“Not funny.” Darryl’s sharp tone was a deep scowl.
The next morning, Jude sat at his office desk. Darryl faced him, leg angled and mukluk resting on his knee.
“Did you... ah... have a good sleep?” Jude bit his tongue so he wouldn’t laugh.
“Save it. It’s eight o’clock.” Darryl checked his cell phone. “I’m due at work in a half hour. Let’s get this over with. What’re we gonna do? She’s talking to Clayton today. Should I hold a conference?”
Darryl wasn’t the only one wondering if Clayton would keep his mouth shut. Jude had stayed up until midnight last night, trying to figure out a plan.
“We should address this right away.” He tapped his pen against the desktop. “I guarantee Clayton’ll open his mouth once he learns we’re on to him. We don’t have the luxury of holding a special meeting. We’ll have to address this in the form of a letter. If we all pitch in, we can have everything delivered before he can say anything.”
“Letter?” Darryl squinted. “What letter?”
“You’re going to write a letter, disclosing your... ah... indiscretion.” Shit, this was hard not to laugh. But it did border on sort of funny.
“Keep your lips straight. If I even see a hint of a smile...” Darryl set his feet on the floor and sat forward, finger directed at Jude.
This was beyond bad news if Darryl had his finger out, because traditionalists considered the gesture highly rude.
“I’m sorry. I am. But you gotta admit it’s funny in a morbid way.” Jude swallowed the snicker trying to edge out of his mouth.
Darryl sat back in the chair. “The letter...”
“Yes, the letter.” Jude cleared his throat and made sure to don his most serious look. “Write one about your... indiscretion. Say you’re sorry. You were young. It never happened again. You want the community to know in case they received the wrong information. Then reaffirm your commitment to them if you become chief. That’s it. Something simple. We can make enough copies for each household. We’ll deliver them tonight.”
Darryl’s face reddened. “I can’t believe I gotta do this.” He set his elbow on the chair, his fingers grazing his temple. “I really can’t believe this. By the time this election’s done, I probably won’t be married.”
“Don’t worry about it. All we’re trying to do is address this before Clayton starts rumors. Nobody’ll care. It’s not like you’re one of those TV evangelists caught in a hotel room cheating on your wife.”
Maybe Jude should’ve tried a different approach, because fire blazed in Darryl’s fierce stare.
“Do you even care how this is gonna humiliate Em?”
“Emery’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.” Jude stood to refill his coffee.
“Yeah? Tell that to my dick, ‘cause I slept alone last night.”
“Again?” Jude swiveled at the counter where he kept the carafe and condiments.
“I told you already—we think we’re over it, and then it comes back and bites us.”
“He’s gotta learn we all have pasts.” Jude poured a fresh cup. “You don’t see me upset about Raven’s past.”
“You don’t get it. You and Raven don’t have a history. Em and I do. This is about everyone knowing our personal biz. He’s a private guy.”
“I think it’s more about the fact you did something he doesn’t approve of, and his pride doesn’t like how his marriage isn’t perfect now. Whose marriage is? Spouses always do something to unintentionally embarrass the other. He’s gotta learn to work past it. You didn’t do anything wrong, other than not telling him you got a blow job by a hooker when you were twenty-four. Nuff said.”
“Thanks a lot. Now I know why your brother’s the counselor and not you.” Darryl’s answer was sour enough to curdle the cream Jude added to his coffee.
Jude turned. Darryl had made a good point. Wasn’t this why Charlene had cheated? She’d called Jude an insensitive ass who believed upon handing out his advice, everyone should file back into place and get over their problem.
“Hey...” He meandered back to his desk and sat. “Easy. I understand it’s been rough. Char and I hit a few rough patches of our own.”
Darryl glanced back and forth, face whitening. “Wh-what’s that s’posed to mean?”
Great. Jude was digging a bigger hole. How did Emery handle people? What would Emery say? For starters, Emery called upon the Lord to speak for him. Everything Emery did, he relied on God.
