Sanctified

by Maggie Blackbird

  “Okay, I’ll let it pass. What would you like?” She pushed the menu in front of him and withdrew an order pad from her apron.

  Jude’s pupils deepened, smothering his irises, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He set the tip of his finger against his mouth.

  The breath caught in Raven’s throat. The word seemed to dangle in the air—you. His potent look was twisting her into a pile of goo, ready to melt all over the floor.

  He leaned in over the counter slightly. “What do you recommend? You’ve been at this longer than I have.” His lips tugged upward.

  If Raven’s heart pounded any faster, she’d have to jump into the snowbank to cool off. She flipped over the menu. “The bagels are fresh. Cookie came in early and made them.”

  Bad Raven! Why’d she skitter under the bed to hide? No, she wasn’t afraid. No man scared her. She scared men.

  “Fresh? Anything else fresh?” Jude kept smiling. Not a friendly smile. Coy. Frisky. Daring.

  Raven’s throat dried. Screw the snowbank. Water. Where was a pitcher of water?

  “Hey, hey, hey. Order up.” Cookie banged the bell.

  Cheesy, yes. But the bell had saved Raven. With all the courage she could muster, and in her smokiest voice, she choked out, “Take a good look around. You’ll see for yourself what’s fresh.”

  She set the coffee pot on the burner, scooped the order off the stainless-steel counter Cookie used to set orders on from the kitchen window, and dashed off to deliver two Hunter’s Specials to Mick and Moe—like a pathetic coward, instead of a flirty seductress.

  * * * *

  The grin reverberated in Jude’s chest. He couldn’t resist and turned in his seat as Raven headed off with the two plates, her hips tilting side to side, giving him a great view of her heart-shaped ass.

  What a wiggle. She’d had to have rehearsed that kind of move to make her sassy walk become a natural part of her. Subtle lift of the shoulders. Suggestive elongation of her back. Hadn’t Marilyn Monroe intentionally va-va-voomed men into submission using coy body language?

  Maybe this was why he preferred old-school movies and the women of the past—Liz Taylor, Sophia Loren, Marilyn. They used their body to talk to men. No need to run around half naked. Sex was in their voices, in the seductive tilt of their heads, in the way they smacked their lips at a man, in their husky or sweet girlie voices, in the way they traced their finger along a rim of a glass.

  He fixed his coffee and stirred it. Raven returned to the counter. Her false eyelashes weren’t over the top, either, like the creepy spider look Hollywood starlets mirrored. Just the right amount of length and fullness to enhance the natural tilt to her eyes. Or maybe her sharp cheekbones were responsible? The slant of her brows and sleek nose drew her angular features upward.

  “How long’s your break?”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Jude sipped the coffee, a fresh-tasting brew that warmed his chilled insides, although Raven was also partly responsible for the additional heat.

  The diner door banged open, ushering in a helping of cold air. Jude shivered. The dance in Raven’s dark eyes became two left feet trying to find a rhythm to the beat.

  “What’s the special, sis?” Clayton hefted up to the counter, chest puffed and chin up.

  “Steak and eggs with shore lunch pan fries.”

  “Shore lunch?” Clayton produced his usual sly grin. “Mushrooms and green onions?”

  “Yep.” Raven’s natural husky voice fell flatter than a bad music note.

  “I never had the chance to welcome you, Matawapit. How you enjoying the rez so far?” Not a hint of sincerity lurked in Clayton’s greeting.

  “I’m enjoying it.” Jude wasn’t about to force a smile, or force anything, not after what Clayton had done to Mom, Dad, Emery, and the parish laity two summers ago, or the protest Clayton had held outside the Healing the Spirit workshop the following fall.

  “Guess we’ll see if you like it enough to stay, hey?” Clayton plopped on the other stool.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Jude continued to gaze at Raven, whose usual warm lips had caved downward.

  “That you are. My portfolio on band council is recreation. Maybe after the election, I’ll take on education?” Clayton motioned at his mug. “The special and a cup of coffee. We need to talk.”

