LaRose(65)

Once his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Romeo scoped quickly for the priest. He wanted to talk to Father Travis, not about the drug testing, but about the latest news. But the priest wasn’t there. He was amazed to see his son at one end of the bar.

He sat down next to Hollis.

What’s this? he asked.

It’s my birthday, said Hollis. I was born in August, remember?

Of course, of course, cried Romeo in surprise.

Hollis had entered school late because, when he was little, they were always on some mission involving lots of car backseat beds, party houses, Happy Meals. Romeo had forgotten to send him to school, but only for the first couple of years. Hollis was now turning eighteen before his senior year. He slid his driver’s license from his wallet to show the bartender, Puffy.

I am ordering my first beer!

Stand me too, my son.

Why don’t you buy me one for a change, said Hollis. Being it’s my birthday.

I would love to honor you but I am busted to bits. Romeo slumped.

Hollis ordered two beers.

What’re sons for? Hollis wearily said. But don’t try scamming on me, Dad.

No, no, I never would.

Right.

Except I got this arm here. Romeo winced, rolled his shoulder.

Your arm and leg. Hollis looked down at the leg. The last time he’d seen his father, that leg had been encased in black fake leather vinyl. Now it wore the sturdy brown cotton/poly of an honorable job.

You know how I got this? How it was Landreaux?

Yeah. You told me lots of times.

Since that day, always been a sad ol’ leg. Romeo laughed, he couldn’t help it. He was moved by the prospect of drinking a beer with his son. His son had not walked out the door. Romeo ducked his head, bobbed it up and down, smiling at the beer.

It is good to sit with you, my son.

I graduate this year, you know.

Wowzer, said Romeo.

I’m joining the National Guard. Got an appointment.

Speechless, Romeo gestured at Puffy to bring the beers, quick.

Ever since they hit the Towers, said Hollis, I’ve been thinking. My country has been good to me.

What? Romeo was scandalized. You’re an Indian!

I know, sure, they wiped us out almost. But still, the freedoms, right? And we got schools and hospitals and the casino. When we f*ck up now, we mostly f*ck up on our own.

Are you crazy! That’s called intergenerational trauma, my boy. It isn’t our fault they keep us down; they savaged our culture, family structure, and most of all we need our land back.

Hollis took his first legal drink of beer.

Oh yeah, true. But I keep thinking how I could save people in a flood. Motor them out on a pontoon, their little children in life jackets. Their dogs jumping in the boat last moment. I keep seeing that. I mean, National Guard. I probably won’t leave the state.

Hope not, said Romeo, weakly. This acceptance thing was part of being a father, he guessed, and it was more difficult than he’d imagined. He had a jealous thought.

What about Landreaux? He tell you to join up? Because of Desert Storm and all?

Not really, said Hollis. He was on the supply side of it. Medical. Never went out on the Road of Death, just got things ready for the guys, serviced lifesaving equipment and such. But there’s more, anyway, to this decision I’m making. I’ll learn welding, bridge construction, maybe truck driving. Heavy equipment. I want to get some money together, and those benefits. Go to UND later on. Maybe travel to the Grand Canyon or Florida, even. Out of state, anyway.

Romeo nodded and sweat.

I’ve not been the greatest, he mumbled. Who am I to say?

It’s okay, Dad. I know you went to boarding school. People say that f*cked you up so . . .

Romeo reared his head back.

Say? People say? They don’t know. Leaving boarding school was the thing that f*cked me. I loved my teachers and they all said I was college material.

Right, thought Hollis. He didn’t hate his father—he knew some worse fathers. Mostly he grew exasperated and just had to get away from Romeo. He had no quarrel with his mother, either, only wanted to know who and where she might be. He fit in with the Irons, maybe too well, because he found himself thinking constantly of how great it would be if Josette liked him and maybe someday married him.

You got a sweetheart?

Romeo asked this in a shy doggy voice, afraid that his son would say something sarcastic. When Hollis didn’t answer, he thought he’d offended him.

I know I ain’ been a great dad to you, Romeo went on, but you can count on me now.

Hollis looked at his dad, so scrawny, so anxious to be loved, and dropped his gaze, embarrassed.

You can count on me too, Dad, he said.

Romeo frowned into the dregs of his beer and blinked back tears.

That’s one for the books, he said. He put his hand out for the soul shake and Hollis could break his grip only by ordering them both another beer. Hollis asked Puffy to change the channel on the TV over the bar to CNN, because he knew his dad liked it. Someone complained about the news channel, but Puffy hushed him. Sure enough, Romeo sat up and peered intently at the screen.

After a few minutes he slumped back and leaned confidentially toward Hollis.

So that hijacker Atta was maybe meeting some Iraqi in Prague, maybe? A year ago April.

What’s that about? Hollis asked without interest.

It seems to me like Rummy’s scattering crumbs, said Romeo. Rummy’s hoping reporters peck the crumbs up. But come on, Czech intelligence?