“Yep. Hit the spot.” Adam took the offered drink. He swilled back a helping of the pop that burned slightly down his throat. “You mentioned you lived in the ‘Peg. Where about?”
“Osborne.” Darryl grinned. “Where else?”
Adam should have guessed the guy would bunk down in the happening gay neighborhood.
“The high-rises. Middle one.”
“Oh, those buildings.” Adam nodded, aware of the three tall apartment complexes looming over the Village. “Nice crib?”
“It did the job and gave me a home. It was where I wanted to be, and close enough to downtown to get to work. You were in Point Douglas, hey?”
“My whole life.” Adam gulped down another slurp. He set the can on his knee. Normally, he avoided his favorite mixer, having always added three shots of rye to his shot of cola.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you and Bridget earlier.” Darryl cleared his throat. “You two reminded me of... what Em and I used to do.”
“Yeah?” Adam couldn’t help the snicker climbing up his throat. “I didn’t care. But I don’t like upsetting Bridget. She’s a lady and—”
“No worries. I don’t judge anybody. I did too much of that already.” Darryl stroked his neck and grimaced.
“That why you’re attending the workshop?” This was a no-brainer that Darryl had come outside to apologize, or maybe talk, why Emery and the dog remained inside. Either was fine for Adam.
“You betcha. I made myself a promise I’d keep an open mind.”
“We say that in our meetings all the time. Keep an open mind.”
“I’m glad you’re gonna.”
Adam shrugged. “Not sure how it’ll help, but it don’t hurt to try.”
“Y’know, sometimes we think something hasn’t affected us, even when it has. I understand your parents and grandparents attended the residential schools.”
“Sure did.” Adam snatched his cigarettes off the table. He lit one. Nothing beat smoke curling down his windpipe and into his lungs. There was something relaxing about the ritual.
“Those schools stripped kids of a home life. None of them came out understanding how a family functioned or the role of parenting.”
“Nope. Sure didn’t.” Adam tried not to laugh at the invisible political hat Darryl slipped on.
“They also carried lots of scars from the abuse they’d endured.” Darryl set his drink on the table.
“Y’know, I don’t blame anyone for how I turned out. I had choices.”
“Did you really?”
Adam grunted. What was Darryl on about?
“Sometimes we accept situations as normal, when they’re not. I don’t mean to pry, but it’s apparent you don’t want your son growing up in the same environment you did.”
Darryl’s words were sincere, even caring. Adam took a drag off the smoke. Stories were important to hear, Cutter had always said. Everyone had a story. Darryl probably wanted to share his. Maybe what he had to say would help Adam. Ignoring assistance and thinking he was tough enough to handle everything on his own was what had landed Adam in prison.
“Okay. I’m listening. Fire away.” Keeping an open mind was imperative. If Adam didn’t, he’d be back to his old way of thinking, and he wasn’t returning to that place—ever. His job was to listen and learn, as the old-timers said in the twelve-step meetings.
Chapter Twenty-three: Keep Us on the Road
“I had it out for a lot of people and places—the church and government being the biggies.” Darryl sipped his cola. The bugs continued to sing and buzz.
Adam sat forward in the chair.
“I thought they were to blame for how my life had turned out. In some ways they were. My parents went to the residential school, and it screwed them up big-time. It also screwed up my aunt. She died in July.” Darryl angled his leg and rested his foot on his knee. He moved his running shoe in a circular movement.
“Sorry to hear that, man.” Adam only heard people bare their souls in sharing circles and twelve-step meetings, not on a deck overlooking the river.
“Thanks, but don’t be sorry. You barely know me.” Darryl flicked at the tab on the pop can, gaze pinned downwards.
“Still am. Heard your aunt raised you.”
“She did. I was four when my parents died.” Darryl kept rolling his foot in a circle. “They were drunk, as always, and went for supplies. They took my older brother and sister with them. They all died.”
Adam ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Not good.
