Chee and Bernie arrived at the Navajo Inn in their best uniforms. The FBI had established a special award to honor Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn as he slowly recovered from his injuries, and decided to make the announcement in Leaphorn’s home district with the Navajo Police in attendance.
Agent Cordova was there, along with other top-ranked FBI officials, all wearing dark suits. The Navajo Police, Arizona and New Mexico State Police, and assorted sheriff’s departments, U.S. marshals, livestock inspectors, and other law enforcement personnel who had worked with Leaphorn over his many years as a policeman sat in the audience, along with civilian support staff. Even Joe Wakara showed up from Chaco Canyon.
“I hate stuff like this,” Chee said. “Too much talking.”
“Cheer up,” Bernie said. “It’s not every day we both get invited to a free breakfast.”
It was her first visit to the restaurant since Leaphorn’s shooting. Chee parked in the side lot near the adjoining motel, whether intentionally or by happenstance, and they walked in through the portal. When the meeting was over, she told herself, she’d go out the front door, look at the place where Leaphorn had fallen, release any hold that memory still had on her.
“It’s nice for the feds to do this,” Bernie said. “I guess whoever is in charge now doesn’t know how much trouble the agency caused Leaphorn on so many cases.”
“Forgive and forget,” Chee said.
They assembled in the hotel’s meeting room. A podium had been set up at one end, along with a buffet of scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, sweet rolls, and canned fruit mixed with cantaloupe and honeydew.
The waitress, Nellie Roanhorse, made sure they had hot coffee. “How’s he doing, the one who got shot?”
“He’s hanging in there,” Bernie said. “A long road ahead of him.”
Officers Bigman and Wheeler joined them at the table.
“What’s your mother up to?” Bigman asked Bernie.
“She’s well,” Bernie said. “In fact, she’s going to Santa Fe with us tomorrow to see an old rug she’s been wanting to look at.”
“That’s great,” he said. “The rug she made for my wife and me is on our bedroom floor.”
Chee said, “Bernie got offered a research job at that place in Santa Fe where they have all the Indian stuff. The man there is willing to work around her police schedule. Wants her to help him find oral histories on some of the old weaving.”
Wheeler said, “I heard there was some more trouble at that gas station down from there, the one on the corner of 491 where you turn off for Toadlena.”
“I heard that, too,” Bernie said. She wondered if Darleen had been involved. She knew she ought to invite Darleen to go with them to Santa Fe, but she dreaded the idea of a full day with her sister.
Chee said, “They had rain on Narbona Pass yesterday. The view must have been spectacular after that.”
“I love it up there,” Bigman said. “You can see the whole world. Or at least most of the whole Navajo world, when the dust settles.”
Cordova had switched on the mic, thumping it with his thumb.
“We hear you,” Wheeler yelled.
There was some noise in the back of the room, and Bernie saw Mrs. Benally and Jackson, all dressed up. They waved at her. Mrs. Benally made a sign to Wheeler that she wanted to talk to him afterward. Fudgsicles, Bernie thought.
Cordova welcomed everyone and introduced dignitaries, including a Navajo Council member, some FBI bigwigs, an Apache County commissioner, and a retired U.S. marshal.
Then he said a few words about Leaphorn and the award, which would be given annually to an outstanding officer working in the Southwest.
“And today, as a surprise, I’d like to announce that the first recipient of the Leaphorn Award of Valor is here with us. Officer Bernadette Manuelito, would you please step forward?”
Bernie sat back in her chair. Swallowed hard.
“Officer Manuelito is receiving the award for efforts that involve both mental strength and physical ability, for a cool head in the face of challenging circumstances, and for persistence despite many obstacles.”
Bernie stopped listening. It wasn’t right to be honored just for doing your job. It certainly wasn’t the Navajo way. She stared at the table. Her skin felt hot and red.
Chee poked her and whispered. “Go up there and get the plaque and say thank you,” he said. “You can argue with me later about why you don’t deserve it.”
And so she did.