LaRose

You Go

JOSETTE AND SNOW wanted to give Hollis a big three-cake graduation party. For that, they decided that they needed a yard and a flower garden. Josette’s English teacher said that she could have the classroom geraniums. Carmine geraniums. Today, Josette transplanted the classroom flowers and scattered the seeds of the marigolds, which Hollis had plucked last fall and saved for her. She also threw grass seed onto the pounded-dirt volleyball court. Snow had bought a hose for the outdoor spigot and she tried to water, but the seeds just swirled around in clumps.

I think you have to open up the dirt, said Coochy, looking at the whole thing critically.

We’re hunter-gatherers by nature, said Josette. Farming’s not our tradition.

Wrong, said Snow. Historically, we grew potatoes, beans, pumpkins. We had our own seeds and stuff. Invented corn.

We called it maize, said Josette, significantly. She paused. So we lost our traditions, then.

Just our family did, said Coochy. Lots of Indians have gardens. Grandma even had a garden. It was over there.

A verdant patch of weeds blew in the wind. Maybe there were flowers, but the girls didn’t know what leaves to look for. They eyed the bare dirt mournfully.

Maybe we can bring out rugs.

No, said Josette. I want a lawn. God damn it. I’m going over and talk to Maggie. Her mom’s got lawn magic. The least we could get is a lawn, right?

Dad and Mom know how to make a lawn, said Coochy.

They don’t have time. Or the inclination, said Josette, a little pompously. She was always like that with Coochy, showing off her words, her understanding. He was her little brother, so she went on lecturing him.

It just isn’t a priority for them. However, if we’re giving an out-and-out celebratory barbecue for Hollis, we can’t be mingling on a bare dirt volleyball court.

I getcha, said Coochy, watching her stride off on her strong, short legs.

Good-bye, Professor Headupyourass, he called.

Josette went the long way, the mile down the highway, and turned down the Raviches’ drive. The dog barked three times, then recognized Josette, and came to meet her, head down, butt wagging. Maggie was there with LaRose. They were out on the grass, crouching over with tools. When they saw Josette, they threw down the tools. LaRose ran to her.

Hey, said Josette.

She had never really visited, just picked up LaRose.

Come on, said Maggie, trying to cram down a smile. Let’s go inside, get ice cream.

Actually, I wanted to ask your mom how to make a lawn.

They’re gone to town. C’mon, we’re hungry.

Josette followed them into the house. She’d never been past the front door. She looked all around, at the tan carpet, tan couch, at the brown and golden throw pillows, plumped and lined up.

This is where LaRose lives his other life, she thought.

There were old, polished, antiquey things. Heavy milk white pitchers. Carved wooden clocks and picture frames. In one of the pictures, LaRose and Maggie sat in front of Peter and Nola. They were dressed up and smiling — not stiffly but naturally, as though they had always been together. Josette passed her hand over a shining end table. Every piece of furniture was bare on top, or maybe had one decorative item on its surface. A glass horse. A series of dull green ceramic boxes, various sizes. The bookshelf had a few books arranged by what, color? All were stacked and aligned with exacting precision. The dining room table was bare. Not even a doily. The kitchen counters didn’t have random bottles of medicine or bread bags or tools spread across them. Everything was contained in cabinets. Maggie opened a cabinet door, to get cones. Josette saw clear storage jars containing various shapes of pasta. At first the house was like a movie set. An ad in a magazine. Then it began to weigh on her. Maggie took a box of ice cream out of the freezer drawer of the refrigerator. Josette peered over her shoulder and saw that freezer bags of vegetables were stacked and labeled. Maggie made cones of blackberry swirl ice cream, gave one to LaRose. She refolded the tabs on the box, replaced it. Then she rinsed the scoop and put it into the dishwasher. Josette was holding two ice cream cones, standing in the kitchen, when she began feeling weird.

Can we go back outside?

They went out the sliding glass back door, sat on deck chairs. Down on the grass Josette saw a pile of wilting dandelions, and that the tools had forked metal ends.

What were you doing?

We have to get a hundred dandelions every day, said LaRose.

Not every day, said Maggie.

Seems like it, said LaRose.

How many do you have? Josette felt slow-witted. The concept threw her.

Oh, we have seventy-eight already, said Maggie.

Then what do you guys do?

She shrugged. I dunno. Throw ’em in the big weed pile behind the barn. Then more grow on the lawn. Some people poison them but Mom lets the chickens out here. Can we come over to you guys’ house?

I like this flavor, said Josette. Won’t your folks be mad?