“Y’know, this isn’t gonna be solved overnight. It takes time to get past hurt. And if you give Emery time, he’ll understand.”
When the snarl softened around Darryl’s mouth and his eyes no longer flashed, Jude took this as his cue that he could keep talking. “You’re a great guy. I’m glad my brother married you, and I’m proud to call you my brother-in-law. I know you’ll never do Emery wrong. Give him another week or two, and he’ll see what I see.”
“I guess you’re right.” Darryl sank in the chair. He resumed his previous relaxed pose of leg angled and mukluk resting on his knee. “I’m worrying about myself too much and not considering Em’s feelings.”
Funny, if Jude had taken this approach in his marriage and had shown Charlene the same consideration and sympathy he gave Raven, his ex-wife might not have cheated on him. But that was then, and this was now. The Lord was helping him rebuild and become more sensitive.
* * * *
Raven had spent her day off quietly packing in her room. At four o’clock in the afternoon, and having already texted Clayton, she braced herself for getting tossed from the family and booted from the house.
She cracked open the door, which gave her a direct line into the kitchen and living room, since hers was the middle bedroom. Mom stood at the counter, chopping something for supper.
Taking a deep breath, Raven forced herself to walk out to the kitchen. “Clayton’s coming over. I’ll make some tea.”
“Clayton?” Mom checked the clock above the oven. “It’s only four.”
“I asked him to come over.” Raven filled the kettle for probably the last time. She set it on the element to boil. Her suitcases, well, more like the only duffel bag she owned and a couple of garbage bags, and two boxes she’d picked up at the diner, sat at her bedroom door, waiting for the inevitable boot.
The back door opened and closed. A few seconds later, Clayton poked his head around the corner of the bathroom. “I came as soon as you texted. What’s up?” He strode to the table and pulled out a chair.
“I put some tea on. I need to speak to you and Mom.”
“About what?” Mom slapped the spatula onto the counter. “I’m in the middle of cooking.”
Raven set the mugs on the table. “It’s important.”
“Important?” Mom clucked her tongue. “My ass. You’re always making a big deal out of nothing. Grow up.”
The cruel reply reaffirmed Raven had made the right decision. She’d never win. Mom hated her.
Raven placed the honey on the table. The kettle whistled.
“Everything has to revolve around you,” Mom said under her breath. She switched off the element and oven. “Fine. Make me late for bingo.”
“If you want, I can talk to Clayton. We’ll go to his place.” Raven wrenched the kettle off the stove. She filled the teapot.
“Too late.” Mom yanked out a chair. “Where’s my tea?”
“It’s steeping.” Raven set the pot on the oven mitt in the center of the table.
Mom drummed her fingers. “Well, go on. No use waiting.”
No, there wasn’t any point in waiting. Too bad Raven couldn’t ease them into the news for Clayton’s sake, who’d done nothing wrong but have Mom for a mother. “I can’t be your campaign manager if you’re going to use the debate to accuse Darryl falsely.”
Mom’s mouth fell open. Clayton didn’t bat an eye.
“What’re you talking about?” Mom’s voice that Raven had inherited ros
e to a screech. “Your brother’s—”
Clayton raised his hand. “I got this.” His gaze traveled from Mom to Raven. “I had a very good hunch you already knew the truth. I was waiting to see if you’d fess up.”
A shiver claimed Raven’s spine. “What’re you talking about?”
“You were there. I saw my truck.” He kept staring at her. His gaze didn’t convey hurt or anger. But betrayal lurked.
The magnitude of what Raven had done hit her like a flash flood, and she was pulled beneath the water, trying to kick and claw her way to the surface. The blood seemed to drain from her veins, leaving her wrapped in ice.
“Your brother. You betrayed your own brother?” Mom banged her fist on the table. “What’d you do? You tell me.” She tossed aside her chair and shoved her face into Raven’s. “Answer me, dammit.”
Raven kept her face an inch from Mom’s. “No. This is between me and Clayton. To hell with you.”
“Hey, watch the language.” Clayton’s tone was sharp.
