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you’re somebody’s mother because the advice just flows out of you.” The car horn honked, and Cory zipped up her jacket. “Take it easy, Mom,” she called. “And it’s okay about Mac,” she said to Roxanne. “He knows what’s going on. He understands.”
    Mac did understand. During the first week after the family’s return from Wausau, he had called twice and a few times approached Cory at school, sometimes shyly working his way to her side when she was with friends, but more often finding her when she was alone at her locker.
    She appreciated his concern and kindness and was always glad to see him, but the strong interest and attraction she had felt during their first conversations had subsided. Her mother was sick and possibly dying. Dealing with a boyfriend, making time for dates, and waiting for phone calls all seemed like meaningless distractions.
    “Not now, Mac,” she’d explained when he at last asked her to a movie. “Dating just isn’t where I’m at these days.” And he had said he understood.
    The friendship attracted some attention. There were no interracial couples in school and even few interracial conversations. So when Mac sat at her lunch table or walked her from school to her car, Cory could almost count on receiving phone calls that evening from friends.
    The calls irritated her, and she had even hung up on Karin, who had said that she would never under any circumstances kiss an Indian. Logan Bennett, a senior who had never done more than nod to Cory at council meetings, called twice to ask her out. When she turned him down the second time, he’d responded curtly, “You like Indians better?”
    “Better than you,” she’d answered.
    *
    “I hope the spaghetti tastes better than the pancakes,” Mike said as they entered the senior citizens’ center.
    “A pig roast,” said Cory. “That would be a delicious charity. Do the beggars dare make suggestions?”
    “I don’t think so. Look at this crowd.” Mike waved to someone and, at the same time, hundreds of eyes turned on them.
    Cory was accustomed to being well known in a small town, but now she was almost a celebrity and she didn’t like it. She felt as if she were constantly being watched, discussed, and evaluated: She’s holding up so well. She’s such a help. She’s slipping in school. Do you suppose she ever cries?
    As she felt the eyes watching, she wished she had stayed home. That was a difference the family situation made. Before, she never passed up social gatherings and often turned them into her own party. In a way, these fund-raising events were for her, but they never ever felt like a party.
    Mike forged into the crowd—shaking hands, accepting hugs, joking and laughing. Cory held back; she doubted she could fake it tonight.
    “I will be personally offended if you sneak away without eating anything.”
    Cory turned. “Hi, Mac. Look at you—what a mess!” He was wearing a long white apron that was soaked and splattered with kitchen juices and food bits.
    “Chef Mac, please.”
    “I didn’t know you cooked.”
    “And you probably didn’t know that spaghetti is a traditional Native American dish.”
    She sniffed. “Smells like you were on garlic duty.”
    “And onions. I chopped about fifteen pounds. That was all they trusted me to do. Actually, I can’t even cook a scrambled egg without ruining it. I always get shell mixed in.”
    “Did I really look like I wanted to sneak away?” He was holding a plastic cup. He sipped before answering. “You did. Don’t go.” He pointed across the room. “Sasha and Tony are sitting with Barb’s kids at the table by the podium. Go sit with them. They’re safe.”
    “Safe?”
    “It just doesn’t look like you are up to forcing cheerfulness tonight.”
    “Can you read minds?”
    “Another Native specialty. Pretty scary, huh?”
    “It is. Oh well, I don’t think I can avoid it any longer. If Mike can do it, so can I.”
    “You sit with Sasha and Tony, and