I can leave them a note, said Maggie.

Well, I still need to know how to make a lawn, said Josette. How do I make a lawn?

I don’t know, said Maggie. The lawn was always here.

Don’t make one, said LaRose. I’m not forking dandelions at two places.

Want to help us make a party? Graduation party for Hollis? I was thinking barbecue. That’s what the lawn is for.

Wish I could roll up this one, said Maggie. It never gets used.

Wish we could borrow it, said Josette.

She licked into the sugar cone, then ate the cone down to a tiny nib. The lawn was thick, green, soft-looking, like a blanket. Josette saw herself rolling it up piece by piece. She would carry the lawn over, light and airy, on her shoulder. She would spread it out behind the Iron house, take down the volleyball net, for a while at least. People would walk barefoot on the soft grass. There would be. . oh, paper lanterns. All colors — coral, yellow, sky blue. Tiny lights inside of them.

You should wait for your parents, she said to Maggie. Come over later. Thanks for the cone. I’ve got to go.

Maggie didn’t like it, but after Josette left she went to the yard with LaRose and stabbed the dandelions.

Why do people hate dandelions so much?

You always ask that, said Maggie.

You never have a good answer.

It’s because I honestly do not know, said Maggie.

Dandelions are cheerful, and they try so hard.

I know, said Maggie, sitting back on her heels.

Let’s go on strike.

Strike? You mean quit.

Yeah.

Maggie took her dandelion fork and his dandelion fork. She hefted them and threw them in the woods.

I think that’s a good idea, she said, dusting off her hands. Let’s go on strike!

Let’s stop being grown-ups, said LaRose.

Josette walked back along the highway, her mind blurring out the image of the carpety Ravich grass. There was plenty of grass beside her, in the ditches, the new grass growing out of the dead grass. She thought of her house, where she could put something down and pick it up later, where Mom always bugged everybody to straighten up but still the shelves held a spill of books and papers, an eagle fan on a rectangle of red cloth, abalone shells, sage, tobacco ties, red willow baskets, framed pictures, a bird’s nest, cedar, Disney figurines. Maybe it was too much. She walked down into the ditch, and then up to her scruffy gray house. She stopped. Surveyed her valiant little flowers. The classroom-toughened geraniums hadn’t died yet. There were white violets dug from the woods, Johnny-jump-ups from her grandmother’s flower box, some budding purple onion-smelling plant, chives. And the yard, oh well. Some weeds were growing in. She’d keep watering it. In the shed there was an old push mower. A gas-powered weed whacker. Dandelions were everywhere, and they were green, very green, and she’d let them grow until they touched leaves and grew together. She’d mow them too. Mow everything, she nodded, looking around the place and smiling. There would be splashes of color around the front door. It was the cake people came for, anyway, and she had that solidly covered. She and Snow were buying the cakes with their own money. One would be chocolate with white icing that said Happy Graduation, with a frosting diploma that said Hollis. The next would be yellow cake with chocolate icing that said the same. The third would say You Go! and the frosting would be desert camouflage.

Dessert camouflage, said Josette when they ordered the cakes. Get it?

Groan, said Snow.

Their mom was going to a meat locker in Hoopdance where she could get the right cuts for slow-cooker barbecue. Landreaux was sent around to borrow cookers from Ottie and Bap and random relatives. The frybread was coming from Grandma Peace. They would make the coleslaw, the potato salad, and Hollis said he’d get the ice and two big coolers. He’d get the sodas.

Don’t tell Dad, said Josette. And get some diet ones.

Hollis was in on the planning now. He’d found out about the party just the week before. One of his friends at school had told him he was coming.

To what?

To your party.

What party?

Oops. Shit. Was it a surprise, man?

I don’t know.

Along came Snow.

We were going to tell you!

Or maybe surprise you!

Josette said, We couldn’t decide. We kept arguing about what to do.

God, said Snow. I’m so glad you know.

We were sure Coochy would let on.

No, Hollis had said, dazzled. I didn’t know. A party.

Now he was in on the rest of the planning.

Should I, said Hollis. Can I. .

What?

Invite my dad.

Oh my god, of course, said Snow.

He’s already on the list, said Josette. We dropped off an invitation.

You guys made invitations?

Don’t choke up, Hollis.

For a moment, Josette was her real self. Smart-alecky. Then she remembered that she might be in love with Hollis. Her voice went softer, studiously casual.

Yeah, we ran them off on Mom’s school printer. They’re just, you know, basic.

No, they’re not, said Snow. She made them really elegant. She put all different fonts of lettering and RSVP and all of that.