When Mom raised her hand, a fire erupted in Raven’s gut.
“You hit me, I’ll hit back,” Raven warned her through clenched teeth. Her thumping heart bordered on accelerating through her chest.
Mom’s deep breaths coming from her flared nostrils were heavy enough to hit Raven’s face like a raging bull bearing down on a matador.
“That’s enough. She knows about Darryl cheating on his ol’ man.” Clayton’s voice butted into the stand-off between Raven and Mom.
Mom lifted her hand from the edge of Raven’s chair and gaped at Clayton. “Cheating on Emery? When?”
“Get off it.” Raven was going to clear this up, pronto. “Nobody was cheating. It happened when Darryl lived in Winnipeg. Lived. As in past tense.”
The sparkle in Clayton’s eyes died. “How do you know?”
“I read the text. That’s how. I read the text Emery sent Jude.” Raven pushed back the chair and stood. Her heart continued to bang against her rib cage.
“And how’d you read the text?” Clayton also threw back his chair and stood. He planted his hands on the table, stare boring straight into Raven’s. If his look was any sharper, he would’ve sliced off her eyes.
“I was in Thunder Bay. A hotel room. With Jude. He was in the bathroom. I was in the chair. The text came in. I picked his phone up by mistake.”
Chapter Twenty-nine: Hit Him with Another Egg
“I always knew you were a slut and would screw anything.” Mom raised her hand.
The crack across Raven’s cheek was a stinging smack of sharp red heat.
“Him?” Clayton thrust his finger in the direction of downtown. “You went to Thunder Bay with him? That goddamned Matawapit is Darryl’s campaign manager. What else have you told him?”
“I only told him what you assumed.” Raven wouldn’t give anyone the benefit of rubbing her stinging face. “And I told him about the debate.”
“I can’t believe you. I really can’t. I trusted you.” Betrayal flashed in Clayton’s eyes.
Raven’s heart curled for a moment. “And I trusted you. I trusted you to—”
“Get out.” Mom pointed at the bedroom door. “Get your stuff and get out. After all we’ve done for you, after what your brother did for you, this is how you repay us?”
“Why?” Confusion and pain lingered in Clayton’s question.
Raven had expected her brother’s wrath. His disbelief and pain were knives carving into her chest. “Don’t you see what we’re doing is wrong?” She inched forward.
Clayton stepped back, shaking his head.
“Wrong?” Mom smacked the teacups on the kitchen table, and they crashed to the floor. Broken shards flew everywhere. “This has nothing to do with us. You wanted Norman’s son. His dumb dick and money. That’s all you care about. Let me tell you something about the Matawapits. I know them better than you. Oh, do I ever know them better than you.”
“Yeah, and I’ve gotten to know them, too,” Raven fired back. She had to scoot around the broken china to save her socked feet from cuts.
“You don’t know them.” Mom slammed her palm on the table. “You don’t know anything about them. Jude’s just like his father. And his father is a womanizing bastard.”
Deacon Matawapit? A callous user? “You’re lying.”
“No. I’m. Not.” Mom kicked aside some of the shards with her moccasin and shoved her face into Raven’s.
“And how do you know he is one?”
“I went to the residential school with him. And I was in Thunder Bay when he moved there after he was let out of the school. I watched him carry on like a drunken Romeo.” Mom’s face shone up bright red, eyes a thunderstorm of flashing lightning.
Mom would never let go of her anger or resentment. Raven couldn’t live in this poisonous environment any longer.
“Both of you are wrong. You can’t do this to Darryl.”
“Bitch. You bitch. Whore.” Mom raised her palm and struck Raven again. “Get out of my house. Get out. Now. You’re no longer welcome here if you’re going to side with that family.”
Raven rubbed her raw cheek. “I’m not siding with anyone. I’m telling you what I learned in the twelve-step program. And I’m sorry you think I’m betraying you. But starting rumors to hurt another isn’t fair. What’s Darryl done to you, other than marrying someone from the Matawapit family?”
