Sweetheart Braves
Crooked Rock Urban Indian Center Book 3
Pamela Sanderson
Copyright © 2018 by Pamela Rentz. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Holly Heisey (www.hollyheiseydesign.com)
Editor: Lorelei Logsdon, (www.loreleilogsdon.com)
Visit the author’s website at www.pamelasanderson.com.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
THANK YOU FOR READING
ENDNOTES
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Pamela Sanderson
1
Tommy led with the pink box, but the three Ind'n women who made up the rest of the staff were having none of it.
"You're late," Rayanne said, barely glancing up from her computer. She was the Crooked Rock employee most likely to volunteer for extra projects.
"I'm here now," he said.
Linda took the box. As the boss, she was as dedicated as Rayanne, but ten years into the job, her enthusiasm had worn down and she was frayed around the edges. She broke the tape and popped the box open. "What's your excuse?" she asked.
He could tell them about the funny shimmy his aging car had developed along with new sounds—a series of melodic chirps that Margie said sounded like someone practicing elk calls. Life was toast if the car died.
He could tell them about his roomie-cousin Angie, the practicing alcoholic he was supposed to help sober up, and how she'd gone out the day before and hadn't returned.
If he really wanted to get personal, he could tell them he was tired and lonely, and living a life that consisted solely of working and maintaining his own sobriety, and the whole thing was a sad, monotonous hamster wheel that he couldn't exit.
He stuck with the truth. "I took Margie and her gang of elders to bingo. The ball blower malfunctioned, resulting in threats of a brawl. Margie gave me money to get pastries to calm them but it went long and I still had to take everyone home."
The final member of the staff, Ester, hovered close by. Her eyes widened when she looked in the box. "Is that an apple fritter?" She grabbed it and took a big bite and then swirled her hips a few times. You're my favorite, she mouthed at him. Ester's stated job duties involved health programs, but she fixed their computers, managed the center's social media, and could be counted on to cheer them up, as needed.
Rayanne got up and proceeded to cut a giant cinnamon roll in half with a plastic knife. "Excuse accepted."
He helped himself to a muffin and went to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Ester drifted over and caught his eye. In a low voice, she said, "Everything okay?"
Tommy flicked his eyes to the ceiling and barely shrugged.
"I worry about you," she said.
Tommy put a finger to his lips. She was the only one who knew about Angie. The fewer people who knew, the easier it was for him.
"Your secret is safe," she reassured him.
Linda finished chewing and thumped a fat file that was wrapped with big rubber bands. "We all need to get out of here so come sit down. We'll fill you in on what you missed. Today we finalize the Chief Building purchase so we can get on with our lives."
She talked him through her list. Rayanne had an important meeting, too, and Ester updated the funding situation. The three of them traded remarks in the foreign dialect of non-profits: soft dollars, cost sharing, indirect rates, set-aside funds. He formed what he hoped was an attentive expression, the whole time thinking about what he should do to find Angie.
The office phone rang and Rayanne grabbed it. She listened for a moment, then made some distressed sounds and did something at her computer.
Linda said, "New business. Tommy, I want you to go to the intake coordinator training with Ester."
"Me?" What did an intake coordinator do?
Linda nodded with special meaning. "Once we're in the new building, we're going to have to get this operation up to speed. When Ester goes to her film workshop, we'll have a big gap to fill."
"I don't know if I'll be accepted," Ester said.
Linda shot her a tired look. Ester was crazy talented. There was no way she wasn't getting accepted.
"I can do more," he said, hearing the lack of conviction in his own voice. Way back when Linda gave him the job, conveniently downplaying his shortcomings, they'd intended that he'd take on more responsibility.
Rayanne got off the phone. "That tribal youth meeting changed their agenda. They need our statement this afternoon."
Linda dropped her head into her hands and muttered a string of bad words.
"He has to," Ester said. "I can't ditch the budget talk."
Tommy had grown accustomed to them talking about him like he wasn't there.
"Can you do it?" Linda asked him.
"Sure," he said.
"You know your actual title is Youth Program Director," Rayanne said.
"I'm aware." Apparently he was unsuccessful at hiding his discomfort.
Linda faced him. "It is critical that we have someone there." Her voice had become strained like it did when she was overwhelmed. "If you can't do it, tell me now, and I'll invent cloning or something."
Out of sight, he could sense Rayanne reacting and Ester shutting her down.
"Don't say you can do it if you're not certain," Linda said.
"Do I have to do a talk?" he asked.