  “Lemme put in your order.” Raven’s strained smile never met her eyes.

  “Go on ahead.” Clayton made a shooing gesture at the swinging kitchen doors.

  Raven vanished behind them.

  “Darryl running for chief?” Clayton rudely reached in front of Jude for the creamers and sugar packets.

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “‘Cause I’m asking you.”

  “I’m the school’s principal, not the reserve’s newspaper reporter.” If Clayton wanted to be rude, Jude could dish out a serving, too.

  Clayton snickered. “Easy. Just asking. Don’t get bent out of shape.”

  “Do I look like I’m bent out of shape?” Jude glanced down at his straight torso. “Everything seems fine to me. No zigzags going on here.”

  “Good. You’re good.” Another snicker erupted from Clayton’s thin mouth. “How’re you enjoying the job? I’m asking as a band councilor.”

  “A band councilor? You said your portfolio’s recreation. And I’m accountable to the education board. Now if you want to ask as a band member of Ottertail Lake, I’m spending my time going through the files and familiarizing myself with the policies and procedures.”

  “Heard so. Evie mentioned you called a staff meeting.”

  Evie was the Anishinaabemowin teacher. “Yes, I did.” If Clayton wanted to ask more questions, he could make an appointment. Jude shoved away his coffee. “Break’s over. Gotta jet.”

  “That was quick.”

  “I’m on a fifteen-minute break.”

  “You’d better set your clock to Indian time. Nobody expects you back on the dot. Acclimatize yourself to the reserve.”

  “I am.” Jude stood. He withdrew five dollars from his wallet and slid the bill beneath his mug. Clayton had better not steal the leftover change that was Raven’s tip. “See ya.”

  Jude threw on his parka and left, anger simmering in his gut, something he hadn’t experienced since he’d left Thunder Bay behind.

  * * * *

  Now that Jude was gone, Raven forced herself to step from the kitchen. This wasn’t good. She loved when her brother visited the diner before heading for the band office. But the way Clayton had slid beneath Jude’s nails like splinters off an old board had knotted her stomach.

  She shouldn’t care Clayton had tried to get a rise out of Jude—a man who practiced the Catholic way and had bought into Western indoctrination. If only her pinched chest would listen. And her overworked libido.

  She pushed on the swinging doors. “I’m going to make a fresh pot. Did you want more?”

  “Let me finish this first.” Clayton sipped on his coffee.

  “Okay. I’m going to make some new stuff for Mick and Moe. I think Shirley and Adrianne want more, too.”

  “They probably do. It’s colder than a moose’s ass out there.”

  Raven added a packet of coffee to the filter.

  “We have to meet about the campaign. Nominations open in two weeks.”

  Dread creeped up Raven’s spine. She couldn’t let her clit do the thinking. Establishing herself as more than the fuck-up little sister who needed saving eight times a day was done. The community had begun to show respect. She wasn’t a man-crazy, drug-chasing, using bitch anymore. Even the young girls whom she’d helped when she’d been a part of the Traditionalists Society had started to look up to her.

  “When did you want to meet?” She added water to the coffee machine.

  “Right away. I know Darryl’s running.”

  “Did Jude say so?” Raven pivoted on her shoe. From what she’d overheard, Jude had told Clayton to man
up and ask Darryl himself.

  “Nope. But he is. He’s not saying anything yet. And I know who’ll nominate him.”

  “Who?”

  “It won’t be any ol’ body. He’ll get Jude.”

  “Jude?” But he’d only just moved here. Why would he involve himself in reserve politics? He was all about education and the church.

  “I can’t see it. I can see Roy. Roy’s a die-hard Catholic.” Raven couldn’t believe Roy had once been devoted to his culture and a huge champion of the Traditionalists Society, but well over five years ago, he’d turned traitor and joined Team Matawapit.

  “Roy won’t, because he’s running for band council again.” Clayton sipped more coffee.

  “Did he say so?”

  “Nope. But he will. He’s been a shoo-in for the last twenty years.”

  “What about Emery?”