Can I have one?

Sure, said Josette. You can check it out. I think I got everything right.

That’s not it, said Hollis. I want one so I can frame it. I’m going put it up on my wall. Wherever I have a wall, where I end up next.

He trailed off.

Oh, just stay, said Snow.

Josette looked into his thin face, tried to say yeah in a casual way, but her voice scratched out in her throat and she turned the sound into a cough. Why did this happen to her, always? This leaping joy? Then this sudden clutch? She tried to laugh it off but her laugh snagged in her nose, became an ugly snorting hack like a crabby old man’s. Could it get worse? Snow was looking at her with a get it together expression. Hollis was embarrassed for her, staring at the side of the yard. She took a deep breath. Dignity. Dignity please.

Sorry about that. Allergies. Of course you should stay.

Then she looked straight at Hollis again and all her heart came into her face. If he had not been so polite, trying to make like he didn’t notice her honk. If he had just turned back in time to see the look on her face. He would have known. He would have known in all certainty. Her love was pouring straight out of her eyes. But he was still staring at the yard when her expression froze, then neutralized. He was thinking, Maybe I can grow some grass there, in those bare spots. Maybe she would like that.

JOSETTE WANTED TO make a medallion using tiny, faceted beads, but so far she had only managed to bead a circle about the size of a dime. Snow was working on a pair of moccasins, and on a quilt, which she helped her grandmother sew in strips every so often just to see the quick progress of a thing. They had a soft cutting board, a razor-sharp cutting wheel, and a big plastic fabric guide. Making long strips of cloth with one razor swipe was satisfying. Mrs. Peace was sorting, as she did endlessly, through her tins of letters and papers. She was surprised to have received an extremely cordial answer from the historical society, which had changed names and venues through the years. The president had promised to look into the matter of the first LaRose.

Because of that law, said Snow. Museums have to give us back our sacred stuff, right? And our bodies. Native Graves and Repatriation. I did a report.

So macabre, said Josette, chasing the tiny beads around a jar cap with her needle. Snow didn’t even mark out the word as on the latest vocabulary quiz, because they always used interesting words now. They were known for it.

I want her back, murmured their grandmother. She can rest down the hill with her family. We’ll get LaRose her own lantern.

Oh no, I have to rip this out again.

Josette slumped over and rested her head on the table, beside the cigar box of beads.

How come I suck at this? What kind of Indian am I?

She sat up, threw down the circle of plastic and Pellon with the tiny circle of unevenly stitched beads.

Don’t do that, Snow said, retrieving it. You’ll lose the needle. Grandma will sit on it. Snow took her sister’s beadwork, plucked up beads with the end of the needle, and began quickly connecting them, adding circular rows of copper, gold, and green. Relieved, Josette watched the circle enlarge.

You’re so good at beading, she said comfortably. I like to watch you.

You picked hard beads to use, said Snow. Cut-glass 13s.

Josette touched her sister’s added circles.

So perfect. Makes me sick.

Snow wagged the circle toward her, and Josette flinched away.

Keep going! Please!

Snow took back the medallion, the size of a quarter now.

After she’d beaded a few more rows on, she glanced at Josette and asked who the medallion was for. Josette didn’t answer. The sewing machine whined as Mrs. Peace put her slippered foot to the pedal.

Dad? Coochy? LaRose?

Thanks so much, said Josette to her sister, holding out her hand. I’ll take it back now.

Oh, sweet! It must be a surprise for me. Snow held the medallion out of Josette’s reach. You’re such a good sister! Making me a present! Awww, ever cute. I don’t deserve this!

For sure you don’t, shouted Josette. Give it back!

Is it for Hollis?

Josette snatched the circle and pricked her finger. She began to bead again, then dropped the medallion and put her finger in her mouth.

See now? You made me bleed on it.

Ooooo. Old-time love medicine.

Bad medicine!

Mrs. Peace lifted her foot from the sewing pedal. She snapped her thread against the cutter.

You don’t drop woman’s blood on a man’s belonging, she said.

Mmmm. Snow wagged her eyebrows at Josette. Miigwech for sharing that wisdom, Nokomis.

So Grandma, said Josette, poking her needle laboriously in and out. I thought only moon blood could hurt a man’s things. But it’s all of the blood inside our womanly bodies?

Oh, what do I know. Mrs. Peace shrugged. I was a teacher in the whiteman schools. New tradition rules come up all the time. You’ll laugh. Sam says to Malvern that she should wear a skirt to ceremonies so the spirits know she is a woman. Okay, says Malvern, soon as you wear a diaper thing, a breechcloth, or keep your pecker out so that the spirits know you are a man. And while you’re at it, you men should go back to using bows and arrows and walk everywhere you go. These traditions? You’d have to ask Ignatia-iban, but she’s off in the spirit world.

