Darryl poked his head inside. “We’re done. They’re just finishing upstairs, too.”
“Okay.” Bridget forced a smile for her brother-in-law’s sake. “Thank you. We’re almost done in here. I’ll begin serving.”
She set the first stack of food on the tray and carried the goodies out to the banquet table. Earlier, she’d set out the cutlery and condiments.
The people who’d attended Mass filed downstairs.
Bridget snuck a peek and caught Adam’s intent stare. He dropped his gaze to his hands. She whipped her attention to the meal she was supposed to serve. He was here to heal. Focus. Focus.
She launched into assisting everyone, but her vision kept blurring, hands shaking. When Bridget dropped a sausage from the prongs she held, the scream of frustration threatened to leave her mouth.
“No worries,” Roy said with a wink. “A lil bit of dirt didn’t hurt me as a kid, and it sure won’t now.”
“Thanks.” Heat crept onto Bridget’s cheeks.
“I won’t say anything to your Mom or Dad.” Roy kept grinning. “You always do a beautiful job.”
This time the heat came from bashfulness. “You’re the best.” And Roy was—a great friend of Mom and Dad’s.
Adam stepped up, holding his plate.
Bridget’s nervousness drew the gooseflesh beneath her skin to the surface. She forced a welcoming smile.
His nod was slow. “Bacon, ham, and sausage.”
He’d always had a healthy appetite, since he had so many muscles to fuel. Bridget tightened her grip on the prongs and gingerly set each request on his plate.
“Looks good.” He picked up the sausage and bit into it with the same enthusiasm he’d lavished on her last night. “Yep. Delicious.”
“I didn’t cook. The other women did.” Bridget plastered on her most professional work voice and composure.
“It’s still good.” Adam’s lips tugged at the corners, and he moved along the line.
Darryl grinned a you-can’t-fool-me smile.
“Here.” The bacon Bridget shucked onto her brother-in-law’s plate was a splattered mess.
“Uh, I think I’ll serve myself,” Emery murmured, biting his lip to hide his smile.
“Yes, you should.” Bridget kicked herself for snapping, but the two lovebirds could take their knowing looks elsewhere.
Once everyone was served, Bridget searched out Adam, who was seated with Emery and Darryl. The three of them laughed, talking about something. The perennial hard line of Adam’s mouth had softened to a big smile, big enough to twinkle his eyes and flush his dark-brown skin. He’d cupped his hands together, leaning in for the conversation.
Maybe last night was meant to be. Maybe a man could change, a man as dangerous as Adam. Perhaps there was a good chance that not only Adam would heal this week, maybe Bridget might, too.
Chapter Twenty-four: One Track Mind
Holding a cup of coffee, Adam exited the church basement through the back door. His butt was a bit numb from sitting for two hours. The trainers had gone over the agenda and objectives for the workshop.
The part about confronting his parents using an empty chair still left his muscles tense. Yelling at nobody was about the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. Therapists and their dumb-ass ideas. He had the twelve steps. Additional therapy seemed pointless.
He’d lost a day seeing his boy for a useless chair and other half-baked suggestions. Aww, crap. He was being a dick. Open mind. Open mind. If the old-timers from the twelve-step program were here, they’d tell Adam to pull his attitude together.
The graveyard, a few feet away, stretched to the lake’s south side and to a ditch on the east. He set his paper coffee cup on the wooden fence and lit a cigarette.
“I knew it was you. Brick, what the hell are you doing here?” a woman with a husky voice called out.
An icicle formed along Adam’s spine. Nobody but his old gang and the women crazy enough to associate with them had called him by that name. He slowly turned. Huh? Who the hell was this broad?
“It’s me. Raven. Raven Kabatay. I used to live with one of your friends. Sully.”
This was Raven? The last time Adam had seen her was during his four-month bender in the ‘Peg, and she’d been a hell of a lot skinnier and a hell of a lot older-looking. Smacked out. Wearing last month’s clothes and last month’s everything. Hidden beneath her former addiction was a sleek, tall woman with cheekbones sharper than a shank, legs to her neck, perfect bronzed skin, and long, black hair.
