Chapter 13 – Leap #3
“I’ll think about it . . . maybe nail down Jim and Nan, then get them to lean on her . . . Unless he’s got a date, I think we can count on Billy.”
“Okay. Well . . . do go up there in the morning and find out. Could be an interesting evening.”
******
In bed that night, Robby said, “You have the whitest skin — in some places — I’ve ever seen.”
“Especially next to yours.”
“True.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.” He grinned and kissed a white spot.
“Seriously, Robby. Is it a problem with your family and friends that I’m white?”
They’d been on their sides facing each other.
Now Robby rolled on his back and looked at the ceiling.
Grace waited. “Not my friends. They couldn’t care less .
. . my family?” He turned his head to Grace.
“Would they have loved it if I’d gone to law school, joined Bella’s firm, married a rez girl, and had Ojibwe babies?
Of course.” He looked back at the ceiling.
“But I was obsessed with music from a young age. Played guitar in my room for hours as a teenager and got good at it. It became my secret power. I was tall, skinny, and Indian, but when I played guitar, people were impressed.” He paused.
“My parents? Honestly, I think they were relieved I wasn’t drunk or high all the time.
I wasn’t a saint, but I graduated from high school without becoming an addict or a daddy and started college.
But more and more, I was playing with people who traveled on the weekends .
. . rehearsed during the week. I could support myself — just barely — so I left the rez and college behind for good at twenty.
I’ve made an effort to stay connected . .
. but I’ve been living in a white world .
. . sixteen years. They know that. It’s no secret I’ve been with more nonNative women .
. . So, to answer your question, your being white isn’t a problem.
I doubt they think about it much anymore if at all.
They’re thankful we’re all healthy and functional. Not different from other parents.”
He looked at Grace and spoke softly. “Now I want to ask you something. Please don’t close the door. We don’t have to talk about it at length, but we’re not strangers anymore. I want to understand you better. I heard you tell Marie you have nothing to hide.”
“Okay.” Her left hand pulled some twirls of hair back.
“How can you not have anyone at home who cares what happens to you? That’s what it sounds like, but that’s not possible, and you don’t seem like a person who exaggerates. You said your mother’s still living. Surely, she cares.”
Grace looked away. “She must, right? But she’s made it clear she has no use for me right now.
I do have two longtime girlfriends — I know they care — but they’ve both moved far away, and I have a cousin who’s the closest thing I have to a sister — she cares — but she lives several hours away.
When I was filling out forms for the BWCA job, I listed Jim as my emergency contact.
I do have some family on dad’s side up here, but we’re not close .
. . yet. I hope we’ll get closer if I move up here. ”
“Is that something you’re considering?”
“Not at the moment, but only because I think it’s pointless to waste time planning anything long term right now. It’s a possibility, one I was thinking about before I met you, just so you know.”
“Do you see how it’s hard to understand how a person can live in one place for twenty-eight years and not have anyone there who cares whether she lives or dies?”
“Yes. Margie said the same thing. I’ll tell you what I told her.
It’s a long, boring story. And it’s painful for me to tell, because it reveals how immature I was .
. . and how I failed, epically . . . I think some people would be sad to hear I’d died, but I wouldn’t expect anything more, except from my mother, but we’re not close.
She’s always been a loner and hard to understand.
I’m pretty sure Dad understood her, but once he died, she shut me out except when she needed transportation or errands, which was a lot, and I knew he’d have wanted me to be there for her.
It’s probably especially hard for someone like you to understand.
You have family, friends, bandmates, a community, and a fan base .
. . Can we stop talking about this now? This is not the ending to this day I was hoping for. Please.” She looked at him wearily.
“Yes. Come closer.”
*******
It was late the next morning before Grace left for the lodge. Robby got the hammock and his toolbox and went to work. It didn’t take long. He got the hammock up, the pillow in it, the tools back in the truck, and went off in the canoe.
When Grace walked into the lodge, no one was around but Kirsten, and she made it clear she didn’t want to talk by not even looking up when Grace came in.
Grace checked her emails. She decided she had nothing to lose with Kirsten and went to the desk and stood in front of her. Kirsten continued with her paperwork.
“When will Nan or Jim be around?”