“All I had was Emery.” Darryl’s voice dropped a couple of octaves. He looked out to the river. “We had big-ass differing beliefs at the time. I blamed the church for what happened. I also blamed it for losing my parents.” He lifted the can and took a drink. “Being forced to stay at the school until they turned sixteen destroyed them. My aunt attended the same school. It drove her to drink and destroyed her, too.”
He wet his lips. His gaze focused beyond Adam’s shoulder. “The biggie was losing Emery. He was completely loyal to a place I hated, and he chose that place over me.” Darryl’s tone sharpened slightly. “When the church proposed the Healing the Spirit workshop, I was against it. At the time, I believed everyone should practice traditionalism—I felt it was a betrayal to our ancestors if anyone chose Catholicism over our original way of life, especially after what the church and government had done to us.”
He gulped back more cola. His foot kept twirling round and round. “What clinched it for me was a chance to get even. The church took from me, so I’d take from it. There’s a man on band council who I agreed to help. His name’s Clayton Kabatay.”
Darryl rubbed his mouth. “I thought I had a big chip on my shoulder. Mine’s nothing compared to his. As a matter of fact, I expect him and his family to show up tomorrow morning, protesting the workshop.”
“Protesting?” Adam couldn’t involve himself in reserve politics, not after deciding to walk a straight line. Getting caught in a brawl if shit got ugly would land him back in prison.
“It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” Darryl shifted forward in the chair, reassurance in his tone. “If Clayton and his family are outside the church tomorrow, ignore them. We’ll use the back door to get to the basement. It faces the road and is under the car port.”
“Yeah. Saw that door last night.”
“The last time they protested, they were on the lawn beside the church.”
“I thought everyone was cool with the workshop now?” From what Adam had been told, he’d assumed as much.
“Not the Kabatay family.” Darryl shook his head. “They got a real hard-on for the Matawapits. They believe Emery’s dad betrayed his own people by becoming a deacon for the church and marrying a non-native woman, who raised the kids Catholic.”
Since Adam had never lived at his home reserve, people fighting over what they should worship seemed crazy. On the streets, nobody cared. It was all about staying alive and finding a place to crash. “Sounds like they should worry about themselves instead of what others are doing.” Adam stuck another cigarette between his lips.
“Try seeing it from this perspective.” Darryl’s small, hooded eyes crinkled. “You were a gangbanger. I bet your gang spent a lot of time keeping an eye on other gangs. And making sure they didn’t sneak into your territory to move in on your, err, ah, customers.”
“Yep.”
“Is that what you did?”
A hint of discomfort stretched across Adam’s back. He’d never spoken about being an enforcer for the Winnipeg Warriors. “Let’s say I made sure nobody muscled in on our biz or our turf.”
Darryl kept staring at Adam. “I see. Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t. Not used to talking about this kind of stuff.”
“You never talked to anyone about it?”
“Nope. Goes against the code, y’know? You never rat out anyone.” Adam shrugged. Why was he protecting those guys, anyway? When he’
d taken his two minutes out, the boys hadn’t blinked at beating his sorry ass. And they sure hadn’t given a shit when his old enemies had gone after him.
He squeezed his toes. “Hooked up with ‘em when I was twelve. A runner at first. Mule. That sort of stuff.” He puffed on the cigarette. “Didn’t join until I was seventeen. If not for them, I wouldn’t have done the time that I did. But I had a rep to build. The more time you do, the bigger your cred. My uncles were down with them. I figured if they were a part of the toughest gang in the ‘Peg, I should join, too.”
“That’s part of the intergenerational trauma of the residential schools. I take it your uncles attended one?”
“Yep.” Adam swigged a helping of cola to moisten his dry mouth. “I left the gang before Kyle was born. Was fresh out of treatment. We both were. Me and Angela.”
“She’s Kyle’s mother?”
“Yeah. Dead. OD’d.” He squeezed his toes again. “We split up before she died. I left the ‘Peg ‘cause I made a lot of enemies as an enforcer. Guys also wanted to challenge me. It’s about rep. Some figured if they took me down, they’d get major props.”
