Whisper to Me(23)

The truth was I didn’t care at the time. I was ready to come home. I hadn’t been happy for a long while. And I’d figured that since people had preconceived notions about me, why try to change them?

“When are you going to finally settle down, son?” my father said, quieter this time. As if the fight had gone out of him. “Figure out a way to make a decent living. Make some girl proud.”

“He’ll find himself a nice girl when he’s ready,” Mom said. “We had our own rough start, you know that.” Mom and Dad were initially friends in college but were in love for a long time. My paternal grandparents didn’t exactly approve. They’d been nervous about the Native American culture dying out. But you can’t stop love from happening, Mom had said. Didn’t I know it. Instead, Mom agreed to honor Dad’s culture and our native traditions.

“But I have to agree with your father about the job part.”

“I hear you loud and clear.” I stood up because I no longer wanted this conversation to continue. “So, where can I find Stu?”

Dad walked around his desk to open the closet at the back corner of the room. He handed me some kind of itchy polyester suit jacket. It was the color of cranberries and had the name of the casino emblazoned across the front pocket.

I opened my mouth to protest, but my father gave me a warning look. “You have to wear this. Company policy.”

“I’m just not a suit kind of guy.” Especially not a goddamn polyester suit. “What about the T-shirts I see the bar backs wearing?”

“Ask Stu to order a few in your size. In the meantime, put this on.”

I bit my tongue and grabbed it from him. It was too snug, but I pushed up the sleeves and was on my way.





Chapter Ten


Rachel





I pulled alongside the curb in the artsy part of town known as the Commons. I spotted Mom inside the new shop, looking tired and flustered. Immediately, I knew I’d made the right decision to come home to help her this summer.

She’d been there for me on so many occasions. When I’d woken up in the ICU and seen the confusion and torment on her face—the pain and sorrow—it had killed me. Daddy’s face hadn’t been much better.

I had tried hard for them, especially at the beginning of my recovery. And I had definitely been trying for me, too. My days were spent wallowing between despair, anger, and hope.

And whether I admitted it or not, many of those hopeful days were due to Kai, who had always showed up with a huge, cocky grin on his face. “You ready, Turtle?”

And that would piss me off and spur me on. But he’d get this tenderness in his eyes, and I couldn’t stay mad for long. That nickname had stuck through high school, and to this day, you couldn’t pay me to run. Even though I would’ve loved to show my classmates up after surgery.

Little did Kai realize how appropriate a moniker it would become for someone who was so weak she needed a cane to help her walk just a few feet or a wheelchair to move her around.

The first time Kai let that nickname slip after a particularly grueling physical therapy session, I’d felt an initial stab of humiliation, which I was positive had been reflected in my eyes. “Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what that might sound like now.”

“Don’t you dare stop calling me that. I’ll be pissed if you do,” I’d said. “You’re one of the only people in my life who treats me the same as you did before.”

We shared a meaningful look that made me feel connected to him in a way few others had. “Okay, Shelly. I won’t.”

I banged on the door to Pure, startling Mom in the process. She rushed to unlock it and then helped prop it open as I carried in a box of color samples from the paint store and some other decorations I had spotted while at Walmart.

I looked around the shop, which was a smaller space than her last one but a fitting size for her business. Plus, there were two back rooms where Mom could work her lotion, candle, and soap-making magic. Hand-poured and paraben-free, of course.

“It’s looking halfway decent, Mom. I like how you arranged the shelves,” I said. “I still think you should paint that back wall a warm dramatic color, like a taupe or chocolate brown, to make the whole room pop.”

When she gave me a skeptical look, I continued. “I brought samples. Let me dab some on the wall first before you veto my decision.”

“Okay,” she said. “You’re better at the decorating stuff than I am.”

I placed my boxes near the cash register and then pulled out a light-colored T-shirt from one of the bags I’d brought along. “Maybe you’d also consider carrying other locally-made things. Like these shirts. They’re crafted out of one hundred percent organic cotton and have these cute Zen sayings on them.”