“Lunchtime.” Kirsten didn’t look up.
“Are there any other guests besides Robby and me?”
“Yes.”
“When are they leaving?”
“I don’t know if it’s okay to answer that. That’s giving out information about guests.”
Grace took a deep breath. “I understand.” She turned around and left, in as relaxed a manner as she could manage. Then, she walked down toward the dock. She found Billy in the fish house cleaning a guest’s catch, a beautiful lake trout and two respectable Northerns.
“Hi, Grace! How’s your weekend so far? Better than the last time Robby was here, I hope?”
“So far, so good. In fact, almost perfect.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Thanks.” She leaned against the rough door frame. “Robby and I want to have a cookout and invite Nan, Jim, Kirsten, and you.”
Billy stopped cleaning and stood back from the wood counter. “Well, that’s a first, and would be interesting. Can I ask whose idea it was?”
“Mine, but Robby was immediately onboard. Only problem is Nan and Jim are not at the lodge, and Kirsten’s barely speaking to me.
I don’t want to mention it to her till I run it by them.
You’re different. These guests,” she pointed to the fish, “are they the only ones? Do you know when they’re leaving?
We don’t want to risk someone else coming to the point, and probably Nan and Jim wouldn’t come anyway as long as there’re guests. ”
“You do know,” Billy stepped into the doorway, took a quick look around, then stepped back in, “about Kirsten and Robby?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He picked the knife back up and nodded down at the fish. “These folks are the only guests, and they’re on housekeeping. So there are no guest meals right now . . . and they’re leaving tomorrow. Gonna wing driving back to Chicago. Probably be fine. That’s what I know. When you thinkin’?”
“Depends mostly on Nan and Jim. Tomorrow or next weekend — the next time everybody’s free, there aren’t any guests, and Robby’s here. Let me ask you something else.” This time it was Grace who looked around. “Do you know if Kirsten plays an instrument or sings?”
“She sings. Really well. I’ve heard her singing along with the Sonos in the kitchen. I don’t know whether she plays anything. She’d be great if it weren’t for the other.” He made a face. “Shame.”
“What about you?”
“I sing a bit. You couldn’t grow up in my house without singing. And I play guitar. Got my dad’s old Martin up here.”
“Billy! You never said anything! Robby would love having someone to play with, and I’m sure Jim would be fine with it. This is so exciting! I can’t wait to tell him. When can you come down?”
“Well not this weekend. Jim said to leave you guys alone.” He winked at her.
“Oh. Well. That was nice of him. And embarrassing. But when we have this cookout, you’ll bring your guitar, right?”
“And play with Robby Song? Lead guitar for The Laughing Gulls? This is getting unreal. I couldn’t pass up the chance, but I might get paralyzed. We’ll see if this is real when I wake up.”
“I’m going to go tell Robby. He’s got an acoustic guitar with him, a big one that has a lot of decorative stuff on it. If you see Nan and Jim, tell them what we’re thinking — tomorrow or next weekend, okay?” She stepped out. “See you. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Bye, Grace.” Billy looked down at the trout, still shaking his head.
*******
Grace was excited. She could hardly wait to tell Robby everything. She crossed the porch in a hurry and went into the cabin. Robby wasn’t there. There was a note on his laptop under an avocado: On a reconnaissance mission in canoe. Back for lunch. RS
“Hmmm.” She felt like celebrating, got a beer, and headed out the side door, hoping he wouldn’t be long.
She wanted to tell him about Billy and that whole conversation, plus she was hungry.
She went as far as she could without stepping in the water, peered in every direction, but didn’t see him.
So she went back and sat in one of the Adirondacks and sipped the beer.
Of course, he snuck up on her, by water this time.
She had closed her eyes and was listening to the silence, when she heard the canoe scrape against the rocks.
“Drinking in the middle of the day.” Robby shook his head.
“Who are you keeping company with? Oh yeah. A musician. That explains your fall into depravity.” He stepped out and pulled the canoe up.
He had on a long-sleeved, faded yellow shirt, sleeves rolled up, old water shoes, and tan canvas shorts.
Grace stood up. “I’m so glad you’re here! I have news, and I’m hungry.”