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thought he was a pain.  I wanted him to leave me alone.  So I gave him a dare.  I told him, 'I bet you can't climb that willow tree.' "
     
    My heart felt cold in my chest.
     
    Dad bowed his head over his hands.  But he didn't cry.  He never cried in front of me.
     
    "She blamed me," Dad said.  "And I blamed myself.  And I still do."
     
    "Dad," I said, afraid to raise my voice--afraid to deter him.  "You were a child."
     
    "There's no excuse for it," he said.  "He was my little brother--my responsibility--and I failed him.  I failed my wife, I failed my son...even failed my best friend..."
     
    "No," I said.  "You didn't."  I can't tell you how glad I was to have a voice.  All the things I'd wanted to say to him since I was a child--I could finally say them.  "You raised me.  We're not even related, and you raised me like I was your own."
     
    "You are my own," Dad said.
     
    "My mom cheated on you--lied about it--and you still did what you could do avenge her memory."
     
    "I don't want you holding that against her..."
     
    "A man swept through this reservation, completely terrorizing everyone--he killed seven women--and when you found out he was your friend, you still put his victims first."
     
    "I had to.  That's blood law."
     
    "Dad," I said.
     
    He looked at me.
     
    "Your mother loved you," I said.  " I love you.  More than anything."
     
    He bowed his head again.  I thought his lips were trembling.  I tried not to look too closely.  I didn't want to embarrass him.
     
    He lifted his head at last.  His eyes reached into mine.
     
    "I hope this works out for you," he said.  "Your foster child.  I hope you love her, and I hope you adopt her.  You can't possibly understand how much I love you until you have a child of your own."
     
    I was the one who felt a little embarrassed.  "You're sure you want to be a grandfather?" I joked.
     
    "Very sure.  I'll teach her all about topography.  I'll teach her the Apache fiddle."
     
    Eventually Racine came outside and insisted we join her for a cup of spicewood tea.  Dad accepted, but I declined; I still had files to send to Carole, wherever the heck she had gone.  I waved goodbye for the remainder of the afternoon and headed home.
     
    And on the walk home I thought about Uncle Julius, chilled to my core.  Small wonder Dad and Granny had never discussed his parting in front of me.  This secret that Dad had carried for so many years--a burden all its own...  Why hadn't he told me sooner?  Maybe I could have helped him.  Maybe I could have comforted him.
     
    In the front room I found Rafael on the hardwood floor with Charity, Charity showing him her summer book report.
     
    "Hi, Skylar," Charity said warmly.  She's the sweetest kid there is.  Round-faced like her mother; tawny-haired like her father; cheeks dimpled like Rafael's.  Hard to believe she's already fifteen.  "I'm entering the raft race this season.  You'll root for me, right?"
     
    "I wouldn't dare root for anybody else," I promised.
     
    Rafael tucked his hair behind his ear and squinted at Charity's papers from behind his glasses.  Maybe he needed a stronger prescription.  "Mr. Red Clay's not gonna like this," he said.  "He wants everything double-spaced these days."
     
    "Mr. Siomme, Rafael," Charity said patiently.
     
    "Yeah, yeah," Rafael said.  "Go get a drink or something.  You're making me thirsty just sitting there."
     
    Charity giggled and ran into the adjoining kitchen.
     
    "What's that?" Rafael said.  He'd just now caught sight of the folder in my hand.
     
    I sat next to Rafael, legs folded.  My legs looked oddly pudgy to me.  I wondered whether I was gaining weight.  "Zeke gave it to me," I said, barely capable of smothering my smile.  "He--"
     
    Rafael didn't wait to hear what I had to say.  He snatched the envelope from me with unparalleled frenzy.  I laughed openly.  Rafael pulled out the papers inside.
     
    He sucked in his