Linda smiled patiently. "You need to read a prepared statement. If anyone asks a question, write it down and tell them we'll get back to them. Is that okay?"
It did not sound okay but reading from a piece of paper was the least he could do. "Do I write the statement?"
"Already written," Linda said, handing over a packet. "Look it over and ask if you have questions."
"Take notes at the meeting," Rayanne said. "You can listen and take notes, right? It's literally the least you could do."
He was already doing literally the least he could do. He drove elders to appointments and organized afternoon basketball for native kids. He picked up supplies and dropped off packages that had to be shipped overnight. He was not the staff member who experienced joy when an agenda was put in his hands.
"I can help if you need it," Ester said.
Tommy gestured vaguely and flipped through the file.
Linda said, "Last item: Native Professionals is tomorrow night. We're all going together."
Tommy groaned. Networking event. He'd end up standing against the wall wearing a Hello My Name Is sticker and clutching a sweating plastic bottle of water while he watched the clock.
He mustered his most tragic look.
Linda sighed. "No
one is forcing you."
He dipped one shoulder as if he would think about it but there was no way he was getting stuck at a networking event.
Rayanne and Ester packed up and zoomed out. Instead of following them, Linda pulled a chair next to him. "I worry about you."
"Did Ester say something?"
"She said you had a lot going on and she was concerned."
Tommy scraped a hand across his face. "Everything's fine."
"Okay. I trust you, and I want to keep trusting you, but you aren't acting like you right now." If there was anyone in his life he could confide in, Linda was it, but he didn't know where to start.
"You don't have to worry about me," he said.
2
Elizabeth sat in the truck, knuckles white on the wheel. The engine hummed reassuring and familiar. She'd ridden in that truck as a little girl on trips with Granny and Leo. Now it was supposed to be hers. One lap around the orchard and it was time to pull out to the highway.
"You can do it," Granny said, a hint of impatience in her voice.
Elizabeth took her time with a slow calming inhale and exhale. The gesture did nothing. If anything, it made her tingling nerves and heavy heartbeat more pronounced.
"I can, I just don't want to," she whispered.
The key was still attached to the lumpy keychain she'd made for her great-grandparents at culture camp, a cylinder of woven beargrass with leather fringe.
"You gonna be stuck here if you can't do it," Granny said.
"I know," she muttered. The rez was the easiest possible place to drive, the narrow roads familiar, none of those terrifying intersections or multi-lane freeways to navigate. But she still couldn't bring herself to move forward.
A loud engine, like a lawn mower on steroids, thundered up the driveway and George's red truck bounced into view. He’d bought it so everyone in town would notice him coming and going. Everyone knew when he came to see her.
"That one helping?" Granny asked.
"He thinks so," Elizabeth said.
They'd tried once, George in the passenger seat, coaching, only he never stopped talking: "You can go faster. No need to stomp on the brake. It's too early to signal." The rest of his attention he directed to his phone, laughing at texts he didn't share with her.
"He made me nervous," she said.
"That's what he's like," Granny said.
George leapt out of the truck, his arms spread wide, like he wanted to hug the whole world. "Thought you were waiting for me."
Elizabeth leaned out the window. "We've been waiting. Granny and I need to get to work."
"You haven't gotten far." He gave her a cocky smile.
"Let's go with him," Elizabeth said, shutting off the engine.
George took Granny's arm and led her to his truck. She wore a droopy yellow sweatshirt that said: Don't mess with me, I'm an Elder and white pants that emphasized her skinny stick legs. A fanny pack hung off her hip and she had on a pair of giant wraparound dark glasses.
Elizabeth rushed after her and held out her cane.
"People see my cane, they think I'm old," Granny complained. She struggled for a grip to pull herself up into the truck.
"Secret is out," Elizabeth said, while George gave her a boost.
Once they got going, George said, "I told you before, I can take you where you need to go."
"I'm going to drive eventually," she said, her voice salty.
"Me too," Granny said. She was ninety-two, had shrunk to less than five feet, with her eyes so weak she couldn't read the numbers on the remote control. She hadn't driven in years but Elizabeth's recent onset phobia made her threaten to try.
"The casino isn't far," Elizabeth said.
"Casino is no job for you," Granny said.
She'd just finished college and Granny acted like taking that job was a tragic blunder.
"It's marketing. Promoting the casino. You should love me in this job."
"You should go see something," Granny said, pointing at the world outside the vehicle.
"I like being home," Elizabeth said. The whole time she was away she was homesick for the rez. She almost quit college when Leo died but Granny made her promise to finish.
