Heartbeat Braves Read online

  “We are getting the small things right,” Linda said through her teeth. “We’re doing everything right. Have you ever tried to use specialized funding to purchase property for a nonprofit? They need paperwork. Then a narrative statement. Then a tour. Then an appraisal. Testing for a million toxic substances. Then, when the deal is supposed to be done, I can’t get anyone to return a phone call. The people that I do get on the line give me vague responses like, ‘It’s on someone’s desk. We’ll get back to you.’ I’m not sure what else we could be doing.”

  “I’m not articulating myself well and you’re misunderstanding my concern. Why don’t you tell me what the property is like.”

  “It’s great. We should go out there,” Linda said, her tone lighter. “It was built to be an elementary school, and later repurposed into an administration building. There’s room for a playground. There’s a big room with a kitchen adjacent so we could plan a huge range of activities. Rayanne could get her elder club going. Maybe some sort of daycare. Cultural activities. Classes.” Linda sighed. “Room for more employees. It will be miraculous to have a space like that as our own. How about your connections? You’re a big mover and shaker. Don’t you know someone you can call?”

  “City politics and Indian politics, not the same thing.” Arnie took the folder back and scribbled some notes. “I’ll see what I can do. Listen, I’m not going to lie. There are some who have lost confidence in you. I know Margie is a big fan—”

  “I’m good at my job,” Linda said. “It was not some special favor Margie did keeping me in there.”

  “You misunderstand. You have my complete support, Lulu.” She smiled when he used the old nickname. “Truly. I want this to succeed. Too many of our people end up in the city but completely lost. Believe me, I know. Every time I see a native person living on the street, I want to do something. I want them to have a place to go when they are away from home, and I think you are the one to do it. That’s part of the reason I agreed to do this.”

  “What’s the other part?” Linda asked. Her tone was playful; he could tell her the truth.

  “You know how I am. Strategic planning for my own future. Raise my profile in the community with an eye to running for state office and, someday, to Congress. We need more representation at a higher level.”

  “I should have known. If anyone can do it, you can.” And when she said it, he believed he could.

  8

  The van made a new sound. Henry hadn’t heard it when he was out with Rayanne, so either he’d been so crushed out he hadn’t noticed, or it had just started. The scrape and hum sounded at comforting intervals. The van was another in a long line of almost fixes that Henry had going on in his life. He had a problem, he needed transportation. Someone at one of his job sites had a friend who was selling a van for cheap. He’d asked all the right questions. He checked under the hood, and examined the hoses and belts. He made an informed opinion. Besides, at his budget level he didn’t have a lot of choices.

  Later Arnie told him he was supposed to take the van to someone who could inspect underneath for him.

  It didn’t matter now. The van was his and the band’s only form of transportation so he was stuck with it. He’d replaced two tires a month ago. What next to empty his wallet?

  He kept going back and forth on Uncle Arnie’s great job opportunity. He didn’t get what was so important about those programs. He wanted a job where he was wanted, not a job where his uncle made the people take him. And he didn’t know the first thing about managing projects like that. He didn’t mind helping Rayanne with the retreat, but the minute that event was finished he would be out of there. Rayanne would be happy about that.

  Inside the apartment, his roommate, Jack, banged cupboard doors open and closed, working his way through each one. They’d known each other since they were kids when their moms became friends taking local parenting classes for Indians. When they were younger, they thought their moms took the class because they had problems. Henry was a teenager when his mom explained that she’d joined the group for companionship. She wanted to meet other native moms who lived off-rez. Jack’s family was Blackfeet from Montana. He spent a couple weeks a year there, but he was a city Indian too.

  “What happened?” Henry asked.

  Jack waved his arms over his head like he was trying to stop cars on the highway. “I can’t find any food. Also, we gotta get out of here.”

  Henry separated the conversation into two statements. “If you can’t find any food, it’s because we don’t have any.”

  “Did you bring something?”

  “No,” Henry said. “I had lunch with my uncle. He wants me to take a crazy job I could never do. What did you mean about getting out of here?”

  “We’re losing this place,” Jack said. “Someone left a note on the door. We’re evicted.”

  More difficult days ahead. Another setback in a long line of setbacks. “By a note on the door? Was it real?”

  “It was a real note on the door.”

  “They can do that?”

  “For an illegal squat?” Jack went back through each cupboard, this time taking time to slide things aside and reach to the back.

  “This isn’t a squat.” They had thrown rugs over the uneven floor, and put up posters to hide the patchy drywall.

  “It’s a dump,” Jack said. “We’re not legal so they can do what they want. That’s the tradeoff for too-cheap-to-believe rent.”

  They’d ended up in that place purely by luck. Jack’s brother had lived here first. He was a friend of the owner or something like that. Someone needed the extra cash so they’d turned their garage into an apartment. The place had never been finished. There were plywood dividers for privacy. The cupboards had been salvaged from two different remodel jobs so they didn’t match but they worked fine. There was a stove and a small but adequate bathroom.