“When you moved back to Winnipeg, after you and Bridget broke up, these old enemies were still after you?”
A man like Darryl wouldn’t open his mouth to anyone. He’d been kicked around, just like Adam. “One was after me, big-time. Saw him at The Pike that night. Nabe bar. I jumped him before he jumped me. Figured if I took him down, the others might back off.”
He squeezed his toes hard enough to pinch them. “Problem was, I was drunk and shooting pool. If I drink, I get into a shitload of trouble. And a pool stick in my hand... yeah, led to a shitstorm.”
“You beat him bad enough to land you in prison?” Horror didn’t reflect in Darryl’s eyes or the judgmental glare everyone tossed Adam’s way when hearing what he’d done.
“Yeah. He’ll... he’ll never have full use of his right eye or his left arm again. Did major damage to the nerves and muscles.” Adam shifted in the chair and stared at the water blackening under the darkening sky. “Guess he was in rehabilitation for a long time.”
At least Darryl hadn’t made an excuse to run into the house and holler at Emery to call the police because there was a psychotic, sadistic criminal on their deck.
“I’m not proud of what I did.” Adam turned to face an expressionless Darryl. “Can’t bring myself to ninth step the guy... Not that he’d want to hear me make amends, but it’s part of the program, y’know? Like I said, I burned a lot of bridges in that city... Not surprised it bit me in the ass when I last went back.”
He kept squeezing his toes. “It wasn’t easy being out there when I was on day parole. Was lucky they locked me up at night. Who knows what would’ve happened.”
“You returned to jail in the evenings?”
“It was for the best. Thing is, nobody bothered me, not even at the job.”
“I guess your message worked. Seems the other gangs weren’t going to bother you anymore.”
Adam flicked the ash off the cigarette. “No idea if they will or won’t. I’m in T. Bay now. It’s where my boy is. He prefers it over the ‘Peg. At least I think so.”
“He came up for a visit last month. I took him swimming.” Darryl grinned.
“Bridget told me he enjoys swimming lessons. He’s a turtle now. More like a shark. Guess Jude has a swimming pool.”
“Kyle never told me he was a turtle.” Darryl kept grinning.
“Yeah. Guess he’ll be a fish next. Then a dolphin. It’s why I’m here. Why I came to the workshop. My kid wasn’t happy about it. He really got in my face. But he’s cool now. Bridget talked to him.”
Darryl’s Adam’s apple bobbled. “Really? That’s very thoughtful of her.”
“Yeah. She coulda been a bitch about it, turned my own kid against me. She didn’t. She’s one in a million. All the other women I knew before her, they woulda turned on me. She never did.”
She hadn’t turned on him... for now.
Adam rode shotgun in the truck, used to being up early because of his job. Emery had left around six on the four-wheeler. Bandit stuck her furry face between them, resting her snout on the console.
“We’ll have an opening prayer in the basement.” Darryl stared straight ahead at the dirt road, wearing the customary sunglasses everyone seemed to wear around here. “Once Mass’s finished, there’ll be an official opening prayer by Father Bennie and Basil to kickstart the workshop. Then they’ll serve breakfast.”
Darryl turned the truck onto Church Road, according to the sign.
Hopefully they’d serve more coffee. After the way Bridget had given herself to Adam last evening, she’d invaded his thoughts all night, keeping him wide awake until around four o’clock.
The truck rumbled down the road, generating a shitload of dust. Adam waved his hat about to keep the dirt from his eyes, kicking himself for not bringing his sunglasses. There were already lots of vehicles parked. About twenty people stood on the main lawn, holding signs.
“Just what I expected.” Darryl frowned. “Clayton’s family’s here.”
They had no choice but to park next to the line of small trees where the protesters stood, glaring.
Darryl switched off the engine. “Ignore them. Stare straight ahead.”
Adam got out of the truck. Bandit exited on Darryl’s side of the vehicle.
“Who’re you?” A man with long hair, wearing a feather in a small side braid, huffed over to them. His features were as angular as The Hawk’s. Sharp nose. Sharp chin. Sharp cheekbones. He was tall but on the skinny side.
