Sisters in the Wind(70)
“It’s nice,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’re lucky Missus likes you.”
Boyd snorted before reacting with embarrassment at the goofy noise.
“Seriously. I can’t imagine her letting anyone else have their own place like this.”
“Yeah, well…” Boyd downplayed it for my benefit. “The bathroom is downstairs and it’s cold as hell in the middle of the night. No wonder Bruce wanted to geek out to video games in a nicer space in the farmhouse.”
“He does like his games,” I said.
“I think he’s a weird fucker,” Boyd added.
“He’s a good guy. Just an odd duck.”
“Just an odd fuck,” he said.
“Seriously?” I teased Boyd instead of calling him out as rude.
“Shoot, girl,” he cooed, his drawl heavier. “You know I ain’t about the D. I’m P all the way.”
“P for ‘penis’?”
It was good to keep him off balance. Boys were less likely to mess with a girl they felt intimidated around.
“Speaking of, I gotta pee,” he announced. “Do you want some chips?”
“You’re such a weirdo. Pee and chips?”
“Well”—he blushed brightly—“I must leave you to go downstairs and pee, but I invite you to partake in the refreshments I prepared for you. Wavy chips and root beer.”
“Thanks for the explanation. Go pee before your kidneys burst.”
Boyd’s voice trailed from the stairs. “Got Tostitos if you like. In the other dresser.”
Tortilla chips sounded good, so I went to the dresser with his mom’s photo. Strange place to keep snacks, but guys could be weird like that. The drawer stuck, so I gave a hard yank.
Instead of snacks, the top drawer had a Bible, a wallet, and a small trinket box. The lid was off the box, probably from the force of my opening the drawer.
There was a matchbox, like the kind Tonya kept in the glass bowl on her nightstand. Even when I thought her mom shouldn’t have brought her to bars, Tonya spoke lovingly about her parent. The matchboxes were special mementos.
Had Tonya given one to Boyd?
Boyd’s trinket box included a tiny ceramic spotted dog. Lexi loved puppies. She talked about a Dalmatian dog from her childhood—from when her parents were still together.
There were other items—a blue gummy shark, an iris pendant minus the chain, and a mini Ponyta character from Pokémon.
Were these random items souvenirs from girls Boyd had had sex with?
There was nothing of mine, thank God. All we had done was kiss. One birthday kiss.
Beneath a postcard of a painted carousel horse from the Gerald Ford Museum in Grand Rapids, a flash of gold caught my eye. I knew that crucifix. I had selected it and knew where the twenty-four-karat hallmark was located. It was Diego’s.
I had kissed it six weeks ago.
APPEAR AND DISAPPEAR
MAY 2009
Mr. John B. Jameson is an excellent attorney. He works tirelessly for me. I am not the best client. I have baggage, meaning that I’m not squeaky clean. I have a record. Juvenile records are to remain sealed, but exceptions can be made. Closed hearings during which the judge reads my file and determines it is pertinent to my current case.
My attorney has an uphill battle.
Whenever I meet with him, Daunis remains at my side. I insist on this. Jamie relents. He knows she’ll find out everything no matter how hard he tries cloaking it with “attorney-client privilege.” She holds my hand whenever it shakes.
Daunis taught me to put tobacco—semaa—down each morning to give thanks. She whispers her prayers next to me when we stand before a tree outside the casino hotel. Her prayers are in Ojibwe. I do not know what she says. She has promised that I will know my Indian name, which she calls a Spirit name.
Silently, I give thanks to a sister I never knew.
Miigwech, Lily. For Daunis and Jamie.
When we return to the suite, Jamie emerges from his room in jeans and a T-shirt. His long hair is damp from the shower and falls in waves down his back. In our new morning routine, I make breakfast while Daunis braids Jamie’s hair. It almost seems too intimate to be in the same room as she tenderly brushes and combs his hair. Daunis pulls his hair into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck before separating the locks into three precise sections. She braids it tightly with such care and ties the end with a thin leather strip. When she finishes, Daunis smooths her hands over his hair, planting kisses like a protective shield.
Jamie and Daunis are a great team. Somehow, between the two of them, they convinced Nancy’s daughter to bring her to Mount Pleasant. Nancy agreed to answer questions about the day of the blast. The interview is videotaped for the record. I do not attend.
After the session, Nancy asks to meet with me for lunch. Daunis suggests the upscale restaurant in the casino hotel. Nancy’s daughter agrees to bring her there.
I am scared to face Nancy; it’s my fault that she was injured. Daunis learned that Nancy’s arm was damaged with third-degree burns and required skin-graft surgery. She still has a lengthy recovery ahead of her and there’s a constant concern about infection.
Daunis waits with me as they approach. It’s been over four months since the blast. I hold my breath until Nancy smiles. We both cry and hug each other. Then Nancy’s daughter and Daunis sit nearby and leave us to a small table in the corner of the restaurant.