Linda slid a hand into the pocket of her raincoat. The ad had said the garment would travel well but after spending the winter floating around in her back seat, it looked like something dug out of a trash can. She carried the pocketknife Arnie left in the longhouse months ago, expecting to hand it back but never managing to do so. Now she was used to having it.
Audra pulled a compact from her bag and checked her lipstick. "You good?"
"My makeup or my life?"
Audra glanced back at her with a half-smile before snapping the compact shut. "Your situation."
She meant Arnie and their disastrous—what would you call it—disagreement? Misunderstanding?
"I'm anxious to get this thing over with and get on with my plans."
"You two are okay," Audra said, more as a confirmation than a question.
Linda shrugged with as much indifference as she could muster. They'd seen each other once since the unpleasantness at the big tribal leader conference a month earlier. They'd sat on either side of Audra at the first city action committee meeting and exchanged notes with complete civility.
"Define okay," Linda said.
"You haven't spoken to him again?"
"We traded emails. We're getting the work done." The situation was more complicated than that, but no sense in rehashing it right now when they were so close to securing the center's future.
In truth, Linda never stopped fretting about Arnie. Not so much concerns about being fired, at least not yet, but she couldn't bear the idea that he didn't trust her any longer. When he'd joined the executive board of the center, the two of them agreed to become a team. Now they were like people who were civil for the sake of the children.
"He's here," Audra said.
Linda's stomach flipped as he headed toward them. He wore a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a bolo tie. His face was expressionless, his hands empty. He had his fingers in tribal projects all over the place, yet he never carried anything. She did her best to ignore the fiery flash of unease, a reminder of a long history of charged interactions and jumbled feelings.
No smile. No greeting. "Just you two?" he asked.
"Did you want me to bring the staff?" He always seemed to expect her to guess what he wanted.
"No, this is fine," Arnie said, turning more agreeable. "We prepared?"
Audra pointed to the packet in Linda's arms. "UIC staff went over everything. I went over everything else. We're ready to be done with this thing. By the end of this meeting, we should have a solid timeline."
"Great," he said. "Just to be clear, I want to lead on this."
"Lead?" Linda said, trying to keep up with the shift.
"I don't want to dilute our message."
"Dilute it from what?" Linda said, annoyance creeping into her voice. "The deal is done. We don't need a firm hand. It's paperwork and formalities at this stage. Don't you trust me?"
As soon as she said it, she wanted to snatch it back. That word. Trust. Like she was daring him to talk about it.
Arnie exhaled audibly. He glanced at the ceiling, his lips barely moving, as if praying for patience. "I know you can handle it but I would like to take the lead." He put his hand on his chest and raised his eyebrows as if to say: You want to challenge me on this?
She did not.
She said, "If I may, my most critical item is the move-in date. Fall is a lot to hope for, but even if it's after the first of the year, I need to be able to map out my plans to increase the staff and budget for equipment and furniture. All these tribal leader talks I've been doing, I've been emphasizing how soon we will be functioning."
"I've heard your talks. We're on the same page, don't worry," he said, his tone friendly but the flash in his eyes said he still hadn't forgiven her.
A clerk brought them visitor badges and took them through the security station to a meeting room. Instead of the group they'd been working with, they were introduced to a city attorney and a blank-faced older guy with thinning hair who described himself as a facilities manager.
After an endless amount of routine chit chat, Arnie cleared his throat and said, "Shall we get down to business?" He nodded at Linda's stack of paper. "How shall we proceed?"
The older man steepled his fingers and tilted his head to the side as if he were hearing all this for the first time.
The attorney was about Arnie's age, with a rust-colored beard and a way of punctuating every remark with an over-loud chuckle. He leaned over his laptop and tapped with enthusiasm. "We're up to speed on the important points. Let's do this."
Arnie nudged Linda's paperwork and gave her a look.
"Did you want me to start?" she asked, injecting false warmth into her voice.
He tapped the corner of the documents again and gave her a conspiratorial smile as if they'd carefully plotted the course of this meeting and now he was counting on her to deliver. She smiled with her mouth but the look she shot him was pure acid.
At least she was prepared.
They worked through the list, checking off funding, inspections, title report, and the endless fine print. Audra was a saint for reviewing all that for them.
They got through everything, everyone in agreement as hoped. "The last piece is the timeline," Linda said. "Any chance we get in there by September?"
The city attorney kept his eyes on his computer, his index finger swiping across the trackpad. "Not sure about that. That's one item we haven't hit on yet. The city wants to hold off on the transfer for three years."
Linda couldn't help it, she gasped. She slapped her hand over her mouth. Audra patted her shoulder, not for comfort but as an order: Keep your mouth shut.
From the look on Arnie's face, Audra should have been patting him. A slow-boil fury seeped into his face.
"Why three years?" Arnie asked, carefully measuring out his words.
The older guy held up his hands as if their protests were unreasonable already. "Unavoidable. Plans for the building changed at the same time our people were negotiating with your group. We apologize for the inconvenience."