Their tribal casino was a small operation but it had plenty of machines and the restaurant served Granny's favorite hamburger. As soon they got her out of the truck, she made a speedy track to the entrance, hanging on to her fanny pack with her free hand so it wouldn't slide off her narrow hips.
George grabbed Elizabeth's wrist. "I meant that. You don't have to worry about driving."
She had history with George, the on-again, off-again boyfriend during high school. He'd made his interest clear once she'd come home but already she had clues of how it would go. While she was away he'd gone from job to job: construction, handyman, fishing boat. Sometimes a delivery job that sounded sketchy.
She slipped out of his grip. "I'll keep that in mind."
Inside, she found Granny busy 'at work' parked in front of a nickel machine, her players club card attached to a neon pink cord that spiraled out and linked her to the machine. The sunglasses had disappeared and she stared at the flashing lights. An incomprehensible series of images and bright lines flashed and the machine chimed. Granny expertly pressed a few buttons, and the whole thing started again.
Elizabeth went to the back office to finish her new employee orientation. When she returned, her cousin Kora showed off her tattoos for Granny. Kora smiled when she saw Elizabeth.
"You're home!"
"It's true." Elizabeth held up the fat envelope holding the paperwork that represented her future: personnel manual, benefits, schedule, retirement. "I'm a real grown-up now."
"Awesome. What did they say about the driving?"
"No one said anything about driving." A cold finger of nerves touched Elizabeth's insides.
"The marketing assistant drives up and down the river going to businesses and, I don't know, places along the coast."
The back of her neck grew damp and she put her hand there. She blinked her eyes a few times and said, "I'll figure it out." She might have to lean on George after all.
Kora gave her a hug that wasn't a tiny bit comforting. "Come on, I want to show you two something."
Granny refused to look at anything until they found her a booth at the casino restaurant and got her a coffee and hamburger.
"We're making bets," Kora said while she ate. "Before the end of the year, most people think."
"Before the end of the year, what?" Elizabeth asked.
"You and George."
Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't think George is the one."
Kora laughed. "That's not what you used to say."
Granny made an unhappy sound. "George is a leaky boat. Nice for now but eventually you gotta get out of that thing." She stuffed another French fry in her mouth.
Kora laughed. "He's ready to settle down." She said it as if it were her job to convince them.
"No rush," Granny said.
"I'm not in a rush," Elizabeth said. She didn't add that in a small town, there weren't many options. "What's this thing you're going to show us?"
"Historical exhibit we put together," Kora said. "Granny is in it."
After dinner Kora took them to a long hallway lined with photographs. The exhibit consisted of split photos, one historical next to a similar, but contemporary photo. Fishermen now and then, a tribal house next to a plank house, a collection of baskets together with young people gathering today. Granny paused over each set. She came to a blurry photo that showed three girls in dance regalia, their arms hooked together.
"That's me," Granny said, tapping the photo.
"Really?" Kora said, studying the photo more closely. "If that's true, we need to document it."
"Pfffffffft," Granny said. "You don't know nothing."
The three girls had braided hair and loops of dentalium shells around their necks. They all smiled, two of them with their eyes on the camera and the third st
aring off at something else. Elizabeth squinted at the image and tapped on the third.
"That's you."
Granny nodded. It was hard to imagine Granny as a girl. When that picture was taken she had her whole life ahead of her, no clue what it would bring.
George found them again, stood too close, looked down at Elizabeth and winked.
Granny pointed to the modern photo, a dance skirt fixed in a display.
"I want to see it," she said.
"What?"
"The skirt. From the picture."
"The label says it's at a historical research center up north," Elizabeth said. "How would we get there?"
"We got Leo's truck."
Elizabeth dropped her hand to the churning nerves that leapt up in her belly.
"I can take you," George said.
Elizabeth cringed inside. "Granny, are you going to be comfortable sitting in a car all day?"
"I sit around at home. I can sit around in a car," Granny said.
"It's a great idea," Kora said. "You could interview her and take photos."
Elizabeth calculated what it would take to pull off such a trip, several days at least. She needed to report to work before then. "We don't have time. Too bad this didn't come up a week ago."
"We can do it in two days," George said. "Travel tomorrow. See the thing. Home by the weekend."
No one was talking sense.
Kora said, "I'll call them, so they know to expect you. Linda's up there. She can show you around."
They were going on a road trip.
3
Linda waited with Audra in the lobby of City Hall. The center's attorney wore one of her professional lady suits with properly hemmed slacks and matching jacket, plus shoes with real heels complemented by a stylish trench coat with wide lapels and big round buttons.
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