Sweetheart Braves

by Pamela Sanderson

  "This place is ass," he said.

  Linda threw her head back and laughed. She leaned into him. "Finally. I was afraid you were trying to talk me into this."

  A giant cup, the kind that you'd fill with pop at the convenience market, tumbled across the blacktop and rolled around in front of them. She picked it up. "Leave every place better than when you showed up. Is that how the saying goes?" Her hair whipped in her face again and she shook it back, offering up a pure smile that he felt in ways that he should not.

  The smartest thing to do would be to resign from the board. Leave her alone and focus on his own relationships and work problems.

  But he couldn't imagine not seeing her. She took one more look around the lot before holding up the cup. "I'm going to chuck this. Let's get out of here." She frowned and pointed. Not far from where they stood, there was an overflowing dumpster and what appeared to be a small camp constructed with tarps and camp chairs. A cooler box sat in the middle of a pile of filthy sleeping bags.

  "If those are homeless Natives, I can't be responsible for what I'll do next," she said.

  "We can't fix everything today," he said.

  "I know," she said, a frown passing over her face.

  "Before we go, let's take a minute and name the things we've learned from this site," he said.

  "The building is too small, and the location is terrible. Where do you think the closest bus stop is? We need a structure that we can use now and, assuming we grow like I'm planning, then we can talk about adding on buildings."

  Arnie couldn't help smiling. "I like when you talk about the future."

  "You know I'm a fool about giving up." They exchanged a heartfelt smile for one long moment.

  He used his chin to point to where Jess and Clare waited. "We going to see other sites?"

  "I'll talk to them about setting something up." She walked over to the dumpster and took a careful look around, but the campsite was empty. She threw the cup away and they headed back to the car. "I started the job description as a joke, but maybe you could help me finish."

  An uneasy feeling tickled in Arnie's belly. "Job?"

  "The tribal liaison idea we talked about. The city needs it. This process with them has been troubled from the start. The person could advise on diversity and urban Indian issues plus work with the tribal governments in the area. Sure, no one has asked me, but I'll feel better if I try."

  "Would you want that job?" he asked.

  "No, but if I did I would tell you. Remember, no more secrets. I want this job," she said. "We're going to be successful. We'll figure it out."

  "You sound sure," he said.

  "I am sure. You are too. We're going to do great at that meeting."

  29

  Everything would be fine as soon as he got Elizabeth out of his head. A week went by and then another but the ache for her did not fade. Each day duplicated the day before. He went to work. He took elders to the health clinic in the repaired-but-not-quite-the-same Drivemaster. He organized basketball games for kids. The mornings remained cool and gloomy but in the afternoons the clouds burned off and he took the kids to play basketball outside, too. He kept an eye on Angie. Everything fell back into place like Elizabeth had never happened.

  He came home and threw his keys and his phone on the counter, his nerves jangling for no obvious reason.

  There was a bunch of Angie's laundry strewn over the couch, and he threw it in the empty basket and put it back in her room. She did everything she promised while she waited for her court date. She’d been sullen and resentful at first but once they got back into their old routine, glimpses of the good-humored cousin he remembered returned. She was in high spirits, attending meetings during the day while he was at work. She found a job at a coffee shop and worked the night shift, coming home after he'd gone to bed. She even tried to throw in some money for rent, but he insisted she save it for the future.

  He flipped on the TV and shuffled through the channels, failing to muster interest in anything for more than thirty seconds. Elizabeth's voice kept playing in his head, "…but what's your long-term plan?" He couldn't come up with one.

  He snapped off the TV. His eyes settled on the shelf of cookbooks, the source of endless teasing and mocking from family and friends. Elizabeth had said, "Cooking is always useful."

  He eyed the titles, searching for a book with something easy that he could make with what he had on hand. He had little equipment, few skills, and a bare pantry. The first book he grabbed was all about grilling. He tried a different one but didn't think he was up for Italian specialty.

  He pulled two more off, and something thunked at the back of the shelf. He reached behind the books, thinking one of them had fallen back. Instead, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka. Not the cheap stuff, either.

  He stared at it for at least thirty seconds, his breath even, his mind racing. This was the place he would have hidden a bottle if he lived with a person who never took books off the shelf.

  He picked it up with two fingers and carried it to the kitchen counter. When they were drinking together, he and Angie called it crazy juice. They would drink it out of the bottle, passing it back and forth quickly, laughing at stupid jokes.

  With a heavy sense of dread, he went back and checked the other shelves. He found another bottle of vodka, this one empty, and an unopened bottle of gin. He set those on the counter with quaking hands.

  He understood, but his head kept making excuses. Maybe all these had been there a while and she'd forgotten about them. He'd hidden booze when he was drinking, although he'd hidden it from other drinkers. He'd never forgotten a bottle.

  He was too dumbfounded to be angry. He'd been so confident in her; it hadn't even occurred to him to check. For one strange, conflicted moment he considered returning them to where he found them.