The non-apology was followed by an exaggerated shrug of innocence. Nothing personal, just doing our jobs.
Next to her, Arnie adjusted in his seat, every exhale an audible huff. Before the NATG blowout, she would have grabbed his arm, but with everything between them so uncertain she kept her hands folded in front of her.
The delay would doom them. She'd been sweet-talking funding out of tribal leaders and tribal organizations with the promise of what they could do. They couldn't do anything without a location.
The attorney tapped his computer a few more times before leaning back in his chair. "We're willing to make some concessions."
"Such as?" Linda asked.
"We could show you some alternate sites that would be available sooner."
"To buy or to lease?" They'd endured months of paperwork, inspections, and funding conferences to secure the Chief Building. Starting all over would be soul-crushing, but if the city could give them something decent to lease in the interim she could salvage this.
"Leasing would be less likely," the attorney said. His tone said he didn't know.
She reordered the documents to hide her disappointment and distress. If they had no place to go, they were back to dismantling the organization.
"May I say something?" Audra said, looking at Arnie. He nodded. "We weren't prepared for such a huge setback. We'll have to meet with the staff and board members and get back to you."
Arnie held together his professional demeanor by force of will, but he wanted to punch his fist through a wall. The city's indifference to this transaction was stunning, and this was one more disaster in an endless list of frustrations he was juggling at the moment.
The three of them returned their security badges in silence. Outside, the rain had stopped but the pavement was wet and the breeze cold and damp.
"What are we going to do?" Linda's voice had that wavering quality it got when she was upset. He had to find
a way to avoid this conversation right now. He was wound too tight, and he couldn't risk whatever fragile collegial connection that remained between them.
"Three years," she continued. "No one is going to wait for us to scramble around for another three years. How do we get back to where we were?"
"I'm not happy either," he said.
"We need to respond to the situation we're in and give up trying to get back to a state that is long gone," Audra said. "They brought up concessions. Why don't we see what we can get for this inconvenience?"
That's what an attorney would hear: they could get something for their trouble. But all of Linda's hard work drumming up tribal partners was for nothing if she couldn't get her programs running.
"I share the concerns about losing supporters," Arnie said.
"Yes, that worries me," Linda said. "Our goal with the Chief Building was to expand. That's what I've been bargaining with to get tribes to increase their support."
"We're going to have to recalibrate," he said. "I'll try to come up with some ideas and send them to you later. I gotta get going."
"What about looking at the alternate sites?" Linda said.
Audra laughed. "If the city is getting rid of property, it's not because there's anything great about it. I wouldn't get my hopes up. You two talk it out and let me know what to do." She gave Linda a quick hug and took off, leaving them alone together, exactly what he'd hoped to avoid.
He'd tried and failed to sort out his feelings since their dust-up. His anger had lost its bite, but he wasn't ready to forgive either. Mostly he was perplexed by how he took the deception more personally than he should.
"My rig's over a few blocks. We'll be in touch," he said.
"I'm that way, too," Linda said, falling into step with him.
Innocuous small talk was one of his superpowers but with her at his side, his mind had gone maddeningly blank. If she spoke first, it would be something probing and heavy because she was the kind of person who insisted every rift had to be smoothed over, every disagreement needed closure. For half a block the only sound was their feet on the sidewalk, and if possible, the sound of her brain churning for a way into the conversation he was trying to escape.
Her steps slowed, and she said in a quiet voice, "Are we going to talk about what happened?"
"Which thing?" he said, his tone light. His rig was still a block away.
"The thing that happened, not intentionally," she said, drawing out that word. "I tried to tell you we swapped the film. You didn't respond."
They stopped at the corner for a red light. Traffic was heavy through downtown and he had to get to the east side for another meeting. Too many responsibilities stacked on top of each other.
He said, "I know you tried. The conference was busier than I expected. Regardless, it was disrespectful. We brought in someone to help and then blew off her work without warning."
That someone was Katie but he avoided her name.
The light changed, and Linda picked up the pace again. "I'm sorry it worked out the way it did. Everything happened so quickly. But, uh, what about the other thing?"
The letter. She’d sent the intent to sue letter, knowing he didn't approve. Going behind his back bothered him more than anything. "The city talked to us. You got what you wanted."
"What we all wanted."
"And look how that's turned out. Don't do it again." He could hear how he sounded, but he had too much on his mind to be apologetic.
"You want me to sit by the phone until you have time to tell me what to do?" she said.
"We agreed we weren't going to threaten to sue."
"We did not agree. That was a decision you made."
Here was the Linda he'd known for so long. She could take the tiniest disagreement and chew on it forever like there was always one last point she needed to make.
"I don't see any reason in arguing about it," he said. "Please. No more surprises."
"Agreed. No more surprises," she said. "New topic. What do you think about getting me in front of your council again? They are our biggest supporters. If we can get them in front of this possible three-year thing, we could leverage their support to keep everyone in."
He bit back his instinct to shoot the idea down. "You're not wrong."
"I'm not wrong?" She elbowed him in the side. "Those are generous words from you. I remember when we...shit."
"We shit?"