Mrs. Peace said this with energy, and waved her arm at the window as though Ignatia were off on a vacation enjoying herself.

So, a medallion for Hollis, said Snow. Does that mean. .

We ever talked that way? No. But maybe I want to do something special for him. You got a problem with that?

Course not, said Snow. Here, let me help get that next color on.

Again, Josette surrendered her work and watched her older sister straighten out the beads and add more.

Can we put a movie on, Grandma?

You got one of those mechanical people movies?

We’re so psyched, said Snow. We found Terminator in the sale bin.

Mrs. Peace crowed. Make my day!

That’s Clint Eastwood, said Snow. He plays real guys. And he’s ancient.

Not to me. He’s just a pup.

You like Arnold, too.

Arnold’s in it? I’ll be back.

Yes!

They recited the lines and didn’t have to look up to watch it, although at key sections they glanced at the screen and meditatively drew their threads across the scored and crosshatched block of beeswax. The wax strengthened the thread.

Don’t forget to make a mistake, said Snow to Josette, you know, to let the spirit out.

Only the Creator is perfect, said Josette dutifully. You think bleeding on my beadwork is a mistake enough? Or that I got two rows out of place already?

Snow examined the medallion.

You’re covered with the Creator, she said, handing it back.

What a relief. Josette put her two fingers up. Me and Gizhe Manidoo. We’re like this again.

I’ve got this question in my mind, said their grandmother. Which husband is Ignatia-iban out two-stepping with in the spirit world?

Why would she pick one of her husbands, said Josette, when she had so many other ladies’ husbands to choose from?

Not to mention the unattached ones, either, said Snow.

She had a few, agreed Mrs. Peace.

What about you, Grandma?

Josette and Snow flicked glances at each other.

Oh me, said Mrs. Peace. I stayed faithful to your grandfather all my life.

They were quiet, out of both respect and pity. But still, Josette was curious.

Why did you stay so faithful?

Oh, I wasn’t so good — I was just tired of them. Men. They’re stressful. You’ll see.

We already know that, said Snow, who still kept her disappointing wrestler boyfriend’s hoodie on a hook in the back of the closet.

On the way back home Snow and Josette stopped to pick up Maggie. The girls went through the kitchen grabbing carrots and ranch dressing, then into their bedroom with the bowl. Snow drew the flimsy little bolt across the door frame, and they all felt private. She settled on her bed, graceful as a doe, wound her long hair in her fingers, curved herself around her long legs, and chomped a baby carrot.

Mmmmm? Her mouth was full of carrot but her face was serious.

Maggie looked up at the ceiling. Snow and Josette had been odd in the car on the way over, not jokey or at ease. Something was going on with them. Josette cleared her throat, but started coughing and fell over pounding on the bed, laughing until her fit stopped. She was wearing tight jeans. She jumped up, peeled them off, put on sweats. So maybe things were okay? But Josette spoke suddenly.

Hey Maggie, are you doing the thing with Waylon?

Well, yeah, said Maggie, relieved that was all it was.

Having full-on sex, said Snow, to make sure.

Maggie said, Errrrrr.

As your protective older sisters, said Josette.

Right, said Snow.

We want to make sure you are taking precautions. Like, he’s using a thingy?

Duh, said Maggie.

For reals, girl.

No, said Maggie.

If he’s giving you love, he gotta wear a glove, said Snow.

Above or beneath, he gotta wear a sheath, said Josette.

If he’s spoutin’ crude, he gotta cap his dude!

If you’re gonna rock, make him wear a sock!

Snow and Josette were becoming hysterical.

Oh my god, you guys! Stop!

Maggie put a pillow over her head and rolled away from them. After a moment, Josette stopped laughing and tugged away the pillow.

That’s not all either.

Maggie groaned and threw herself on her stomach.

Come on, trust us, said Snow. Do you know what to do?

Course, said Maggie.

Theoretically or in reality?

What do you mean?

I’m talking doctors, methods, ways, you know, contraception and all. Do you know how to get it?

Course not.

Aww, honey.

Snow and Josette held each other’s gazes.

First off, said Josette, me and Snow are having a little talk with Waylon.

No!

