Sisters in the Wind(48)

Daunis still looks concerned. Enough so that Jamie reassures her.

“Honest, Daunis. It was no big deal.”

We sit down at the square dining table, just like usual. Jamie added extra portions of steamed broccoli to our order. He fills his plate with broccoli and tops it with an ice cream scoop of pork fried rice. No wonder he’s in such good shape. Even when he eats something that might not be the healthiest, he still makes good choices to balance everything out. Jamie is a good person.

What would have happened if the fender bender had been more serious? If the girl ran a stoplight and T-boned his car? Bad things happen all the time. Fires, accidents, tornadoes, cancer. I’ve been eager to heal so I can leave Michigan. But it also means leaving Jamie and Daunis.

Somehow, despite my plan, they became my New Normal.

I do the unexpected and open up to them together.

“When I met my social worker the first time, I told her that Bridget, my stepmother who adopted me before my dad died, said my birth mother was Native American.” I look from Jamie to Daunis. “The social worker told me not to tell anyone because it would complicate my foster-care placements. She said to tell people that my birth mother was Mexican. Because I looked like I could be Hispanic.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry that happened to you. It happens too often. There are caseworkers and state court personnel who view ICWA as a burden. They only see the additional paperwork instead of the benefit for children.”

“I’m glad you told us,” Daunis adds.

“Me too,” I say. Their friendship feels warm and cozy, like evenings spent reading next to my dad. Like the first bite of a birthday cake made by Miss Lonnie. And reading to Stacy, when she looked at me like I was the best sister anyone could’ve asked for.



* * *



The following weekend at the ice arena, Daunis walks with me instead of skating with Jamie.

“I’ve been thinking about what your social worker did to you, what you told us about last week,” she says.

“Really?” It seems like an odd thing to weigh on her mind that long.

“Do you mind me asking if your dad ever mentioned Maggie?”

Ah. There it is. Another inroad to bring up my birth mother.

“He talked about her three times in thirteen years,” I say flatly. “When I was six, he said I got my brown eyes from her. When I was nine, he said she was Italian. When I was twelve, he said she voluntarily terminated her parental rights as soon as I was born.”

We are silent for another half lap.

“I’m mad that he lied to me about being Native but told Bridget the truth,” I admit.

It’s a fact that feels like an itchy sweater I can’t remove.

“Did Bridget say anything else about her?” Daunis asks.

“No. She said it in a hateful way, like being Native meant something horrible. So I ran away and torched her storage unit.”

We continue walking. After a lap of silence, Daunis speaks again.

“My maternal grandparents did not care for Native Americans,” she says. “It wasn’t just about my dad getting my mom pregnant. They didn’t like Natives in general. I couldn’t make sense of how they loved me but spoke about Natives—especially the local Ojibwe people that included my dad’s family—the way they did.” She pauses before adding, “It’s complicated. Loving imperfect people.”

I halt as we near the restrooms.

“You mean them loving you but seeing your being Native as an imperfection?”

“No, Lucy. I mean me loving them even though their words and actions hurt me.” She sighs. “God is perfect; humans are imperfect.” After making the profound declaration, she says, “Gonna lace up now, okay?”

In the bathroom, I mull over what Daunis said.

It’s an uncomfortable thought. That my dad wasn’t perfect. That maybe he sheltered me and kept my world small for reasons that benefited him more than me. Like when he married Bridget but didn’t honor her like a loving husband should treat his wife. It makes me feel queasy. My stomach has a minor flashback to Bridget’s dinners not sitting right with me.

I emerge from the bathroom and walk to the viewing area. Daunis and Jamie skate like they always do—showing off and laughing at each other. I enjoy the warm, cozy feeling of my New Normal. It’s like wrapping myself in the fluffy comforter with Miss Lonnie’s homemade patchwork duvet cover.

I grin as Daunis tears off into a sprint around the arena before racing directly toward Jamie. Her smile is as broad as I’ve ever seen. Just before plowing into him, she breaks sideways. A spray of ice shavings hits Jamie. He throws his head back. I feel his deep belly laugh all the way from the ice.

Then Daunis wraps her arms around his neck.

They kiss. Slowly, as if it’s been pent up their entire lives instead of five years. The rink full of children, teens, and adults skate around the tall couple in the center of the ice. An echo of Jamie’s sexy growl about their someday swirls around me.

Daunis is a … cheater.

How could she be on the phone every night with TJ, the man who doesn’t lie, and kiss Jamie like … that?

I hate a cheater.

My stomach roils and I return to the bathroom.

Someone pees in the stall next to me. I’m vaguely aware of pants zipping and the door opening without the toilet being flushed.