She pointed to her car, one corner of it tilted down.
"That is one flat tire." He wanted to make a joke of it, but not only did he have no time to change a tire, he'd have to do it on wet pavement.
"How does that even happen?" she said, more crushed than a person should be about a tire.
"You know how to do it?" he asked.
"Do I know how to change a tire?" she said.
Arnie took off his suit jacket, eyeing the ground. He'd changed tires in worse.
"You don't have to do this," she said. "I have one of those roadside services."
"You should know how to change a tire."
"Gee, I thought Dad was in California."
He held out his hand for the keys. "You have a spare, don't you?"
"Of course, I have a spare," Linda said. She didn't go for her keys.
"Even if you call a service they have to get out the spare. I don't mind doing it." He didn't know why he was arguing with her; she told him she didn't need help, but his mama hadn't raised him to walk away if a friend needed help with a flat tire.
Linda dug through her bag and handed him the keys.
He opened the trunk and let out a long whistle, finding himself strangely charmed by the woman's steady predictability. Linda had always been this curious juxtaposition of polished presentation in the front, complete disorganization in the back. Her trunk was loaded with...what? He pushed around the giant plastic bags and assorted boxes and set aside a plastic pouch of never-used chains that he was willing to bet didn't fit the tires. She had one, two, three laptop bags that bulged with a computer inside. "I don't even know what to say about this."
"I need to get to Donation Hut," she said, her mouth curled into a defensive scowl, "and I like to be prepared.”
"That's what you're known for," he said with a sigh. He unlocked the car door and folded his jacket on the front seat. He went back and pulled a box out of the trunk and set it in the back seat. "Old musty files?"
Linda's eyes grew stormy. "Forget it." She grabbed her keys back. "I'm serious. Leave it. I'll deal with it."
"I don't mind changing a tire," he said. "You should at least have an idea how to do it in case of emergency."
He pushed items around in the trunk, hoping to avoid clearing out everything to reach the tire. There was a box of books, a bunch of shoes, a workout bag, towels. His look of dismay must have been evident because she shoved him aside and slammed the trunk shut.
"I said, I'll take care of it myself. I don't need you to fix everything." The last word twisted off bitterly.
He'd misread the situation, but where did he go wrong? "Sorry, Lulu. I—"
"Don't call me that." She held her hand up and gave him a look that would slay a grizzly. It wouldn't be a successful day if he didn't make a woman angry with him. He left her alone as she asked.
4
Tommy printed a fresh copy of the statement and reread it. He practically had it memorized. Ester or Rayanne wouldn't have thought twice about accomplishing such a generic task, but the sweat made his hands slick and the place behind his knees damp. All just to read a statement. His path to sobriety had been going to meetings, so after all these years he had plenty of experience talking in front of people, but his nerves knew the difference between that and a work meeting. He'd carefully cultivated a career that didn't involve getting up and doing talks for people.
Ester had suggested he practice reading it aloud, but he felt stupid every time he tried. He stood up.
"Good afternoon. The Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center is a growing non-pr
ofit dedicated to developing programs for urban Indian youth."
He tried again, speaking more slowly, pausing at the end of each paragraph. He read it again, adding a bit of television newscaster inflection. By the fifth repetition, the words came easily.
He checked the meeting address once more and realized there was barely enough time to get there. He scooped up Linda's folder and hurried to his car. Another burst of rain had come through and the sidewalks were wet and puddled. The busy campus pathways thronged with students and bicycles. He sometimes picked out a random individual and tried to guess how long he or she would take to get a two-year degree. He'd taken three years and one quarter to get his AA since the transition from drinking to not drinking had taken place during that time.
His aging Toyota had been renamed the Crunch after an unfortunate bumper remodel. One corner dented in enough so that the trunk wouldn't stay shut without duct tape. An elder in a big pickup truck had backed into him at one of the youth basketball tournaments. The man had offered Tommy cash rather than make an insurance claim, and Tommy took it. He used some to pay his friend Cody, the mechanic, for non-body repairs. Another wad was rolled up and hidden in a flashlight next to his bed. Someday he was taking a road trip on mountain highway TBD. Cody tried to convince him to do enough bodywork to make the trunk operational, but the car ran so poorly Tommy didn't want to bother.
That morning, the car had huffed and rattled and didn't start until the third try. He was relieved when it started right up. He tended to see the quality of his life reflected in the worthiness of his vehicles. The center's Drivemaster, a 15-passenger bus, ran great, and his car kept going, patched together but able to get the job done. That meant he was doing okay. He needed the Crunch now more than ever. It was a place he could be alone, and he needed to feel like there was always an option.
An endless line of cars rolled through the parking lot, searching for parking. Someone spotted him and waited for him to pull out. The car shuddered and for a breath-taking moment went silent before catching again. He backed out and put the car in drive and tapped the gas. There was a long pause before the engine coughed. He hit the gas again and the car made a mournful sigh and sputtered out. "Let's go, Crunch," he whispered in his most reassuring voice. He tried to start it again.
Sweetheart Braves Page 2
