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stronger than that. I’ll
never let this happen again. I wish I was in control.
    We hardly talk on the way. The benefit is: I don’t
have to listen to him describe refinishing his truck.
    “Do you drink coffee, tea, or soda?”
     “Soda.” Are we still on a date?
    Hayden pulls into a gas station just outside of
the Indian colony. I sit in the truck, still tired.
    “Come on, let’s get something to drink.” He holds
my door open for me.
    I follow him. He chooses orange juice. I can’t
find grape soda, so I copy him and get juice, but mine is purple. Hayden pays,
and we walk outside to a splintery picnic bench by the road. The smell of
gasoline punctuates the crisp air.
    “I’ll take you home when you feel better.”
    I don’t want to talk about what happened, so I
don’t answer. He opens his juice and drinks half the bottle before stopping.
    “About the sermon—” He takes a breath then falls silent.
    “It’s not like you don’t know what I do.” Why not
help him out a little? I know all men like the thought of a woman taking off
her clothes even if they say they don’t. I give him a look to let him know.
What will he say to that?
    “But it isn’t right.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it should be private, holy, between only two
people.”
    “So you want to own your woman. She can only dance
for you.”
    “Not own.”
    Hayden swirls his juice around in his bottle and I
listen to the cars zooming by. If he doesn’t want to own a woman, then why should
it be so private?
    “So you wouldn’t go get a drink at a club and
watch a dancer?”
    “Well, it isn’t real.”
    Hayden’s right, it isn’t real but the money is
good. At least it was.
    “It’s just a service, entertainment. A show,” I
say.
    “No, it’s not. It means more.”
    I realize my leg is tapping a ridiculous speed
under the table.
    “So you agree with the…what did you call it? Sermon?
That dancing steals souls from children, it’s a horrible sin?”
    Hayden laughs like he doesn’t think it’s that
funny. “Yeah.” He snaps his tongue and watches traffic, thinking or avoiding
the answer. “So you heard him talk about sin. What did you think about what he
said after?”
    I shrug too quickly.
    “You didn’t hear anything else, did you?”
    I stand. “I feel better, thanks for the juice.”
And we both pretend like I drank some.

Chapter 7
    Normally, Lorna does nothing but complain about the
cops on the reservation. They’re just guys hired by our tribal council, men who
don’t know anything about us—Thom and me. So I’m surprised by the spread she’s
laid out on the table. We never eat like this. The glass dining room table and
mismatched chairs are transformed into a bistro. The table has plates, cups,
forks, knives and napkins already arranged. There are even spoons. What could
she possibly serve that we will need to use spoons?
    Hayden compliments her into giggles and excuses.
My brother takes Hayden outside and they lean under the hood and talk truck. It
feels like Super Bowl Sunday.
    Lorna doesn’t want help in the kitchen. I didn’t
even know she could cook. Normally everyone fends for themselves, every meal. I
hear the engine fire and watch Hayden and Thom leave. Hayden speeds; he shows
off in the way only a guy with a truck can.
    I walk outside. Raenah sits on her porch, wrapped
in her blanket.
    “Hey,” I call to her. “What’cha doing?”
    “I guess I was hoping one of my kids would show up
for a visit.”
    I almost say “have fun,” but I catch myself. In
nine years, I have never met her kids. I head over.
    “Looks like a nice young man you have there.”
    “He’s not ‘my young man.’” But he is golden.
    “Oh, he just wanted to hang out with your family?”
A guffaw pops out of her when she suggests this.
    “I guess.” I can’t help but smile.
    “Darlin’, no one would spend time with Lorna
unless they thought you were worth it.”
    Raenah keeps me sane.
    She begins telling me a legend