“Don’t use that name anymore.”
“Gotcha... Adam.”
“Guess you’re not with Sully anymore, hey?”
“Don’t feel bad.” Raven’s laugh matched her husky tone. “Everyone who sees me never recognizes me. I’ve been clean for a year now.”
“Really?” She’d been a hopeless case, always crashing at flop houses. He’d stepped over Raven too many times when he’d checked the drug pads, one of his jobs for the gang.
“I ditched Sully when I went into rehab.” Raven moistened her ultra-red lips and inched in closer. She still had the slinky way of coiling around a man like a boa constrictor, ready to suck the breath from a guy.
Heck, he’d cut her a break. People changed. If Raven worked the twelve steps, she might not be a sly seductress anymore, using sex to con money and drugs from a guy.
“You did? Haven’t seen him... around.” Adam puffed on the cigarette.
“Heard you were out. A friend from the ‘Peg told me. How you been?” She rested her slim arm on the fence.
“Good. Guess you’re doing good, too, if you’re clean.” She had to be around thirty now, give or take a year, but could pass for twenty-five.
“Word is you’re clean, too. It’s really cool. I didn’t think I’d get out alive. I didn’t think any of us would. You’re attending this?” Raven pointed at the church.
“Yep.”
“My brother’s leading the protest against it.” She smiled a sincere smile, not her familiar something-in-the-works smile. “You hitting meetings while you’re here?”
“Didn’t know there were any.” Which was why Adam had brought along his books related to the twelve-step program.
“We have three meetings a week. I’m hoping to get more going. Some who’re recently recovered need to go every night. If you need a ride, I can get you.” There was nothing in Raven’s shining black eyes saying she was on the make or after something.
Still, she was part of the protest, and an enemy of the Matawapit family—the woman Adam loved and who cared for his child. “S’okay. I got a ride.”
“Are you staying at the Matawapits?”
“Nope.”
Raven gave another seductive laugh, the huskiness coating Adam’s skin. “Still the same. You were never a man of many words. Like I said, I have no ties to the old gang anymore. I’ve been living up here since last summer, after I got outta rehab.”
Adam nodded.
“I’m guessing you’re staying at Emery’s and Darryl’s then. I heard about you and the deacon’s daughter. Word gets around.”
He flicked away his cigarette butt. “I’ll be at the meeting. Where’s it at?”
“The recovery building. Eight o’clock. Where the NNADAP worker is based out of.”
“The what?”
“Oh yeah, you don’t do rez speak.” Raven laughed again. “NNADAP stands for the National Native Alcohol and Drug Abuse Program. All reserves have a NNADAP worker. John Morrison’s ours. He’s been sober longer than Bill W.”
They both chuckled, because sober longer than Bill W. meant John had long-term sobriety.
“That long?”
“I’d say about forty years. He’s a good guy. He was the one who got me into rehab. Clayton came and got me when I called him while I was in the ‘Peg. He brought me to detox. After detox, I came up here, and John did all of the paperwork.”
“Clayton’s your brother? The guy leading the protest?”
>
Raven nodded.
“Won’t ask. I’m only here for the workshop.”
“Got a dart for me? Mom has my purse.”
Adam withdrew a smoke and handed the cigarette to Raven. He also withdrew his lighter.
She leaned in to light her cigarette. “Thanks.” She puffed a few times. “The workshop’s about healing. They figure the Christian and Anishinaabe communities should reconcile. They hold these all over Canada on other reserves. Personally, I’m against them. What they did to us is unforgivable.”
Adam wouldn’t take her inventory, judging someone in the recovery program. If Raven wanted to remain bitter at the church and government, that was her problem. He shrugged.
“You don’t agree, do you? The schools are responsible for what’s happening right now. If not for those schools, we wouldn’t have the gangs or drug problems.”
“That’s for each person to decide. Not out to save the world. Just my own ass.”
“What about the other alcoholics and addicts?” Her sleek eyebrows narrowed.