  He opened the vodka first and poured it down the sink, registering that even after all this time, how wrong it felt to throw booze away. A part of him thought he should be keeping it in case he knew someone who could use it. After a brief hesitation, he cracked the seal on the gin and poured that out, too. The buzzy medicinal scent was the smell of hangovers.

  He left the empty bottles on the counter. He went into her room, the privacy breach feeling wrong but unavoidable. She'd cut open the box spring, and he found two more bottles in the ragged hole. There was a pint in her nightstand, this one not even hidden because she knew no one was checking.

  He lined those up on the kitchen counter. He knew before he checked, back in his room, the cash he hid in the flashlight—his ‘travel someday’ money—was gone. He swore to himself. He emptied all the bottles but one. After what felt like an endless consideration, he hid the bottle in his room in a duffel bag that held camping gear. He put all the empty bottles under the sink and waited for her to come home.

  He was asleep on the couch when she came in. She did not look pleased to see that he was out of his room.

  "You work late?" He'd never seen her getting home from work before. She wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie.

  She put her purse on the counter and opened the refrigerator. "I always get home at this time. Why are you up?"

  Tommy got up and followed her to the kitchen. He grabbed her arm and turned her around. He didn't have to get close to smell it on her.

  "You're drinking at work?"

  She pulled her arm away and brought her hand to her mouth, shaking her head, trying to stifle laughter.

  "You don't have a job, do you?" he said, wanting to kick himself for being so stupid.

  "I applied but unfortunately did not meet their needs at this time. They will keep my application on file in case something suitable comes up in the future." She went back to the fridge and brought out a takeout container and checked the contents. "You ever eat anything besides Pad Thai?" She got a fork and ate it cold.

  "You can't be drinking," Tommy said.

  Angie stabbed at the food. "They aren't going to know. You didn't, and you
live with me."

  "You live with me," he snapped.

  Angie glanced at the ceiling as if summoning epic patience. "It's not that big of a deal. Some medical professionals say you don't have to completely give up drinking. Any person can drink in moderation. You should try it."

  "I don't want to try it," he said. His mind flashed on the hidden bottle.

  "Fine," she said with a dismissive wave. "Stay out of my business." She returned to her food.

  Tommy picked up her purse and searched for her wallet.

  "Give me that." Angie tried to grab it, but he shoved her away with his shoulder.

  "Is any of my money left?" She had a hundred dollars in twenties folded in her wallet. He put it in his pocket.

  She jerked the purse out of his hands. "That's mine."

  "Where did you get it?"

  "None of your business," she said, slapping his arm. "Give me my money." She slapped him again, harder, and then moved to his face. He shoved her away and she flopped to the floor.

  "You hit me," she said, her voice rising in pitch and the tears starting. "I can't believe you hit me. You could get in trouble."

  It was the middle of the night and they were fighting like trashy drunks.

  "Be my guest," he said. "Call the cops."

  Angie stopped crying and glared at him. She stood up, her face flushed. She opened the cabinet under the sink and when she saw the empty bottles, she kicked the cabinet door.

  Tommy put his hands up in defeat. "I'm leaving. We'll talk tomorrow."

  A few weeks earlier, he could have taken a long drive on a back road and that would have soothed him, but the green car wheezed like every mile was its last and driving made him think of Elizabeth and all the miserable days ahead to get through. He drove to campus and got into the Drivemaster. There was an extra sweatshirt in there, and he put it on and stretched out on the bench seat in the back. He pulled up Elizabeth's contact and texted: Is it too late to talk to you? Before he could change his mind, he sent it.

  Elizabeth didn't see the text until after her morning shower.

  Is it too late to talk to you?

  She flipped through a series of emotions: elation, anger, sadness. Why now? She set the phone aside.

  She put on makeup and slid into the sequined gown. She put on a pair of long dentalium earrings that almost brushed her shoulders.

  Granny made an exasperated face when she came into the living room. "Why you wearing that?"

  "Noon promotion and Kora wants more promotional shots for advertising. Good thing I went for the glamour look. My first idea was to dress up like a salmon."

  Normally Granny would have smiled at the idea but she focused her glare on the blank television screen.

  "You want me to fix a program for you?"

  Granny didn't respond.

  Elizabeth thought about mentioning the text but changed her mind. She put on the coffee. "Cereal?"

  Granny made an unhappy sound at the back of her throat and rearranged herself on her easy chair.

  "What is up with you?" Elizabeth said.

  "Lotta trouble to go to college and then dress like a gameshow hostess."

  Elizabeth slammed the box of instant oatmeal and a bowl on the kitchen table. There was a folder sitting there with Granny's name on it. She flipped it open.

  "You talked to the Tribe about getting your ceremonial dress back?"

  Granny lifted her chin, her look said: None of your business.

  "I thought we were going to do that together," Elizabeth said, uncertain whether she was hurt or angry.

  Granny waved the comment away. "You don't want to worry about that."

  "After dragging you around on a multipart road trip and steamrolling the museum into letting you see it? I want to learn how the process works."

  Granny pointed at her dress before picking up a newspaper from the little table next to her chair and taking her time unfolding it. "You work at the casino. Let other people worry about cultural things."