Just a heart-to-heart. He’s got to know we don’t let him mess around with our little sister unless he knows what to use. Then he’s gotta wait and we’ll figure out where to go — I mean, you probably can get in at IHS. There’s this one doctor who just lives to fix you up with the right method. She doesn’t want this high school momma shit happening. Besides, do you know how risky it is — what did she say — for a young girl to have a baby in a rural health care delivering system? Yeah, that’s what she said. We went to her. Well, Snow did when she was with Shane. Not me. I’m not in a mature relationship, right? But this doctor, she’s here on and off. We know how to get you in. You’ve got your future to think about, Maggie. You hear?

He had a whole bunch of sex before you, said Snow. You have to make him get tested, too.

He said only three times!

Okay, well, can you see me rolling my eyes to the heavens?

Maggie turned over and gave up.

Can I get the shot?

If you wanna gain thirty pounds.

How about the yoood?

What are you talking about?

The iiiiyooood.

The iiiiyoooodeeee?

Maggie nodded.

Wow, said Josette. We’re starting ground level.

Matchless convenience, said Josette. But mostly they give it to grown-up ladies.

How about pills?

Are you good at taking pills?

Yes, said Maggie. But I don’t want my mom to find them. What about that cuppy thing?

Technically, a diaphragm. Not a hundred percent. And you want to be batting a thousand against Waylon. His brothers and uncles. .

No blanks, said Snow. I’m thinking maybe the pill. You can use my prescription for now. Just be sneaky — plus the condom? Always the condom.

That’s, like, over a hundred percent coverage.

I’d go with that, said Snow.

HOLLIS SET OUT chairs, put away random lawn equipment, plastic bats, things that did not belong. He moved along swift and light, doing anything they wanted. The party, for him! He raced around. Taking directions. A graduation party. He still didn’t know how to feel. His morose dark vibe was definitely compromised. He caught himself smiling. His party was the weekend before school graduation. Everyone was having their parties then, or the week after, and everyone was also making the rounds. Hollis’s party was on Sunday in the late afternoon — just the right time to catch everyone all partied out from the night before, needing hangover soup and more food, but not the kind of crowd that would stay all night. The photos of the graduating seniors had been published in the newspaper. Everybody knew whose houses were having parties. They would have endless guests and guests of guests. You never knew how many people. So far they had borrowed ten Crock-Pots, and Emmaline had scored a case of Famous Dave’s BBQ sauce, sell-by date elapsed.

Barbecue sauce never goes bad, right?

Never!

Famous Dave was a cultural hero, a successful barbecue entrepreneur Ojibwe guy with chain outlets.

Emmaline had plugged the slow cookers into every kitchen outlet, laid the big pieces of beef chuck inside, covered them with sauce, and set them on low overnight. On party day everybody woke smelling the overpowering barbecue smell. It wasn’t, somehow, a wake-up smell. They opened the windows. Landreaux separated the barbecue meat with two forks and kept the cookers on. By the afternoon, it would be perfect. Emmaline had already made the meatball soup and frozen it. There would be a meat soup, which the old people preferred.

The weeds, constantly mowed, now resembled grass, and there was even grass, quack grass, an unkillable type of grass. The yard was bounded by plastic fold-out tables, borrowed from Emmaline’s school. There were lawn chairs, powwow chairs, folding chairs. Over on the side of the yard, they placed a pop-up arbor that Emmaline said was an investment. There would be four more graduation parties, after all, in the coming years. Josette spread Coochy’s worn Power Rangers sheet on the food table, then took the sheet off, refolded it.

Not festive.

Emmaline said they could use her flowered queen bedsheet.

Josette was extremely touched.

But Mom. People will spill stuff. Your best sheet will get ruined.

I’ll soak it after.

No, I’ll use your sheet for the card and gift table.

Josette folded and refolded her parents’ bedsheet, smoothed it onto the folding card table. She draped her own plain purple-red sheet on the long rectangular fold-out food table. Barbecue sauce would hardly show. They used the Power Rangers sheet wrong side out for the salad table. Josette stood back, cocked her head to the side. The tables had a gracious effect, standing there, legs hidden. She imagined where the food would go. Crock-Pots on the purple table, extension cords plugged into extension cords, running into the windows of the house, keeping the meats on low. Bread would go beside the meat in the big aluminum bowls, buns still in their plastic bags so they’d stay soft. She’d bought the sesame seeded ones. A little extra. There were also regular salads, macaroni, lettuce, and her own semifamous potato salad.

