"When you were maybe four, you fell and cut your knee pretty badly," James continued, his expression distant with memory."Anna cleaned the wound and started singing this traditional healing song—something Ruth had taught her.You stopped crying immediately, just watching her with these huge, fascinated eyes.I asked her later what the song meant, and she said, 'It reminds the body that it knows how to heal itself.'"
The memory struck Kari with unexpected force."I don't remember that."
"Like I said, you were very young," James said."But I've never forgotten it.That blend of practical care and traditional wisdom—it was so essentially Anna."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment.Kari felt an unfamiliar warmth in her chest—not the absence of her typical reserve where her father was concerned, but something new.A bridge, perhaps, being carefully constructed between them.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there when she died," James said suddenly."I should have been, regardless of our history."
"You couldn't have known what would happen," Kari replied, the words surprising her even as she spoke them.She had carried resentment about his absence during her mother's final days for years, but now found it suddenly less important.
"Still.If I'd stayed in closer contact..."He shook his head."Regrets don't change anything, I know."
"No," Kari agreed."But understanding might."
He looked at her questioningly.
"I thought I came back to the reservation just to take care of Ruth," Kari explained."Not that she would let anyone take care of her.But I think I really came because I needed to understand my own connections—to this place, to my family history.To the parts of myself I've been ignoring."
"Your mother would be proud of you," James said quietly."Not just for solving these cases, but for how you've embraced both sides of your heritage.She always wanted that for you—to find value in both worlds instead of feeling trapped between them."
The comment touched something deep in Kari, a wound that had never properly healed."I wish I could talk to her now.Adult to adult.There's so much I'd ask her."
"I know."James reached out hesitantly, then took her hand."But you have Ruth.And me, if you want.I know I'm not a replacement for Anna, but I'm here."
The simple offer, so unlike their typically reserved interactions, brought unexpected moisture to Kari's eyes.
"I'd like that," she said softly.
A nurse entered with a clipboard, breaking the moment."Vitals check, Detective Blackhorse.And good news—doctor says you can be discharged tomorrow morning as long as tonight's blood work looks good."
"Thank you," Kari said, composing herself as the nurse efficiently checked her vital signs.
"Your grandmother called," the nurse added as she finished her task."Said to tell you she's resting comfortable at home and not to worry."
"That sounds like Ruth," James observed after the nurse departed."Practical to the core."
They were both silent for several long moments.
"I'll come back tomorrow to drive you home," James finally said, rising.
"You don't need to do that," Kari said automatically.
"I know," he replied with a small smile."But I'd like to.If that's okay."
Kari found herself returning the smile."That would be nice.Thanks, Dad."
He moved to the door, then turned back."Oh, and about the exhibit this weekend—"
"I'll be there," Kari said.She smiled."I'll make it a priority."
James smiled back.Then he walked out.
After her father had left, Kari leaned back against her pillows, watching twilight settle across the reservation landscape.The yellow powder's lingering effects had mostly subsided, leaving only a slight haziness at the edges of her perception.Tomorrow she would return home, check on Ruth, begin the process of documenting what had happened at Shadow Cave.She would examine the physical evidence of Silver's ritualistic intentions and write official reports that carefully omitted certain details beyond rational explanation.
But tonight, in the quiet aftermath, Kari allowed herself to simply exist in this moment of unexpected connection—with her father, with her family history, with parts of herself long held at a protective distance.
It wouldn't change everything.One conversation rarely did.But it was a beginning, and for now, that was enough
