Winter Counts(65)

“Hey, why aren’t you at—”

“I got fired!” she said. “From my goddamn job! That bitch Delia terminated me. Can you believe it?”

I pulled out a chair. “On what grounds?”

“Insubordination. She said I went over her head on the bison grant, said she’d told me to stop working on it. She never said that! She’s just jealous.”

“Hold on,” I said. “How’d you go over her head? Wasn’t the grant thing your project?”

“Yeah, but she’s claiming I neglected my duties, which is bullshit. She said the bison project won’t work for us because we don’t have the facilities to handle fresh meat, which is stupid. It’s our job to make that happen, right?” She was pulling at her long black hair like there was something attached to it.

“I don’t understand. Didn’t you bring in a whole bunch of money? Seems like that’s a good thing for the tribe.”

“Yeah, of course! Two hundred thousand dollars. The money’s just sitting in the bank. You’d think I’d be rewarded. But she said I wasn’t focusing on my job, which is complete and utter crap. She’s the one who barely does anything.”

“Can’t you fight this? If it’s not true?”

“I don’t know. She had all the paperwork filled out—I guess she’d been planning it for a while. She mentioned like five times that I’d been written up before. Yeah, twice. In three years! And those were bullshit too. I was out one day because of a scheduling mistake, and the other time I missed was because my mom was sick. Remember that?”

I didn’t, but I let her go on.

“She just hates me and wants me gone so she can waste even more time.”

I thought about comforting her, but she still looked wired to detonate.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “It’s not that easy to fire someone. From an office job.”

“I guess it is. We don’t have employment contracts, so we can be let go any time. That’s what she told me, anyway.” She started twisting one of her rings, around and around.

“Yeah, but why would she fire a councilman’s daughter? Especially when he’s running for tribal president? Isn’t she worried she’ll get in trouble with your father?”

“I know, right? That’s what I thought, too. I called my dad before you got here—he said I could meet with him later today. Like I’m some nobody off the street! I wonder if he knew about this.”

“Don’t think so,” I said. “If he knew about it, why wouldn’t he tell you?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to his office later. You mind driving me? I’m so mad, I can’t focus. This is the first time in my life I’ve been fired.”

“Sure, happy to take you there. But take it easy.”

She just shook her head, staring down at the floor.

TWO HOURS LATER, I pulled into the parking lot for the tribal council offices, finding a spot next to an older-model American truck and a German sedan.

“You want me to wait out here?” I asked.

“No, come on in. I don’t know if he’s ready to talk yet.”

We walked inside, past the vacant reception desk and all the flyers and posters tacked on the wall. Ben’s office was at the far end of the building, the door slightly open.

“I’ll see you in little while, okay?” she said, then rapped on the door and went inside. I pulled up a chair and sat down in the hallway. I could hear the two of them clearly from my seat, and wondered if I should wait in the car to give them some privacy. I got up and started to walk away, but then I changed my mind. No harm in hearing what Ben had to say. I might even learn something useful.

There was a sound like chairs being moved, and I heard Ben offering Marie some coffee.

“No thanks, I’m already too jittery,” Marie said.

“All right, so let’s talk,” Ben said. “Wayne Janis told me a few days ago this was coming. I guess Delia Kills in Water cleared it with him.”

“Wait, you knew about this? Why didn’t you say anything?” More chair noises.

“Marie, I had to stay out of it—I didn’t have a choice. I’m not on that committee, I don’t have any influence over there.”

“Bullshit! You’ve been on council for years—you know everyone. And you’re running for president!”

“That’s exactly why I can’t interfere. If I protect you, Cecil LaPlante will destroy me in the election. He’ll claim nepotism, corruption. Hey, I don’t like what happened. But really, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re going off to medical school soon—who gives a damn about that job?”

“I care! You know the crappy food in the commodity boxes. My grant will change that. Fresh buffalo meat—”

“That’s not going to happen. It was a nice idea, but the tribe doesn’t have the capacity to process and store bison. The money’s going to be used for education and promotion. That’s what I heard.”

“What? The grant is for bison meat. I know, I wrote it! How are they using it for other stuff?”

“That’s how federal grants work. You apply in a certain area, but the government gives you leeway on spending the funds. Wayne doesn’t think it’s a good use of our resources to use the grant for buffalo meat. People won’t eat it anyway—they like beef and pork.”