The day before, she had made Hollis and Coochy peel two twenty-pound sacks of potatoes. She had cut them into bite-size chunks and boiled them, not too soft. Overnight she had let the big dishpans of potatoes cool and marinate in oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, and diced onions. She had left them in the basement, on top of the washing machine, covered with clean dish towels. Now Josette left off planning and brought the cooled-off potatoes upstairs. Carefully, she stirred in mayonnaise cut with enough mustard to give that jazzy goldeny color. But not too much mustard flavor. She diced a couple of jars of pickles, stirred them in too. Snow had hard-boiled a dozen eggs, plunging them into cold water so they didn’t grow green fuzz on the yolks. Over the bumpy yellow surface of the big green, orange, and blue plastic bowls of salad, they now laid the sliced eggs, then stippled the eggs with shakes of paprika. Josette plucked up one potato that was sticking out. Ate it. Nodded at the dishpan of salad with a slow, sage frown.

After the boys put out the coolers of pop, covered with coins of bought ice, and the big pot of wild rice and the cardboard box of frybreads, after the chokecherry jellies were opened, and the knives, spoons, and forks were set out in coffee cups, after the plastic bags of hamburger buns were opened and ready and then the potato salads, the bowls again covered with dish towels, Josette and Snow carried out the sheet cakes. They had turned out so well! The raised lettering was crisp in the sugar icing. The frosting diploma was perfectly curled at either end. The swirled tans in the camouflage icing looked exactly right. Josette had matched the pattern to Hollis’s uniform without letting him know. But she had changed the words. She had taken off the You Go. The cake had no words because there were no words.

She was keeping track of North Dakota Guard units: the 142nd Engineer Combat Battalion had entered Iraq at midnight on April 27. She was pretty sure that they were in charge of patrolling the roads for I.E.D.s.

Snow and Josette arranged cakes on the end of the two food tables, next to a vase of fresh lilacs. There was a large knife, napkins, paper cake plates. A spatula for each cake. They stepped back, looking at everything. They wouldn’t take the plastic covers off the cakes, or cut them, until they had been admired. Until the honor song was sung. Until after everyone had made their speeches, congratulating Hollis.

The guests parked on the dirt drive, then the grass, then the not-grass, then along the main road. The high school kids kept coming because everybody liked Hollis and knew his family would throw a big feast, lots of food. Cases of beer in the trunks of their cars, they came, the girls with graduation cards for Hollis. Mrs. Peace and Malvern arrived, driven by Sam Eagleboy in his low-slung maroon Oldsmobile. Zack came, off duty. Bap drove Ottie, and Landreaux strode out to help unfold Ottie’s wheelchair from the trunk and get him settled into it, under the awning in the backyard, with the elders, where they could watch the milling young people.

Don’t put Ottie near those pretty young girls, said Bap. They’ll try and take my man.

Ottie touched her hand.

The young people’s parents were arriving. Their younger brothers and sisters came too, tumbling out of the cars to race toward the snacks. Peter, Nola, and Maggie walked over to the house. Peter quietly shook hands all around. He got Nola a folding lawn chair. They sat together near the arbor, in half-shade at the edge of the yard. Soon the dog ambled up and settled down, leaning incrementally closer to Nola’s ankle until he touched and she let him stay. She had decided to come to the party. Strictly speaking, it did not make sense. Yet there was someone here with Nola’s body, voice, name. Soon she was eating a plate of barbecue with a dog warm along her ankle. Peter wiped sweat off his temples, giddy with effort. Compartmentalizing on such a high level was a strain. But Landreaux had invited him, not a word about what had happened. Was it some kind of traditional Landreaux thing or did it just mean that now life should go on? Maggie put their graduation card with the twenty-five-dollar check into Hollis’s basket. Then she went behind the tables to help her sisters dish out the food. After a while, Nola saw the husky boy who helped them now with farmwork sometimes. Waylon stood next to her daughter. He bent over, said something. Maggie shot her eyes up to him and put down the spoon.

I see, thought Nola. I know.

She understood herself and, in some ways, she understood her daughter.

Romeo was suddenly at the party now. Maybe he had parked far down the road, or hitched. He sat with the old people. Sam Eagleboy was talking about Mission Accomplished. Romeo said that Bush had looked okay in the jumpsuit, then his voice changed. A Hopi mom had died first — where was acknowledgment of sacrifice? The humility?

The old people stared at him, and nodded.

Hundred-day war, said Romeo.