“Keep walking,” Darryl murmured.
Bandit barked at the man.
“Who’re you?” the man asked again in a voice full of authority.
Adam bristled. Authority could shove itself up its ass.
The man marched around them and stood in their way, holding his sign. “You’re joining this traitor? It’s what he is. A traitor to his own kind.” He thrust his skinny finger at Darryl.
The familiar heat bubbled under Adam’s skin. Even after his anger management course, sharing circles, and twelve steps, the silent rage simmering inside him burned to burst through the surface and choke the skinny, arrogant shithead. Nobody got up in his face. Nobody.
Help me do this, Creator. Within seconds, Adam’s skin cooled, and so did his internal furnace. He walked around the man and kept staring at the basement door where Bridget worked down below, readying breakfast for Adam and the other participants.
He’d passed a big test. Damned straight nothing was goading Adam into losing his son or Bridget. Man, if he wasn’t on parole, he’d love to let the skeleton-looking fucker taste his knuckles.
Running shoes crunched on gravel. Darryl followed.
“Keep turning your backs on who you truly are,” the man said in a voice that resembled the hiss of a snake. “Join those who attempted to assimilate us into white culture. Go on. Be an apple.”
Apple? Some asswipe had always been tossing around that insult in the bars. White on the inside and red on the outside. Adam wasn’t an apple. He wasn’t... anything. Just a man who wanted to get his life back in order after fucking up the first thirty-seven years.
He trounced down the stairs that led into the basement. The tables formed what was supposed to resemble a circle but appeared more like a square. This was promising. Sharing happened in a circle.
Bridget stood at a side table, readying the coffee supplies.
Adam’s heart kicked into overdrive at the sight of the denim shorts hugging her sexy ass and providing a long look at her gorgeous legs she’d wrapped around him last night. For modesty’s sake, her shorts weren’t those skimpy cutoffs, but covered her thighs. A blue apron draped her tiny waist. The logo of the Catholic Women’s Association was emblazoned on the front.
“Unfortunately, you met Clayton.” Darryl sidled up beside Adam.
“Is that who that was?” Adam forced his focus to leave B
ridget’s beauty and stare at Darryl. “The wind could give him a beatdown.”
“Yeah. It could.” Darryl snickered. “C’mon, let’s find a seat. The other participants are upstairs celebrating Mass.”
Adam plopped down beside Darryl at a spot affording him a full view of Bridget coming and going from the kitchen. She wouldn’t glance his way. He sat taller in his chair.
“I wonder if she did that web cam, video chat, or whatever it’s called with Kyle.”
“Probably. We have a laptop. Did you want to use it to video chat?” Darryl asked.
“Nope. The Hawk vetoed my request. It’s in violation of the supervised visits.”
“That’s too bad. The goal of Children and Family Services is to reconnect families. It’s what our child care worker does here on the reserve.” Darryl motioned at an old man stuffing tobacco into a pipe. “Basil. He’s the elder for the Traditionalists Society.”
“Traditionalists Society?”
“Yeah. My aunt and a few others started the Society about ten years ago to help the community reconnect with their roots.”
“You’re a member?”
Darryl nodded. “Okay. I gotta help the old man.”
Adam sat back in the chair. He should have brought his hand drum up to the reserve. But he’d been worried about losing his most precious gift from the elder who’d given him the sacred item.
His first goal while here was to stay focused on the workshop—not to stare at Bridget sashaying about in her sexy outfit.
* * * *
Bridget wiped her hands on a dishcloth. Safely back in the kitchen and behind the closed shutters to give the participants privacy, she could still visualize Adam. He was too big and too masculine for his presence to go unnoticed.
Her job was to serve at the main banquet table. Mom and the other women fried up sausages, bacon, and ham. Another worked on the scrambled eggs. Jenny buttered toast.
Basil’s singing carried into the kitchen.
For ten minutes, Bridget gripped and re-gripped the tray. Then the kitchen door opened.
Redeemed Page 20