“What he’s done to us?” Clayton sputtered. “He joined them. He joined them when he knows damned well what that place they worship did to our people.”
“Y’know, I used to feel the same way, but I can admit I was wrong.” Creator had to be helping Raven, because her voice remained calm, although her insides quaked.
“Wrong. You only agree with them because you’re thinking with your twat again.” Mom threw up her hands. “You’ll never change. Get out. Get out of here.”
Mom stormed to her bedroom, and the door slammed shut.
Clayton bolted around the kitchen table and banged on the door. “Lookit what you did,” he hissed. Then he banged again. “Mom. Mom. Let me in. She’s leaving.”
Raven hopped around the broken china and fled to her own room.
The texts never stopped coming in. From Wren. Fawn. Lark. Aunties. All accusing Raven of turning her back on the family to screw Jude Matawapit.
She sat curled up on the double bed in the spare bedroom at Darryl and Emery’s place. The little dog, Keemooch, snuggled against her knees. She petted the dog’s silky fur. The gray cat, Smokey, lolled on her duffel bag. Pumpkin, the aptly named tabby, had vanished under the bed as soon as she’d arrived, Emery explaining the big tomcat loathed strangers.
A knock came at the door. “Hungry?” Emery asked, Darryl having been absent, along with the snowmobile, when Emery had retrieved Raven from Mom’s.
Raven’s stomach growled. She should eat, even though her gut twisted from the argument and being disowned by her own family. “Sure.”
Lying on the quilt was her cell phone she’d switched off. She should turn it back on in case she’d missed a call from Jude, or maybe he’d texted. Someone must have told him what had happened.
She opened the bedroom door to Emery standing at the kitchen counter dishing up supper.
“Did you... did you tell Jude?”
“No.”
“No? I... I assumed you would.” Raven pulled out a chair.
“It’s not my place. What happened is your personal business.” Emery set the platter of hamburgers on the table.
“Looks good. I like homemade burgers.” Raven reached for a bun. “Where’s Darryl?”
“Delivering letters with everyone else.” Emery sat across from her.
“Letters?”
“Yes.” Emery glumly stared at the food.
“I shouldn’t be here. It’s a small house—”
“We don’t mind.” Emery cut open a bun. “I made a salad. Do you like salad?”
/> “Salad’s fine.” She wouldn’t admit to not having a palate for vegetables, because Emery offering up these precious gems had cost a lot of money.
“It’s chilling in the fridge.” Emery stood.
While he retrieved the salad, Raven fixed her own burger. They ate in silence for the longest time. Only the satellite radio played. The other two dogs had most likely accompanied Darryl. Keemooch was on Emery’s side of the table, because his light panting came from below.
Raven squirmed. Anyone else would press her to talk or say something. “The salad’s good. I feel guilty for eating it. This stuff’s so expensive.”
“We open our wallets for fresh produce.” Emery returned the salad to the fridge. “We have a garden, but this time of the year means eating what we canned in the fall. And fresh is nice from time to time. Darryl’s health comes first. If it means doing without other treats, it’s worth it.”
If Raven had diabetes, the day would never come that Mom would purchase special food to keep her disease in check. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Keemooch kept panting under the table. Didn’t Emery believe in small talk? Or did he want her to speak? After what she’d endured late this afternoon, he probably assumed she needed quiet time. “What’s the letter about?”
Emery wiped his mouth. “Darryl’s addressing the... he wants to address what your brother’s going to tell everyone.” A bright shade of pink climbed up his neck to his forehead.
“I’m sorry.” How could she have previously thought of him as Mr. Perfect who shit golden nuggets, or as a man who never suffered and had six silver spoons shoved up his ass? “This is all my fault. If I wouldn’t have read your text—”
“It’s okay. Really.” Emery reached across the table and laid his palm over the back of Raven’s hand.
After how cruel she’d previously been in her thoughts about him, after the way her family had treated him, the peapod on her plate was taller than her. “I’d be... I’d be so proud to...”
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