left?
What kind of trouble?
His brow furrowed as he returned his attention to the road. It seems to me
you were talking too much in class.
The only teacher I can remember ever reprimanding me was Doc.
Canaan s brow cleared. That s right. It was him. He wouldn t let you attend
one of the track meets with the rest of the team. He looked at her. Remember
now?
The slow emergence of another memory disturbed her. I was telling stories to
the other kids, and he didn t like them. They were about& She glanced at
Canaan.
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The wolf, he said.
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