“If I can help them by sharing my story, I’m there. But I’m not getting involved in that other stuff. Not my fight.”
“It’s all of our fight.” When Raven stood straighter, her prominent collarbones pushed against her skin. “What the government and those schools did to us almost destroyed our people.”
“Yeah. Almost. They haven’t wiped us out yet. From the way things stand now, we’re doing a good job without any help.”
“Us?” Raven gasped. “You were an enforcer.”
“Hey, who said I excluded myself? I know what I did. Take responsibility for it, too. Is anyone else taking responsibility for what they’re doing? Gang-banging? Killing? Fighting? Using? Drinking? Pimping? Whoring?”
“I take responsibility for what I did. Yeah, nobody held a gun to my head, but those schools and the government had a lot to do with what happened to me. My mom attended one. So did my aunts and uncles.”
“I get it. I do. Thing is, we can do something about our lives.”
“You don’t want to understand. I thought you would.” Raven’s slim shoulders sagged.
Adam had been so intent on their conversation, he finally noticed Bridget beneath the car port. She turned and headed back inside. Great. She’d probably wanted to talk. Thanks to Raven, he’d missed his chance. “I gotta go. I’ll be at the meeting tonight.”
“Eight. The Recovery Center.”
“I’ll be there.” Adam stalked away. He’d catch Bridget before she disappeared into the kitchen.
* * * *
Bridget darted inside, pulse still thickly thundering in her throat. Jealousy’s bitterness crept into her mouth, its taste tart enough to compel a glass of water to wipe away the overpowering essence strong enough to sour her stomach.
She dashed to the table where a pitcher was kept for the participants. When she swallowed the ice-cold liquid, the rank taste in her mouth vanished, but jealousy’s horrendous green flame kept pounding through her veins.
“Saw you outside. Wanted to thank you for the breakfast. It was good.” Adam’s deep voice invaded Bridget’s ears.
She gripped the paper cup. “Everyone is to thank. Lots of women helped.”
He frowned and set his hand on the table, leaning in close enough for her to catch a whiff of the waterfall-scented soap he’d used to wash this morning. “What’s going on, kwe? I know when you’re pissed.”
“I’m not pissed.” She made sure to keep her voice even.
“You are. That broad out there. An old buddy’s ol’ lady. She recognized me and invited me to attend a twelve-step meeting.” His jawline stiffened. “You really think I’d be on the make after what we did last night?”
Bridget stepped back, chin out. “I didn’t think anything of your chat with Raven.”
“You did, too.” Adam’s words hissed through his teeth. He inched in closer. “Man, I can’t believe you. I told you you’re the only Anishinaabe-kwe for me. You were the one who went off on a date.”
The jealousy evaporated. Just as she was about to apologize, Dad marched over. The doused heat reappeared in Bridget’s chest.
“What is it?” she said to him.
Dad motioned at the kitchen. His dark eyes were colder than black stones. “We’re about to reconvene. Your mother needs you.”
Now Bridget understood how Emery had felt in July when Dad had tried to take charge. For Adam’s sake, not Dad’s, she’d go to the kitchen.
“You’ll do fine.” She patted Adam’s hand that remained on the table. “Your son’s rooting for you. He wants to hear all about the workshop when you get back.”
Adam’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll be sure to tell him.” He wandered to his spot at the tables.
Bridget turned and tramped to the back door before Dad dared to lecture. The workshop participants didn’t need to witness a fight. It was apparent her parents still disapproved of Adam.
A moment outside to cool down should help. She dashed up the stairs and walked out to a warm autumn breeze. Raven remained beside the graveyard fence. She swiveled on her heel, nodding at Bridget.
Great. Bridget didn’t need to engage in a battle of words with a woman who was part of the protest. “Hello.”
Raven sauntered over, slim hips rocking and long legs gliding one in front of the other. “Hi. Bridget. Right? We never met. Well, we’ve met. But you get what I mean. I’m Raven.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Bridget held out her hand.
