Sisters in the Wind(76)
“HA! My dad gave me a fat lip and said I was no better than my mother.”
I waited for the storm. Usually when Devery talked about her mom and dad, she became agitated. Her exact words had always been, “Get the fuck out so I can be alone.” Before too long, I’d hear the muffled screams into her pillow followed by the silence of a catnap.
Instead my first foster sister sighed and remained quiet long enough that I looked to check if she had fallen asleep. She glanced over and smiled.
“You went silent,” I said. “Did you get yourself some coping strategies since Beaver Island?”
She laughed her full-throated, husky guffaws that were contagious.
* * *
Two weeks later, Bruce brought Devery to Hoppy Farm for Sunday dinner. Again, she fit right in, laughing along with funny stories told as everyone gathered in the kitchen. I caught Missus watching her intently. Devery helped Bruce, Allen, and Jennifer bring the serving platters and bowls to the dining table. Over the beef Stroganoff, she encouraged Bruce to share what he liked about Into the Wild, the movie they saw that afternoon in Alpena.
“The soundtrack,” he promptly replied. “The movie should have been a silent movie.”
Joy didn’t understand. “Like the actors moving around but not talking?”
Bruce looked to Devery. “You know what I mean.”
“You’d see the same story on the screen. The characters’ mouths are moving—they’re still yapping—but their volume is turned all the way down.” Devery imitated a ventriloquist’s doll, mouth opening and closing. “All you hear is Eddie Vedder playing mandolin and singing. Like a fancy foreign movie, but the language is music.”
“No subtitles,” Bruce added, smiling at his girlfriend.
Missus beamed at the two of them.
My first foster sister had always struggled academically. But if winning over Bruce’s mother had been a test … my girl aced it.
After dinner, I wanted to be alone with Devery. Jasmine agreed to wash the dinner dishes in exchange for me cleaning the girls’ and boys’ bathrooms. Even without any male placements, we managed to dirty both bathrooms.
Devery and I made our way back to the hammock grove. The other fosters were taking advantage of a warm evening that felt like a throwback to summer by getting one more time at the swimming hole.
We sat at the picnic table. I looked across at Devery, my birthday wish from last year come true. Beyond her were the remnants of the burned outbuilding.
“I’m pregnant,” I announced.
She began to laugh, her knee-jerk reaction. Then her eyes widened at the truth in my expression. She nearly tripped while moving from her bench to mine. Her side hug felt so good. Devery hadn’t been the hugging type at Miss Lonnie’s.
“How pregnant?” she asked, arm still around me.
“Well, it’s kind of an all-or-nothing situation.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I’m two months along.”
“I assume the dad is one of these horndogs?”
“He’s no longer here.” I figured I could pace my shocking news and save the dead-dad part for another time.
“Do you want the—uh, um, situation—to go away?” she finally asked, tightening her grip around me.
Some women should never become mothers.
My dad’s angry declaration had remained one of my strongest memories from childhood. I had been raised to view abortion as murder. But the world didn’t seem as black-and-white anymore. I no longer thought of myself as Catholic or any religion.
“There are options that would be better for me, like adoption,” I said resolutely. “Bruce’s baby nephew is adopted. The birth parents were fosters here.” I let myself melt into her side hug. My head rested against hers. “I was afraid to tell anyone. I was so alone. I just … I just can’t believe you’re here for real.”
For once, I was the sobbing sister with the torrent of complicated emotions too overwhelming to contain.
LEAVE THE REST BEHIND
MAY 2009
While Jamie works on lawyer stuff, Daunis helps with the investigation. She arranges for Nancy to return to Mount Pleasant again, this time meeting with Tara and me. Daunis has us separately write down the customers we remember from that day and the approximate times they were at the diner. Then she has us go over each list together, to fill in any gaps or jog each other’s memory. We also write notes about each customer, whether they were regulars or unfamiliar. Daunis tracks down everyone she can. She’s very good at it.
I don’t want to be around when Jamie meets with the Sterlings. Daunis receives permission from the court to take me out of town that day. She asked if I wanted to go to Harbor Springs and visit my dad’s grave, so that’s what we do.
I’m quiet on the two-hour drive. When we arrive at the cemetery, she hands me a small pouch of loose-leaf tobacco and gives me privacy.
It’s the first time I’ve been back since the one-year anniversary of my dad’s death.
His headstone is a simple granite slab with his name and the dates of his birth and death.
LUKE MATTHIAS SMITH
JANUARY 26, 1970–DECEMBER 9, 2003
I hold the semaa in my left hand, like Abe Charlevoix taught me. I say my silent prayers—giving thanks for my dad. Then it’s like I’m talking to my dad. Wishing he could meet Jamie and Daunis. Wanting him to know that Abe Charlevoix was a good friend to him. I say nothing about Bridget, because I want to share only good words and thoughts. Mostly, I want my dad to know that I’m okay. That, no matter what happens in my life, I think I’ll be okay.