LaRose(109)

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.