  Henry didn’t mind. The place cost half as much as a real apartment that size. Plus he was out on his own. This news cemented the already pitiful uncertainty he had about where he was in life. He pictured Rayanne in a swank decorated apartment with pictures on the wall and a set of dishes that matched. She hosted dinner parties and used cloth napkins. He ate all his meals out of the same bowl.

  “How long do we have?”

  “End of the month.” Jack reached the last cupboard that held nothing but a can of water chestnuts, whatever those were. There had also been a can of pumpkin pie filling, but Henry ate it one night for a snack.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” Jack yanked his arm out triumphantly. “Can of chili. Split it?”

  “You have it,” Henry said, glum now. “I’m full from lunch.”

  Jack opened and closed drawers until he found a can opener. He dumped the chili into a bowl, and fired up the microwave. “What was the job?”

  “Project manager at an urban Indian center,” Henry said.

  “What?” Jack drew the word out into a three-syllable song.

  “That’s what I said,” Henry said. “They provide Indians with services like healthcare and transportation. Rayanne thinks she should have the job.”

  “Who’s Rayanne?”

  “She works at the center. She’s a hot, sexy native woman. She’s got a lot of plans and ideas about Indians that live in the city. She says people who grew up on a rez miss being around Indian people. I never thought about it.”

  “How much time did you spend with this girl?”

  “All afternoon.” Henry grinned. “Took her out to Milk Creek Farm.”

  “Like a date?” Jack pulled the bowl out of the microwave and stirred before he tasted it.

  “No. They need a place for a retreat.” Henry pictured her in the passenger seat, her hand floating out the window. In this imagined memory, she traded bashful smiles with him.

  “What are they retreating from?”

  “I don’t get it either. I guess it’s a meeting that lasts all day. I’m going to cook for it.”
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br />   “This sounds better than a lot of jobs you could have. I would do it. What about the band? Beat Braves going to headline a gig out there?”

  “The owner told me we would never attract enough people to make it pay. We’re not the first to suffer this delusion.”

  “It’s not a delusion. What does he know?”

  “He’s hosted shows that were a bust. I’ll scout out some other places. Maybe we should get on the housing situation first.”

  “Sooner rather than later,” Jack agreed. “I think I could stay with guys in the band if I get desperate.”

  “I can stay in the van,” Henry said. “Wasn’t this moment inevitable when I bought it? We knew this day would come.”

  Jack scraped the bottom of the bowl. “I’m still hungry. Why don’t you take those jars to your mom for a refill? She’ll pity us and give us something to eat.” He was referring to a box of canning jars that had once been full of jam, smoked salmon, and tomatoes. The jars had been sitting in a box in the corner of the kitchen since they finished the last item.

  “I don’t want to deal with my mom right now,” Henry said. She would want to know about Arnie. She would ask a bunch of questions about the job. She would make comments that were intended to sound like supportive mom-talk, but under the surface she was cutting him down, because he wasn’t a successful college grad doing meaningful good-paying work, and dancing for joy about it every day.

  Jack stuck out his hand. “Give me the keys. I’ll do it. I can tell her about the job and Rayanne.”

  “Forget it,” Henry said. “I’ll go talk to her.”

  “Bring me back some food,” Jack reminded him.

  Henry’s mom still lived in the same two-bedroom bungalow that he grew up in. When he went through the front door, the house was quiet.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m in here.” Mom sat at the kitchen table. She had a bright desk lamp shining on a small disk she was beading. “I thought this would relax me, but instead it forces me to confront how bad my eyes have become.”

  “Why aren’t you relaxed?” Henry asked.

  “My son has surprised me with a visit. What is it now?”

  He put the jars on the kitchen counter. “You want small talk, or should I get to the point?”

  Mom laughed and made a let-me-have-it motion with her hand.

  “We’re getting kicked out of our apartment.”

  Mom sat up and pushed her glasses up on her head. “What did you do?”

  Tildy was the kind of mom who could take almost anything. Not murder and nothing bad against a woman, but anything else she could deal with. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t inflict suffering, but nothing surprised her.

  “Nothing,” Henry said. “The place is illegal. The owner wants us out. Maybe he has his own deadbeat kid who needs a cheap place to live.”

  “That’s the lesson. Things that sound too good to be true, probably are. What are you going to do?”

  “Find another place, eventually,” Henry said.

  “And until then?”

  Henry gave her his prettiest pleading smile.

  “You’re suggesting living here again? In this...what was that you said as you stormed out the door when you moved out?”

  “I said, ‘Thank goodness this is my last day in this hellhole,’“ Henry said. “I meant it with love.”

  “What was the rest of your speech as you stomped off into independence? ‘I don’t need you or any of your stuff’?”

  “I may have spoken too hastily. I was also very angry. Insults were thrown.”

  “They were,” Mom agreed. “As long as you have a place to stay, you don’t need me. I’m sure you can find another apartment. Or a room to rent. You have to get off your duff, and go look for it.”

  “I know how to find an apartment, Mom.”