All of a sudden he felt like he might faint. How odd. He rose and ghost-walked over to the edge of the yard and stood looking off into the deep green woods. That is our home, he thought, where we came from. And now we are living high on the hog. And our young boys are once again fighting for what used to be the enemy flag. Don’t have to scramble around for irony, or meat. There’s Crock-Pots full, and all that other food. There is Landreaux, whom I nearly got killed, so I must be satisfied with that. And Emmaline who knows I almost killed her man and so, now, will never love me. But Hollis. Hollis, whom it was a far better thing I did to let him go. But here he is, all grown up, and I have swum through my days until recently when I became aware. Too aware. My job making something out of me. And the pain in my body strangely as I move around beginning to subside. As though I’ve been cranked up wrong ever since Landreaux fell on me and by throwing myself down the church steps, I am starting to get cranked around right.

For he had risen from the church steps, Romeo, risen like one dead and walked alone, without pain, without his old familiar enemy, down the hill. As the days went on the bruises had healed. They hadn’t hurt much, well, because he had some prescription left, but then. Nada. He needed less. Then almost nothing. Something shocking — it was as if his bones were slowly shifting, inside of him, back into place. Over thirty years before, Landreaux had crashed off a Minneapolis bridge support; in landing violently he had crushed the right side of Romeo’s body. Two weeks ago, Romeo had thrown himself down a wicked series of concrete steps, landing on his left side. Then he’d gotten up and it was a miracle — flat-out. Nobody there to witness, nobody there to pity him, and, sadly, nobody else around to be thoroughly impressed. Somehow the fall had not killed him but fixed him, pushing everything all back together. That’s how it felt. A mysterious inner alignment was occurring. Romeo was increasingly calm right down the center. He could even balance with his eyes closed, sign of a healthy mountain climber.

Past him, around the elders, not noticing that the elders or her mother noticed them, intent only on themselves, Maggie slipped with Waylon into the woods.

LaRose was given an eagle feather and an abalone shell containing a ball of smoking sage. He went around smudging the food. He brushed the holy smoke over the electric cookers, casserole dishes, cakes, the tables, and the basket of cards. He went around to the elders, who pulled the smoke over their heads, as did his sisters, and Hollis. Then the sage was ash. LaRose made a plate with a taste of everything, even a secret corner of cake, and a pinch of tobacco. He went down the side of the yard and stepped off into the trees, put the plate down at the base of a birch tree. He stood beside the tree, staring through new leaves, toward the spot he’d fasted, where Dusty and all of the others had visited him. LaRose didn’t know what to say to them, if they were out there. Oh well, he’d treat them like regular people.

You’re invited, he said in a normal voice.

When he returned, the yard around the house was crowded with people talking, filling plates with food, laughing and laughing, like, well, a bunch of Indians. So many people were eating that all the chairs were taken, then the back steps, the front steps. Towels were laid out on top of the cars so girls wouldn’t stain their flouncy skirts with car dirt. People stood talking with plates of food in their hands, eating and eating because the food was top-shelf. Everybody said so. Top-shelf. People brought random offerings, too. Loaves of bread. Packages of chips, salsa, cookies.

When it was time for the cake, Hollis was called forward by Landreaux. Then Hollis went into the crowd, over to the edge of the yard, and stood before Romeo.

Yeah? said Romeo.

Hollis took his arm.

Me?

Come on.

As Hollis walked Romeo up to stand with him at the cakes, Romeo knew, just knew! It had been written in his life that someday he would be walking on air. Now here he was, floating up to the front of the gathering. Everything was passing by him slowly. He could see every detail. The tucked-in shirts. The girls in bright dresses, yellow, pink. And here he was, walking past them beside his son, just regular. No twisted lurch. Before the tables, he stood, aligned from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, beside his son, not hunched over. Did people notice? They must have, but nobody commented. Romeo felt it strongly, though. Rooted, he was rooted right there. He was smiling, maybe, put his hand to his face to feel if that was true.

Ordinarily, at this moment, they would have asked Father Travis to say a prayer. Nobody had thought of asking the new priest. People resented having been assigned a priest named Father Bohner. As if, where else could he go? And you couldn’t call him Father Dick. It wasn’t right.

Emmaline stood on the other side of Hollis. Her eyes were fixed on Landreaux in a neutral way, not exactly warm, but not with the usual bitter impatience. Josette noticed.

Landreaux sang an Honor Song. His voice was innocent and full. As always, his voice warmed people. Then he asked Romeo to say a few words.

The thing to do at that moment was to speak from the heart. Romeo froze. People always said speak from the heart. What would that even mean? Speak from the squashed flask, the dead shoe, cheap cut of meat pulsing in his chest? Speak from the old prune of crapped-on hopes? Well then, be brief. Romeo blinked in panic. He shambled a few steps forward and put his hand on his jaw.

