“It—it’s not what I expected,” said Essie over my shoulder, as Blucifer whinnied and Kesabe pissed on the nearest tree; as the overgrown rancher sat—its nearly flat roof baking in the sun ... its slat fence partially collapsed.
“It’s not a teepee; if that’s what you mean,” I said, and dismounted.
“I didn’t expect a teepee,” said Essie, as I helped her down. “It’s just that—it’s so white. Like Wally and the Beav are gonna come running out any minute.”
“My father didn’t believe in reservations,” I said, leading Blucifer to a bush, abandoning the reins. “He thought they were museums full of defeated people; just so many relics, withering in the sun. He wouldn’t even take us there to visit our grandparents; they had to come to us.”
“That must have sucked.”
“No, actually—it really didn’t,”