  “Congratulations. When I see the family, I won’t have to hang my head in shame. Did you see Arnie yet?”

  Henry had hoped to avoid the subject. “We had lunch. I took him to that great burger place.”

  “That’s why I was asking. Because I wanted to hear where you went for lunch. What did you guys talk about?”

  “I know you asked him to get me a job. He wants me to be a project manager at this urban Indian center.”

  Mom smiled so hard she was in danger of breaking her face. It was like he had an offer to run the UN.

  “I can’t do a job like that. I don’t even understand what they do. And there’s already someone there who’s way more qualified. Arnie is giving me a job that should be hers as a favor to you. It’s totally embarrassing.”

  “Family giving you a job is the Indian way,” she said.

  “Then why don’t you do it?” Henry said.

  “Because I’m already employed in the high glamour world of government contracts. I can pay the bills. Last time I checked, your rock-band idea hadn’t gone anywhere.”

  “It’s a native rock band with a hip-hop influence. It takes a while to get things going.”

  “I’m not clear on the difference, and you don’t have to make me a song list. I will use my imagination.”

  “It’s called a playlist.”

  “Whatever you say. You’re capable enough. This is a terrific opportunity for you.”

  “You sound like Arnie.”

  “Arnie gets to be right for once. Be sure to tell him I said that, he’ll be happy to hear it. How is he doing?”

  “He does nothing but work all the time like you want me to.” Henry eyed the refrigerator door. There had to be something in there that she would love to hand off to her son and his hungry roommate.

  “I didn’t raise you to be a leech. Do you want to be broke for the rest of your life?”

  Henry abandoned that plan. “Don’t start with that. It’s not like I don’t want a job. I don’t want that job.”

  “That’s not how life works. You don’t sit around waiting for some perfect job with lots of pay to appear. Sometimes it’s good for you to do something you don’t want to do.”

  “So life works by insisting you take the job your family wants you to have?”

  “You can’t expect to fall back on me every time something goes wrong. You can’t—”

  “That’s enough lecture for today. I’m out of here.”

  He left empty-handed. Jack was going to have to go hungry.

  9

  Rayanne picked up Ester at seven, and they headed out to Milk Creek Farm. Traffic was tight in town, but they were driving against the flow and made good time.

  “Why are we doing this so early?” Ester wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She carried her work clothes in a backpack that she hugged on her lap.

  “So we can be ridiculously organized and prepared and impress everyone with our initiative and fortitude.”

  “Fortitude? We need to demonstrate fortitude? In a movie, you would be the army captain making us do the obstacle course in the rain and mud before we’d had our coffee.”

  “And you’d thank me at the end.”

  “What’s the scoop with Mr. Dreamy Face?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Our new project manager, Henry? Remember, the guy who’s been hanging out with us in the office? If you don’t want him, can I have him?”

  A surprising pang of jealousy struck her in the chest. Rayanne shook it off.

  “He’s not mine to give away. And he’s not that great.”

  Ester ran her fingers through her messy hair. “Really? He has a terrific haircut and struts around like a huge slab of delish bronzed warrior with his big shoulders and—”

  “Enough,” Rayanne said. “I may have noticed those things and possibly even admired them. We’re working together. Working. It’s working.”

  “Whatever you say,” Ester said.

  Henry had suggested they drive to the retreat together, but Rayanne didn’t want to deal with him and his sexy smile, and big, brown man hands. Whenever he was in sight, her
eyeballs couldn’t stay away from his hands. Today, her job was to sell the board of directors on the future of the center. Henry would be in the background dealing with the food, and staying out of their way.

  When they pulled into the parking lot his old decrepit van was already there.

  “What, did he sleep here?” Ester said. “How ambitious. If your dream guy is another overachiever you may have found one.”

  “I don’t get the sense this guy is an overachiever, and he’s not my dream guy.”

  They made their way into the meeting lodge. Henry was in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” Rayanne asked.

  “Why the cranky face?” Henry had on an apron over nice slacks and a dress shirt with buttons. He grabbed a couple of mugs, and poured coffee from a steaming pot. “How do you ladies like it?”

  “If I had a dollar for every man who asked me that,” Ester said, taking one of the mugs, “I would have one lone dollar. Black is fine.”

  Rayanne took the mug from his hands. “I can do it.” She ripped open two sugar packets, and poured some milk into the coffee.

  “You’re not morning people,” Henry said.

  “No sane person is,” Ester said.

  “I can be,” Rayanne said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “What is that incredible smell?” Ester asked.

  “I’m glad you asked.” Henry pointed at the giant bowl on the counter. “I’m baking muffins.”

  “Are those what I think they are?” Rayanne said, spotting little blue dots in the batter.

  “Huckleberries,” Henry said. “Harvested during the summer. My mom donated to the cause. This was her idea. She wants me to make a good impression.” He smiled. “How am I doing?”

  Rayanne wasn’t about to gush. “Not bad, I guess. Someone is bound to approve.”

  “Like me,” Ester said. “Call me the minute those are done. I have to change into my professional retreat clothes.”