  Clayton almost spit out his coffee. His body shook. “Him? Emery doesn’t have the balls for politics. I know saints who’re eviler than that guy. And he’s Darryl’s ol’ man. Better for it to be someone else, and it’s gonna be the brother-in-law.”

  Raven’s pulse points ceased to operate for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” Clayton peered.

  “N-nothing.”

  “You sure? You folded your lips.”

  She swiped up a dishcloth. “I’m thinking about a lesson that’s due, and it’s kicking my butt. I hate math.”

  “One thing I need you to do.” Clayton hunched over the counter.

  Raven leaned in, placing her forearms on the smooth surface she’d cleaned a half an hour ago. “What?”

  “Find out what you can about Darryl.”

  “Darryl?” Raven whispered. “What about him?”

  “There’s gotta be some dirt on him.” Clayton fingered the handle on the mug. “He was away for ten years. Schooling and work.”

  Darryl had resided in Winnipeg for a decade, but they’d traveled in different circles. He sure hadn’t been skidding in the North End, like she’d been.

  Before she’d gone full steam with recovery, fighting dirty had been her mantra. The twelve-step program had taught her to play fair and accept life on life’s terms. But she needed her family’s trust. Their respect. Their admiration. Most of all she needed the diner.

  Chapter Six: Crazy Talk

  Again, the cold spell had kept the other students away, who’d never bothered to inform Jude they wouldn’t be present at class tonight. He glanced at the clock. Two minutes to seven.

  From inside the classroom, the echo of a door opening and closing carried to where Jude sat behind the desk. His heart ramped up a couple of clicks per hour.

  He snatched his pen and tossed open a student folder.

  Footsteps carried into the classroom.

  Jude glanced up to Raven sashaying to her desk.

  “How’d you do on your lessons?” Perfect. His voice didn’t hint at the apple caught in his throat from the sight of her lithe body poured into the snug parka.

  “I finished them all except for math. Math’s always kicked my ass.” Raven swept the parka over her chair as if she was laying a blanket on the ground for a picnic. “Once this requirement is out of the way, I’m never looking at math again.”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Jude stood. His chest puffed. Down, boy. He was her teacher and sincerely wanted to help, not ride to the rescue on his horse. Well, being Ojibway, it’d be paddle to her rescue in his canoe. “Let’s have a look.”

  “Are you always gonna teach adult ed.?” She flipped open her textbook and notebook.

  “We don’t have the funds to hire an extra teacher.” Jude pulled over one of the student desks closer to Raven’s. The scent of her soap tingled under his nose. No perfume, even though she dug makeup and styling her hair. He should’ve noticed her lack of a strong scent.

  “You completed quadratic equations. Why’re you finding analytic geometry difficult?”

  “Why do you even care?” Raven sank in the chair and folded her arms.

  Jude hadn’t expected frustration. “You really hate math?”

  “Yes.” She stared at him, her lower lip protruding. “I hate it. But I have to... I have to learn it.”

  “Is this why you left high school? I reviewed your file. When you left at sixteen, you were still trying to acquire grade nine math. According to Mr. Dewey’s notes, he coached you last year and you received your credit.”

  Jude leaned in closer, since Raven was glaring straight ahead. He rested his hand on her notebook. “All you need is this one credit to finish grade ten. You’re already on to grade eleven subjects in the other courses. You’re not going to let this hold you back, are you?”

  “You don’t get it.” Raven blew a puff of breath from the side of her mouth. “I’m not good at math. It goes over my head, no matter how it’s explained to me.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think. You passed grade nine.”

  “I think Mr. Dewey gave up and passed me so he wouldn’t have to stay late after each class. I managed a D.”

  “A D is better than an F, isn’t it?” She was smart—smart enough to kick drugs, smart enough to find a way to get out of gangbanging and the streets.

  “Why do I need to know analytic geometry anyway?” She shrugged.

  “It’s the curriculum and what the government requires.”

  “Yeah... the government, again telling us what we can and can’t do.” She turned in his direction, their knees almost skimming.

