“What does that mean?”
“They swore she’d be raised Seneca. Taking her to events, dancing, volunteering. All those bits. Going to the cultural centers.”
“We might have seen her, then? And how is that being Seneca?”
“I don’t know, Dee. Maybe.”
Mia’s tone told her that they hadn’t seen her. Maybe she had been somewhere, but they were five minutes apart, coming and going. Or maybe by days or weeks.
Dee dropped a letter back on the table. She barely read the page. Enough to know that her mother cared for Gabriella. “I miss you today, Ella.” How much of that took away from the four of them present, right there with their mother? “It’s always the youngest.”
“Dee, come on,” said Jeremy.
He might have been the youngest before Gabriella, but he scolded more than her mother ever had. Kept her in line. She shivered and wanted distance between them. That happened sometimes. “Close,” their mother often said. “True family sometimes gets too close. A little irritation shows we’re on the right path.”
She missed her mother so much her body ached. But Mia, the family rock, had checked out. Jeremy’s tone and the way he touched Mia told Dee he tried to take on the role. Mia just kept quiet and held everything in, so ready to explode.
Jeremy worried some about Dee, yeah. But more so about Mia. Dee could fall apart with one touch. But Mia so rarely retreated. And where is Nathan?
Some pans rattled and Charley quickly threw together hamburgers, corn on the cob, and frozen French fries. Jeremy liked this guy. He took care of things without asking. Read people.
“Meal of champions,” Jeremy said. He bit into the corn and ate one cob standing while Charley set up a toppings station. The kitchen counter was cluttered with silverware, dirty dishes, and ketchup, mustard, tomato slices, pickles, lettuce, cheese, and chopped onion. He stood taller than Jeremy, who generally felt short around anyone, but Charley had a wrestler’s body and height.
Charley leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Think you guys should look for her?”
The girls were in their mom’s room, checking for more letters.
Jeremy shrugged. “She hasn’t been around. Would she even accept us?”
“Does that matter? Isn’t it about making a connection now?”
“She’ll be nothing like us.” He crunched a pickle between his teeth, the sweet juice waking up his taste buds and even his brain.
“But she is you. Even with a different raising.”
“I don’t know. We just lost our mom.” We could lose this sister, too. All over again.
“But gain a sister.” Charley slapped Jeremy on the back.
Jeremy thought he felt cooler air wash over his body. Shivers shook his back.
“You all right, man?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s put some burgers together.” The cold air wasn’t unpleasant, just sudden. Jeremy’s blood felt warmer, like a heater turned on somewhere. Maybe he’d read more letters after dinner.
Rain began pouring, tapping on the windows and roof. The sudden temperature difference frosted the windows with steam marks. That unexpected summer chill. They ate in silence. Anyone watching who knew them would think they had gone strange. None of them could find any words, which made Jeremy twitch, all of them cramped together at the kitchen table, rather than the formal dining room.
Nathan showed up as Dee and Jeremy were almost headed out.
“They’re just letters, guys.” He tossed a letter down. “She was always bad at letting go of stuff.”
“Sisters aren’t just stuff,” Jeremy said.
“Do what you want.” Nathan ate a leftover hamburger, slathered in mustard and cheese and slapped between two thin bread slices. He caught mustard and wiped his chin with his finger. “It won’t change anything. She still died.”
“Mom would have loved us all together again.” Mia put her hands on her hips. She sighed. “Maybe we owe this to her.”
“To who, Ma or Gabriella?” Jeremy said.
“Ma. But Ella too.”
Nathan shook his head. “No. We don’t owe people. We lived there. Now mom left there. It’s best.”
Mia yanked the hamburger out of his hand and threw it away. “You’re mean. That’s all. Always have been.”
“We grew up in shitty places. Now we live a little better. So what if it’s mean to say those things.”
Jeremy held up his hands. “Let’s come back to this another day.”