So he. . Romeo nodded at Landreaux.

So I. . Romeo nodded at Hollis.

Not much good as a father, said Romeo. Me. Not much good as a mother. Some people don’t have an alternative. His voice gathered a little strength.

No alternative to being humble, said Romeo. Because I don’t know how to do stuff right. I just grab what I see. That’s how I am. So when Emmaline. .

Romeo ducked his head in Emmaline’s direction.

So when Emmaline and my old teacher, my young teacher, haha, Mrs. Peace over there, and so when Landreaux. They took in my baby and they brought him up. And here he is. A graduate here. Romeo’s voice box was shutting off. He closed his eyes.

I don’t have much to offer, as a person. People say I am a waste and that’s being generous. But I was surprised to get a job this year. Even more surprised I kept it. Don’t fall down in a fit now, for shock, now, I banked the money.

Romeo reached into his back pocket, took out a brown plastic checkbook. He held the checkbook in both hands, and leaned over with a ceremonial bow. He offered the checkbook to Hollis, who in surprise accepted it.

There’s three thousand in there, he said to Hollis. I live a slight kind of life. So here you can start off to college. Quit the National Guards, my boy.

Hollis stepped forward and put his arms around Romeo, and as the two hugged, Romeo heard people clapping.

Well, fuck me, thought Romeo, after the hug stopped and he stepped back. His faucets were going to burst.

His mom would be so proud, said Romeo all of a sudden, loudly, throwing his arms wide.

Hollis was looking at his father in concentration.

Who was she?

Charisma with a K, Lee with an i. Karisma Li.

Karisma Li? That sounds like a. . Hollis was about to say name of an exotic dancer, stripper, but he stopped, perturbed.

Yes, said Romeo, I lost her to a Ph.D. program at the University of Michigan.

Let’s eat the cake now, said Josette, touching her mother’s arm. No more speeches.

Wait!

Sam walked smoothly forward holding out an eagle feather. It was a mature golden eagle tail feather, beaded at the base with leather fringe swooping down.

The most handsome feather I ever seen, hissed Malvern. He sundanced with that there feather, Sam. He dressed that feather up for Hollis.

Sam faced Hollis and said a prayer in Ojibwe. Everybody shushed everybody. The people who understood Ojibwe couldn’t hear, but now Sam was talking straight to Hollis. LaRose was listening as hard as he could.

As he listened, the floaty feeling of being with those other people came over LaRose, and he felt them come out of the woods. They wandered up and stood behind him. He felt their sympathy and curiosity. As he felt them move closer, LaRose noticed that the colors of the clothing that the living people wore sharpened and brightened. Yet he heard each word that the other people said distinctly, though all together it was a babble. He watched as they moved together and apart, frowned or laughed, in a dance of ordinary joy that kept moving and vanishing as soon as it happened, and moving again. More of the transparent people came walking out of the trees and stood with the others. Dusty wanted some cake. LaRose told him go ahead, and he walked over and got some cake. Nobody noticed Dusty was there except the dog, and perhaps Dusty’s mother, who turned in his direction and smiled in a perplexed way. The old-time woman with the feather in her hat said, You wait, they are going to get a package and it will be my time-polished bones. Ignatia walked slowly, but without the oxygen now. Two women he did not remember said, with amused affection, That Maggie. Watch out for her. Others spoke about how Hollis and Josette made such a good couple and how Ottie had one night told them to stand by the gate. He would be over there soon. Just look at him. He’s on his way. They sat on chairs made of air and fanned their faces with transparent leaves. They spoke in both languages.

We love you, don’t cry.

Sorrow eats time.

Be patient.

Time eats sorrow.

Josette served up the first piece of cake.

This is the most beautiful cake ever, said Hollis, his voice scratchy with emotion.

Wait! Wait for the cake song!

Oh no, said Josette. Cake song?

It was Randall, who had come late, but made his way straight to the front to stand with Landreaux. He had a hand drum and a big grin. Randall and Landreaux began to sing a song about how sweet the cake was, all full of sweetness like the life before Hollis, like the love everyone had for Hollis, and the love that Hollis felt for his people. It was a long-winded song and Hollis stood there in front of everyone, feeling a little foolish, holding his piece of cake, nodding, serious but filled with the happiness of the moment, though awkward, the sweetness, smiling along with the song.

Anyway, said Josette, edging around the table, still holding her cake spatula. You can quit the National Guard now, right?

No way, he said, surprised. I signed the papers.

Oh, Hollis.

Josette was staring straight ahead, standing next to him, and her voice was the voice of a woman.