  Their faces were inches apart. Her light breaths for air were a heartbeat against Jude’s ears. Close enough to see how flawless her makeup application was. Close enough to almost touch the rich black lashes she’d pasted to her eyelids. Close enough to smell her frustration.

  “Why your grade twelve?” He did his best to soften his voice.

  “It’s something I need to do.”

  “Many try for their general equivalency diploma.”

  “I don’t want the good enough diploma.” Annoyance crept into her eyes. “I need my grade twelve. I... I have to know this stuff. That’s all.”

  “I see... You do know GED is acceptable.”

  “I said I don’t want the good enough diploma.”

  “And I asked why grade ten math is important to you.”

  Her throat bobbed. A long, sleek neck made for tender kisses and gentle nibbles. “It just is.”

  “It’d help if you told me why. I’m trained to offer guidance to students.” Again, he did his best to keep his voice soft. Too bad he didn’t have Emery’s coaxing tone that would’ve cajoled Hitler into curling up like a kitten.

  But maybe Jude didn’t need his little brother’s fingers-skimming-a-person’s-hair voice, because the annoyance in Raven’s eyes vanished.

  She folded her lips, still staring. “I—I w-want to prove I can finish my diploma.”

  “Prove to whom?”

  Her legs slithered back beneath the desk. “You have my file. I split for the ‘Peg. I... I didn’t think I... uh, I needed my culture.” Her eyes moved back and forth. She blinked a few times. “It, y’know, seemed dumb to me at the time. I didn’t want to be an Indian. I wanted to be me.”

  “What’s wrong with being Ojibway?” Jude hadn’t thought about his race up until two years ago. He’d been so immersed in Catholicism, his life spent amongst other educators, golfing with buddies from church, his culture had been miles away. Perhaps he should ask himself the same question.

  “Nothing.” She faced him, shrugging. Her eyes ceased moving back and forth. And the blinking had stopped. “My cousin lived in Winnipeg, so I got a job waitressing and moved in with her. She was... quite the party girl. She showed me the bar scene.”

  “Hey, everyone in Manitoba who turns the big one-eight thinks about the bar. You don’t think I wanted to check out the bar when I turned nineteen?” Jude made sure to add a sweet amount of teasing to his words. He winked. “
How’d you think I celebrated the big one-nine?”

  “But you had boundaries, didn’t you?” Raven rested her elbow on the desk and snuggled her temple against her knuckles.

  Jude set his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “Yeah, I did.”

  “I bet you had a nice girlfriend to keep you in line.”

  Warmth rose to Jude’s cheekbones.

  “I bet she was the blue-eyed blonde girl-next-door all guys dream about marrying.” A tinge of disgust lingered on Raven’s wistful words.

  A thundercloud of anger smothered Jude’s gut.

  “Did I hit a sore spot? That’s quite a scowl. I even see a vein sticking out on your forehead.”

  If she was being honest, so would Jude. “Maybe... but we’re talking about you.”

  “Not until you tell me why your vein is sticking out.”

  Ah, stubborn, too. Jude should have guessed as much. “You’re right. I married the blue-eyed blonde girl next door.”

  “You divorced her, from what the moccasin telegraph said. Why? I heard... rumors.”

  “We hit a rough patch. Something I ignored. She didn’t ignore it. She...” Grit sanded Jude’s tongue. “She found someone else.”

  “I see. Gave up. I thought as much. You don’t seem like the type who gives up when the going gets tough.”

  “I don’t. But sticking your head in the sand doesn’t help, either.” At least he could admit that much about what he’d done wrong.

  “You didn’t stick your head in the sand. You acted like a typical man who needed his butt kicked back into the game. Why didn’t she kick your butt?”

  “Maybe she tried to, and I didn’t notice.” No, Jude couldn’t recall a kick to his ass, or a smack. They’d both simply... gone their own ways. Perfunctory morning talk over coffee. Perfunctory chit-chat at the dining table. Perfunctory sex.

  But Raven, she was the kind of woman who refused to be ignored. She would’ve caused a scene at church, of all places, to get her point across.

  “What?”

  Jude peered. “What do you mean?”