Winter Counts(14)
A pause. “How’s Nathan? Marie told me what happened.”
“He’s going to make it.” This was the first time I’d said this out loud. I hadn’t wanted to speak the words out of some weird fear of cursing Nathan. But as I spoke, I felt angry. Angry that Nathan had done this to himself, angry that he’d put me in this position. Angry that Natives like Rick Crow would sell dope to kids on the rez, starting the whole cycle over again.
“That’s good,” he said. “Glad to hear it. We don’t need any more overdoses. Not on my watch.”
I waited for him to say something else, more sympathetic words, but I realized that this was the extent of Ben’s compassion.
“I’m ready to go to Denver,” I said. “What we talked about. Rick Crow.”
“Are you sure—with Nathan in recovery?”
I hadn’t thought this through. “I’ll look after him. Soon as he’s on his feet, I’m good to go.”
“Okay.” Ben cleared his throat on the other end of the line. “Best to take care of this away from the rez. Less complicated. How long do you need before you’d leave?”
“I could maybe take off by the end of the week.”
“All right,” he said, “you need money to get down there?”
“No, I got enough.” I’d tap into the college savings, what little there was.
“Need some extra help? I got a couple of guys I can possibly set you up with down there.”
“No.”
“You positive? Rick runs with a pretty bad crowd. You got to promise me you’ll handle this. Fix this problem—for the people.”
For so long, I’d been unsure about what it meant to be Indian. I’d believed it meant going to powwows, speaking the language, wearing Leonard Peltier Tshirts. Maybe it did mean all of that stuff. But I knew one thing now. Rick Crow might look Indian, but he was no Native. He was a cancer, and it was time to cut out the tumor.
“I don’t care about his crowd. When I find him, I’ll jam every bag of drugs I can find up his ass. I’ll burn off every one of his goddamn fingers. Motherfucker will suffer. That’s a promise.”
7
Nathan was sleeping again, his chest moving slowly up and down. He’d be released from the hospital in the next few days, so I didn’t have much time to decide what I was going to do about his care. Ben had said Rick was in Denver now, buying more dope, so there was no time to wait. Not to mention, I was burning to find that fucker and show him the front side of my fist and the back side of a baseball bat.
The problem was Nathan. I couldn’t leave if he was still sick, and I sure as shit didn’t want to take off until I was positive he wouldn’t mess with drugs again. I needed to find out where he’d gotten the stuff and why he’d made the colossally stupid decision to take it. When he was ready, I’d talk to him and find out more.
The only answer was to have him stay at my auntie’s place. She was eighty years old and lived in a two-room house about twenty miles from town. If he stayed there, he’d be away from his friends and any trouble. He could take a few weeks off from school while he recuperated. There wasn’t much space there, but Nathan could help her gather firewood when he got his strength back. The place had no central heating, just a wood stove in the middle of the main room, but he’d be fine. Having Nathan stay there was the best—maybe the only—option I had.
I felt bad about leaving, but what did I know about taking care of sick kids? My auntie was better at this; she’d raised three children and knew all about this stuff. I stared at the dregs of my coffee. Truth was, I was scared about screwing up with Nathan. Even though I’d had my own struggles with booze, I didn’t know anything about addiction recovery. What I was good at was knocking the shit out of assholes.
“This a bad time?”
I looked up into the eyes of Marie Short Bear, standing in the doorway of the hospital room. Her black hair was longer than when I’d last seen her, falling past her shoulders and down her back. She had on a white strappy blouse that showed off her shoulders and long slender frame, and a dark skirt that appeared to be decorated with ledger art. Her face looked sad and beautiful, her brown eyes flashing with glints of copper.
“I like your skirt.”
She looked embarrassed. “It’s Bethany Yellowtail. My mother gave it to me.”
“Looks good.”
“Can I come in?”
“Let’s go out to the waiting room,” I said. “He’s still sleeping.”
Marie peered over at Nathan. “Poor guy.”
We moved to the dingy waiting room, which was thankfully empty. I tried not to stare at Marie as she pulled out a chair. It had been a long time since I’d seen her, and memories surged into my brain like a flash flood. Thoughts of our time together, images of Marie as a schoolgirl.
She’d been a weird kid in grade school. And I do mean weird. She wore plastic wolf ears and a wolf tail in class for the entire fourth grade, and would howl periodically throughout the day, which infuriated her teachers. She claimed she was half wolf and couldn’t stop wailing and yowling. Thankfully, she grew out of the wolf stage, but the damage had been done. All throughout elementary school, kids would bark behind her back, and they called her “Dogbreath.” I was too small to help her when the teasing started, and in any case, I was more concerned with my own social status. At the rez school, the pecking order was as clearly defined as that of some fancy prep school back east. Marie was at the bottom then, and I wasn’t far away.