Their palms and fingers connected. Cold. Clammy. As icy as they felt about one another.
Bridget wouldn’t size Raven up any longer. To do so meant she viewed the other woman as a threat. Still, Raven had been a part of Adam’s past. Not as a lover. But Raven probably knew more about him than Bridget did. Bristles stiffer than a brush pricked her skin.
“How’s the workshop going?” Raven’s red mouth remained in a straight line.
“You’re welcome to participate and find out for yourself, if you want to.” Bridget used a welcoming voice as she motioned at the door.
“I already told Adam I won’t step foot inside a place that attempted to wipe out my people. If your family had any loyalty, you wouldn’t either. But maybe you have a reason to be there. You’re not a full-blooded Anishinaabe-kwe. Only half. Have a nice day.” Raven flung back her hair and sauntered off to where the other protesters stood.
If Raven wanted to believe she was a traditional Ojibway, the bitch could keep lying to herself by not honoring respect, one of the Seven Grandfathers teachings.
Bridget trounced back inside. Adam would attend a twelve-step meeting with Raven present. A cunning witch like that had intentions of turning Adam against the workshop—that must be why she’d sought him out.
If Raven dared to interfere, she’d learn Bridget wasn’t the kind of woman who backed away. Kyle came first. Her foster child didn’t need some hateful witch ruining his dad’s chance at healing.
* * * *
As Adam headed for the trail where he could sit on the rock and enjoy the last of the lunch hour, he was in full view of the protesters. The morning hadn’t gone too bad. There’d been a history lesson on the Indian Residential Schools given by a band councilor named Roy Morrison, who’d attended one and also served as chairman for the pastoral council.
“You don’t gotta let that family influence you,” Clayton called out from where he stood, holding his sign. “You can still join us.”
Didn’t that loudmouth ever give his lungs a rest? Adam shook his head and tramped down the path.
This morning’s lesson had given him a lot to think about. He sure as shit wouldn’t let anyone force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Maybe this was why he hated authority. His parents had given the cops attitude, the child care workers attitude, and anyone else who’d tried to interfere in their lives.
After being told who to worship, where to sleep, what language to speak, what to wear, being beaten and
molested by powerful people, no wonder his parents had left the school full of rage and rebellion. No wonder they’d drank. No wonder they’d introduced Adam to a life of dysfunction.
The Indian Residential School was trapped in their blood. They’d passed on their hate, defiance, and anger to Adam and his sisters. And his sisters were passing on what they’d learned to their children.
Adam sat on the big rock. No way was his boy going to join a gang, do hard time, or waste his life drinking.
The grass rustled. If the person was Clayton or Raven, they’d get an earful. Adam had come here to sort out his scrambled brain. He lit a cigarette.
His breath jumped at Bridget’s graceful scent, dainty painted toes and nails, and long hair pinned into a messy bun on top of her head. He saw lots of women with that style. Yanked up with an elastic and the ends tucked underneath while the rest was left fluffy and cute.
“Well? How’d your morning go?” Bridget sat on the rock. She held out a cup of iced tea and kept the other for herself.
“Lots to digest.” Adam took the drink.
“I heard Roy’s presentation in the kitchen. We’re going to have to stuff cotton in our ears so you can have some privacy.”
“It don’t matter if you hear us.” Adam shrugged. “It’s not like the protesters can hear everything.”
“Well, the women voted. Mom and I are staying for the afternoon to keep the refreshments going. Once the ladies clean up, they’re heading out so you have privacy.”
“Thanks.” Adam was grateful, although he’d never asked any questions or really participated yet. “We need to talk. There’s a meeting tonight. Maybe tomorrow night?”
When Bridget wet her lips, he tried not to groan at her pink tongue he’d savaged last evening.
“Tomorrow’s fine. Try to remember...” She tapped her nails against her bare knee. “The workshop must come first. I fully support what you’re doing.”
A change of heart? Maybe Adam was worried for nothing. She’d come to him again. Last evening did mean as much to her as it did to him.
Redeemed Page 21