  Elizabeth stared at her, stunned. "I spent my entire life hearing about cultural things. Why would you leave me out now?"

  Granny peeked around the newspaper. "Thought you was busy."

  "Busy with what? It's my family, too." Elizabeth shuffled through the papers in the file, trying to understand what the process entailed. Something about interviews and research. "Do we need to go back?"

  Granny threw the paper down and her expression shifted from day to night. She was weary or disgusted or resigned. Like she'd given up. She sighed. "Why are you still here?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Granny waved her hands in the air. "Why are you here? Wearing that thing. I don't know."

  "It's for work." She pushed a spangled strap up, the sequined dress feeling ridiculous under Granny's scrutiny.

  "We need our young people looking after our things," Granny said, growing more agitated. "Working for us. Keeping what we have."

  "That's what I'm doing. You don't have to explain it. I understand."

  "That's right. You understand. You." Granny pointed a crooked finger at her. "We need you to explain it to them." Granny's arm swept across the room, meaning the world.

  "That's what we talked about. I can take you back. The museum, Dr. Murray's research center. I'm here for you."

  Granny sank back in her seat as if exhausted. "Me and Leo always wanted you to go away. To do something before you settled back here. We thought you could do more things."

  "What's wrong with here? You settled here."

  "I got knocked up when I was a teenager," Granny said. "I didn't have any choices. You can do anything."

  "I am doing things," Elizabeth said, not sure what she meant.

  "What are you afraid of?"

  Elizabeth's chest tightened, and a rush of confusing feelings moved through her. She tried to sort through everything that was happening, but it was hard to think in a sparkly dress. She'd hated being so far from home. She'd hated being away from family and Granny and Leo. She'd been gone when Leo died and it felt terrible.

  "I'm not afraid," Elizabeth said, but she felt fear in her entire body while she said it.

  Granny was still in her chair, giving her the stink-eye. Her hands flopped down on the chair arms and her cane, the one Tommy had given her, fell to the carpet. Elizabeth went over and put it back in Granny's reach. She knelt next to Granny's chair.

  The tears were forming, but she held them back. "I'm afraid something will happen to you if I go away, like losing Leo and there was nothing I could do."

  "There's nothing you can do when you're here. Then I'm gone, and you're stuck in a job you don't like, and you gave up that boy for nothing."

  "You liked him, too?" she asked even though she already knew the answer.

  "I see you moping around here. George turned out okay, but he's not the one for you."

  Elizabeth's heart surged with possibility.

  "The rez is always going to be here," Granny said. "Learn some stuff, you can always come back."

  "What about you?"

  "I got too many people looking after me. I need some peace and quiet." Granny patted the armrest.

  "What will I do up there?"

  "We need our people inside those museums," Granny said.

  Elizabeth imagined the path before her, the opportunities unfolding. All of the time she'd spent with Granny and Leo, listening to them. Listening to all the boring old-people talk. Tuning them out when she'd heard the stories enough times. All of that had a purpose.

  "If you don't leave on your own, I'm going to kick you out," Granny said.

  "You're not going to kick me out," Elizabeth said.

  "You don't know what I can do."

  "Can I take the truck?"

  "It's always been yours. He wanted you to have it. Old, but he said it would run forever."

  The tangle of emotions intensified. The thought of leaving hurt her heart, but being away from Tommy was painful, too.

  "Get ou
t of here," Granny said.

  "I'm going, but I'll be back," Elizabeth said.

  "I know," Granny said.

  Tommy awoke to the sound of voices and, in his muddled state, thought it was Elizabeth. The sense of relief almost brought tears to his eyes and he trembled at the thought of pulling her into his arms. But as the grogginess wore off, the scent of fake pine air freshener with notes of hot dogs and sweaty athletes reminded him of where he was.

  He unfolded himself from the cramped seat and looked out into the campus parking lot, busy with people going to class. Elizabeth was at home. They were supposed to be forgetting each other.

  All the drama of the night before came flooding back. He'd failed again. Angie was out of control. He needed to call his uncle but when he checked his phone, the battery was dead. Given the number of people traipsing across campus, he was most likely late for work.

  He went to the men's room and tidied himself up as best he could and made his way to the office.

  Rayanne and Ester crowded in front of a computer monitor. Ester's face was wide open with joy while she talked to someone on her cell. Rayanne waved with greater than normal enthusiasm. "Get over here. Ester got accepted into her film workshop."

  "That's great," he said, trying to inject some energy into his voice. He was afraid to hug her, anxious about bringing attention to his disheveled state. Too late. Ester flicked her eyes over him and he didn't miss her look of dismay.

  "She found out this second," Rayanne said. "She's telling Theo. The workshop put samples of the other people who got in. We're checking them out."

  As soon as Ester got off the phone, she skipped over and threw her arms around him in an elated hug.

  "You okay?" she whispered.

  "I'm great," he lied.

  When she let go, she covered her eyes with her hands. "I don't know how we're going to make this work."

  "We've been preparing for this since you applied," Rayanne reminded her.