“Sigrid’s stubborn,” Jeanne continued, wiping down the perfectly clean counter for the umpteenth time. “She’s got her own mind. Just like my Frances did.”
We both watched the water settle in the basin. I opened my mouth—keen to share my recent progress with Sigrid—but flashed on the vicious determination on Jeanne’s face as she’d wrestled the little girl to stillness, Wyatt jabbing the needle in her blood-spattered arm. I swallowed and said, “Just have to keep on trying with her.”
On her cutting board, Jeanne arranged a shank of red meat attached to a jagged length of bone.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Caribou.”
“What’s it taste like?”
“You should know.” She rummaged around deep in the low kitchen freezer. Emerging with a bag of frozen peas, she tossed it on the counter. “You’ve been eating it for weeks. In the stew.”
“I didn’t realize…” The meat was heavily marbled, one rib cracked and sticking out at an odd angle, as if that was where the animal had been shot. “Where do we get it?”
“In the regular deliveries from Pitak or the other hunters in Qaanaaq. Really helps them out to sell to us.”
“Guess I thought I was eating beef.”
She selected a cleaver from the knife rack.
“Listen, Jeanne, I was wondering… I think I’ve misplaced some of my medicine, these pills I take, have you seen an orange bottle around?”
She brought the knife down on the caribou shank, cutting cleanly through the shattered rib. The wine-red meat glistened under the sterile lights. “Check all your pants pockets?”
“Yes.”
She hammered the cleaver down again, severing another generous portion. “They should be in there. Found them when I was washing up. Put ’em back when your pants were dry.”
“But I’ve… I’ve checked all my pockets—coats, shirts, everything.”
She peeled off a stray knot of gristle, flicked it in the trash. “Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past Wyatt to chuck them.” She arranged the slab of meat for another hit of her knife. Gave me a sidelong glance. “He’s very antidrug, you know.”
Whack.
“I didn’t know that. But he says he didn’t touch them.”
“Well, have you asked Raj or Nora? Raj seems to be having a bit of a rough time, if you ask me—”
I took a step closer to her, keeping the big kitchen table between us. “So, you read the label—”
She waved the cleaver in the air, as if she’d forgotten she was holding it. “Well, they were right in front of me—”
“You should have just come and found me. You should have come and handed them to me.”
Jeanne wiped the sweat off her forehead with a sleeve, a look of profound exhaustion dragging her heavy features down until she looked like an old man. I was one more pain in the ass on top of all her pains in the ass—the broken snowcat motor, the nonfunctioning heater in the Dome, the never-clean-enough counter…
“What am I, your servant? You were somewhere with the girl. Making her your best friend.” She stabbed the cleaver into the meat; it stuck there. “Listen, I got enough I gotta take care of, never mind making sure you got your pills—”
“Okay, I believe you. Never mind.” But I didn’t believe her. I would never put my pills in my pocket, for one thing.
“Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Sign?”
“Maybe this isn’t the place for you.”
I glanced outside. The picture window framed a crystalline landscape soaked in bruise-colored light. My stomach tightened down.
“Maybe you’re in a little over your head. Ever think of that?” She worked the cleaver free, laid it down on the soft wood of the cutting board with a strange reverence. “You know, everything was so peaceful here before Andy came. Wyatt and me, we had these long, quiet days, just getting work done. None of this high drama.”
“I’ll expect my pills back by breakfast,” I said, my voice higher and breathier than I’d intended. “In my room. No questions asked.”
“Val, I didn’t take your precious pills.” She turned to face me, wiping her meat-stained hands on a rag. “And speaking of missing things, I’m down a knife. My crescent knife. Have you seen it?”
“No,” I said, my face hot.
She opened the oven door; the aroma of baking cornbread flowed out. Suddenly I was dizzy with hunger. “You know,” she said, “Andy lost things all the time.”