“No,” said Nathan. “Let’s just get beyond this. That’s that.” He made a cut-off motion with both hands.
Charley and Jeremy exchanged frustrated looks. Nathan could tell Charley held back his words. But he didn’t care. He almost wanted the guy to tell him something so he could give it right back. His muscles tensed and the veins in his upper arm showed. He met Charley eye to eye. Mia’s husband had nearly punched Nathan several times. At their wedding, he had pulled Nathan up by the lapels and shook him.
“You should go,” said Mia. “It’s time for everyone to go.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nathan said. He left, the door slamming.
Now Jeremy wanted to smack him.
“That went well,” said Dee. She hugged Mia. “See you later.”
Charley and Mia heard both car doors thud shut outside.
He made her chai tea, the kind that smelled like Christmas, and set it down. She pushed the mug away.
“Maybe he’s right. Maybe she wouldn’t even want anything to do with us.”
“She’ll know it’s important. That would seem unlike your family, otherwise.” The last comment he filled with sarcasm. That Nathan.
Odd, but Mia wanted to sleep in her mother’s room. Under the green-and-yellow quilt.
“Come up when you’re ready.”
Charley often fell asleep early, whether in a chair watching TV or putting on his pajamas. Farmer’s hours.
He approached her in the Fairport Library. They had both been wandering the DVD section. She remembered running her fingers across each case, trying not to miss a single title. He had walked past the rows so fast, she wasn’t sure how he even saw the titles. He had stood out, though, probably because she caught sight of his bright blue eyes. So clear. And those smile lines around his mouth.
“Are you going to get that one?” he asked.
She had tilted Alien but wasn’t sure she was in the right mood. The cinematography and plot were dark, more serious than she needed that night.
“I guess not.” She handed the case to him.
“Charley.” He held out his hand and she shook it.
Slightly rough, but soft. A tingle ran through her arm. The skin, the blood. He blushed.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. She could feel her cheeks get hot as well.
“Here, try this one.”
Roxanne. “Never seen it.”
He gave her his card, and she got one last touch. Another tingle. “Let me know if you like it. I would love to hear what you think.”
That night she twirled the card through her fingers as she watched a man help another man vie for the woman he loved. With a long, unusual nose, he didn’t think the girl could like him. She laughed so hard.
Their first date was a movie, Independence Day. He even slept through the end, while she remained riveted. She secretly loved action movies. Turned out, he didn’t.
Mia knew she was safe so long as she was with Charley. His large arms enveloped her. He insisted on paying for everything. With his own large Puerto Rican family, he seemed to understand hers much more than any other man had. The emotions, the heated arguments, the closeness.
Farmer Charley. Yet he was an engineer. All those numbers must tire him.
She trudged up the stairs, still pulled toward the back bedroom. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard singing. Mia touched Charley, just a light one. He turned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She sighed and fell asleep.
Charley awoke and heard
Mia crying. A gentle sound he might have missed if he hadn’t been out of REM. The sun streamed through an open curtain he must not have drawn completely. He never minded morning sun. The warmth kept him from sleeping too long. She’d roll back over, though.
“Hey,” he whispered. He touched her stomach and pulled her against him. She quieted, but still shook. Silent sobs. Brushing her hair back, he kissed her cheek and waited. Just held her. Soft breathing told him she had fallen back asleep. Usually he would get up and make breakfast, start the coffee. But he remained awhile. This wasn’t a deep or content sleep. Her brows furrowed and she twitched in moments.
He finally rose, dressed, and made coffee. She thrived on schedules. Although, she sometimes craved spontaneity, which she really only used to surprise others. Right before her mother passed, he had planned a trip to Alaska for them, July, the warmest month there. It was supposed to be a surprise. The travel company understood and put everything on hold. Waiting.
He knew her whole life had been on hold. Taking care of brothers and sisters. Making sure they went to college before she did. Taking care of her mother. Putting off having her own children. There was so much between them she didn’t say about her childhood. He made every attempt instead to read her, intuit body language.
When they would go walking Saturday mornings and the green leaves appeared brighter, readying for fall changes, her eyes drifted off. She had told him she felt closest to her ancestors then. Harvest time. She would curl up in the quilt her mother made her once back inside those days, even before she passed. He could tell she needed that closeness. His touch didn’t affect her when she went somewhere in her head.
They talked about everything else.
When he asked Jeremy once about their childhood, her brother shook his head. “It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t good. She had that all on her shoulders, man. All of it.”
“And your mom?”
“Working. Cooking. Taking care of the neighborhood.”
At some point during her childhood, Mia simply stopped talking about herself and only made mention of others.
Charley had tried. Oh man, how he tried. Trips. Gifts. Nights out. She would check her phone, though, or refuse the money spent.
Sneakers. Water. He was ready and headed out. Charley looked up to their bedroom window. No movement. He couldn’t fix this. Charley nearly broke when his grandfather passed near his twenty-third birthday. Most from that period was fuzzy. This might be different. But he got it.
The darkest woods enveloped him as his body disappeared, taking his usual route.
Mia rolled over and touched the empty pillow, still warm. Charley’s cologne clung to the sheets, fresh like clean soap. Arms stretched, she pulled her body into a straight line and rotated her feet and legs.
The full coffee pot brought a smile. This morning, she poured it black. Medium roast with a slight nutty flavor nearly burned her throat. But she didn’t care.
She couldn’t read the letters again. They told her that her mother never let Ella go, never forgot. But that didn’t surprise her, even if she hadn’t known. Her mother always had cookies for the neighbors, fed the kids she knew probably hadn’t eaten that day, and sometimes gave their toys to the family a half mile down the road. Her strength emanated through her actions. People felt comfortable in their home and often stopped by or spoke to their mother in the street. Tight didn’t mean without. But she also remembered the years her pants no longer touched her ankles. That happened many times. Her growth spurts came earlier than Dee. Once they stopped in high school, Mia had no more problems. She wore more skirts and dresses. That ended the nickname High-Water she had throughout middle school.
Another sister, though, and Mia knew it wouldn’t have been possible. One more mouth, more milk, more hot dogs, more rice. More clothes and toys. She understood better than Nathan was willing.
A voice sang. Low and sweet. Maybe Charley had left the radio on. Or maybe the neighbor’s music filtered through their closed windows. She lifted the living room window. Just birds, small sparrows, flitting around.
The back room again.
Maybe she wanted so badly for her mother to be there, she imagined the song and the voice. Could she have also conjured up her perfume? The scent clung to the air as if her mother had just sprayed the bottle. Not some far-off, left-behind smell.
The song rang familiar. Mia couldn’t place a name with the tune or recall the words. She wasn’t even sure there were words. But her brain told her, Yes, I should know this. Just as quickly, everything—song, scent—faded.
Nathan had been there the day Ella was born. He was twelve, she ten. Their dad had already left. Nathan whispered to her one night while brushing teeth that he knew their dad was gone for good. “All these kids,” Nathan said. “Too much noise. Too much crying. Not enough space.” He spit into the sink. But his words sounded like spit, too. Harsh and full of bite.
Their mom cried out in the middle of the night. It was too late to drive her anywhere. “Boil water, Mia. Grab fresh towels. Sanitize the scissors.” Labor didn’t even keep their mom from a level head. She walked Nathan through everything, holding Mia’s hand, until Ella slid into his shaking arms.
He wrapped his small sister in their best towel, the fluffy green one. Ella cooed. She barely cried, just stared at her brother.
The doctor later came and left, saying they didn’t need the hospital. “Good health,” he said. “Surprising.” He glanced around their trailer.
Mia frowned. The trailer may have been crowded, but the space was impeccably clean.
Nathan rocked Ella. She quieted when he held her.
Months later, their mother announced that Ella would need to leave. “Go live with a good family. Have a good raising.”
“But we do just fine,” Nathan said.
“Of course we do, Nathan.” Their mother put her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off and slammed the screen door behind him. He never held Ella again.
Two months later, a family picked her up, promising a Seneca raising, with their values, songs, dances, everything they could even though they weren’t Native.
Their mother still sang them to sleep, words they didn’t recognize, but stopped when, at fourteen, Mia told her to go away. She literally pushed her off their bed.
“Mia, how could you tell her that?”
“Go to sleep, Dee. We just need to sleep.”
She couldn’t remember what made her do that. Maybe hormones. Maybe being worn out from schoolwork and housework. Later she missed the songs but couldn’t bring herself to ask for them. When her mother thought she was alone, Mia heard her sing with the radio, swinging her hips a little.
The tune from earlier that day came back. There seemed no source but her own mind. She knew though she didn’t imagine the music. Mia lay down, her body on top of the quilt, her side arching perfectly into the already-formed mattress dip.
“Do you remember the night Ella was born?”
Dee coughed into her tea. “Mia? What is this?” She switched her cell phone to her other ear.
“Nathan. He basically helped birth her.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, he did. Cut her cord. Wrapped her up.”
“That actually explains a lot. More than his reaction.”
“I know.”
Dee thought she heard the old Mia returning. A strength in her sentences she couldn’t explain. That made Dee feel safer. Did in high school, too. She could count on her sister and knew she could figure her way through any of Dee’s problems. Dee certainly didn’t lack them. “Do you think this will make him worse?”
“I don’t think anything will make him better. Especially now Mom’s gone.”
“Dad maybe?” Dee checked a text that came in and itched to answer the message.
“No. He went looking for him, I don’t know, maybe six years ago. Untraceable.”
“Wow. How did I not know?” Dee threw her phone a look. They never loop me in.
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“He made me swear, Dee.” Mia’s tone shook.
Dee sighed softly. “Okay. What do we do here?”
“Do you want to know her?”
“Sure.” Dee shook her head no, though. I’m a terrible sister. Maybe she could. But what difference would meeting this other sister make now? Gabriella didn’t know the rez. Or what they went through.
Mia touched the letters again. The paper felt smooth, pleasant to touch. Her mother’s window overlooked the entire backyard, the woods, and the hills. Probably the best view besides the back bathroom. The house had a strange footprint, with sitting rooms and a kitchen in the front.
She set out her mother’s hairbrush, a mirror, and her pad of paper and pen.
By talking to her siblings, watching their body language, and having read them their whole lives so they avoided trouble, Mia didn’t think they cared to meet Ella. Maybe Jeremy. Something kept leading her back to the letters, though.
“Charley? Hey, Charley!”
“Hey, hon,” Charley said, drying his hands with a dish towel.
“I think we should call that investigator friend of yours.”
“Really? Okay. I’ll do it now.” He smiled.
She nodded. He noted a small light turn her brown eyes caramel.
Her mother’s perfume returned. I’ve got this, Mom.
The Carver and the Chilkat Weaver
Calluses bumped in rough familiarity with each other. The couple, side by side, hand in hand, walked down the cleaning-supply aisle. Fingertips barely touched palms with hands that fit. The grocery store, although filled with fewer than six or seven other shoppers, appeared crowded. Someone else in every aisle they moved through.
Their cart rolled, overflowing with more food than they could eat, while Aaron pushed fingertips to the handle bars. Lettuce, tomatoes, salmon, pasta, chips, pops, rolls, sandwich meat. All for the party next week.
“They still laugh at us. And stare,” Anna said. A wary up-then-down glance passed from a new neighbor.
“You know, they’re not laughing, hon. It’s you. It’s that hair.” Aaron winked at her.
Her smile spread slow. But the full stare now illuminated in her pupil revealed she still knew better. Her skin lay pale and bright next to his toffee hue.
Living on the Borderlines Page 4
