Can we put a movie on, Grandma?
You got one of those mechanical people movies?
We’re so psyched, said Snow. We found Terminator in the sale bin.
Mrs. Peace crowed. Make my day!
That’s Clint Eastwood, said Snow. He plays real guys. And he’s ancient.
Not to me. He’s just a pup.
You like Arnold, too.
Arnold’s in it? I’ll be back.
Yes!
They recited the lines and didn’t have to look up to watch it, although at key sections they glanced at the screen and meditatively drew their threads across the scored and crosshatched block of beeswax. The wax strengthened the thread.
Don’t forget to make a mistake, said Snow to Josette, you know, to let the spirit out.
Only the Creator is perfect, said Josette dutifully. You think bleeding on my beadwork is a mistake enough? Or that I got two rows out of place already?
Snow examined the medallion.
You’re covered with the Creator, she said, handing it back.
What a relief. Josette put her two fingers up. Me and Gizhe Manidoo. We’re like this again.
I’ve got this question in my mind, said their grandmother. Which husband is Ignatia-iban out two-stepping with in the spirit world?
Why would she pick one of her husbands, said Josette, when she had so many other ladies’ husbands to choose from?
Not to mention the unattached ones, either, said Snow.
She had a few, agreed Mrs. Peace.
What about you, Grandma?
Josette and Snow flicked glances at each other.
Oh me, said Mrs. Peace. I stayed faithful to your grandfather all my life.
They were quiet, out of both respect and pity. But still, Josette was curious.
Why did you stay so faithful?
Oh, I wasn’t so good — I was just tired of them. Men. They’re stressful. You’ll see.
We already know that, said Snow, who still kept her disappointing wrestler boyfriend’s hoodie on a hook in the back of the closet.
On the way back home Snow and Josette stopped to pick up Maggie. The girls went through the kitchen grabbing carrots and ranch dressing, then into their bedroom with the bowl. Snow drew the flimsy little bolt across the door frame, and they all felt private. She settled on her bed, graceful as a doe, wound her long hair in her fingers, curved herself around her long legs, and chomped a baby carrot.
Mmmmm? Her mouth was full of carrot but her face was serious.
Maggie looked up at the ceiling. Snow and Josette had been odd in the car on the way over, not jokey or at ease. Something was going on with them. Josette cleared her throat, but started coughing and fell over pounding on the bed, laughing until her fit stopped. She was wearing tight jeans. She jumped up, peeled them off, put on sweats. So maybe things were okay? But Josette spoke suddenly.
Hey Maggie, are you doing the thing with Waylon?
Well, yeah, said Maggie, relieved that was all it was.
Having full-on sex, said Snow, to make sure.
Maggie said, Errrrrr.
As your protective older sisters, said Josette.
Right, said Snow.
We want to make sure you are taking precautions. Like, he’s using a thingy?
Duh, said Maggie.
For reals, girl.
No, said Maggie.
If he’s giving you love, he gotta wear a glove, said Snow.
Above or beneath, he gotta wear a sheath, said Josette.
If he’s spoutin’ crude, he gotta cap his dude!
If you’re gonna rock, make him wear a sock!
Snow and Josette were becoming hysterical.
Oh my god, you guys! Stop!
Maggie put a pillow over her head and rolled away from them. After a moment, Josette stopped laughing and tugged away the pillow.
That’s not all either.
Maggie groaned and threw herself on her stomach.
Come on, trust us, said Snow. Do you know what to do?
Course, said Maggie.
Theoretically or in reality?
What do you mean?
I’m talking doctors, methods, ways, you know, contraception and all. Do you know how to get it?
Course not.
Aww, honey.
Snow and Josette held each other’s gazes.
First off, said Josette, me and Snow are having a little talk with Waylon.
No!
Just a heart-to-heart. He’s got to know we don’t let him mess around with our little sister unless he knows what to use. Then he’s gotta wait and we’ll figure out where to go — I mean, you probably can get in at IHS. There’s this one doctor who just lives to fix you up with the right method. She doesn’t want this high school momma shit happening. Besides, do you know how risky it is — what did she say — for a young girl to have a baby in a rural health care delivering system? Yeah, that’s what she said. We went to her. Well, Snow did when she was with Shane. Not me. I’m not in a mature relationship, right? But this doctor, she’s here on and off. We know how to get you in. You’ve got your future to think about, Maggie. You hear?
He had a whole bunch of sex before you, said Snow. You have to make him get tested, too.
He said only three times!
Okay, well, can you see me rolling my eyes to the heavens?
Maggie turned over and gave up.
Can I get the shot?
If you wanna gain thirty pounds.
How about the yoood?
What are you talking about?
The iiiiyooood.
The iiiiyoooodeeee?
Maggie nodded.
Wow, said Josette. We’re starting ground level.
Matchless convenience, said Josette. But mostly they give it to grown-up ladies.
How about pills?
Are you good at taking pills?
Yes, said Maggie. But I don’t want my mom to find them. What about that cuppy thing?
Technically, a diaphragm. Not a hundred percent. And you want to be batting a thousand against Waylon. His brothers and uncles. .
No blanks, said Snow. I’m thinking maybe the pill. You can use my prescription for now. Just be sneaky — plus the condom? Always the condom.
That’s, like, over a hundred percent coverage.
I’d go with that, said Snow.
HOLLIS SET OUT chairs, put away random lawn equipment, plastic bats, things that did not belong. He moved along swift and light, doing anything they wanted. The party, for him! He raced around. Taking directions. A graduation party. He still didn’t know how to feel. His morose dark vibe was definitely compromised. He caught himself smiling. His party was the weekend before school graduation. Everyone was having their parties then, or the week after, and everyone was also making the rounds. Hollis’s party was on Sunday in the late afternoon — just the right time to catch everyone all partied out from the night before, needing hangover soup and more food, but not the kind of crowd that would stay all night. The photos of the graduating seniors had been published in the newspaper. Everybody knew whose houses were having parties. They would have endless guests and guests of guests. You never knew how many people. So far they had borrowed ten Crock-Pots, and Emmaline had scored a case of Famous Dave’s BBQ sauce, sell-by date elapsed.
Barbecue sauce never goes bad, right?
Never!
Famous Dave was a cultural hero, a successful barbecue entrepreneur Ojibwe guy with chain outlets.
Emmaline had plugged the slow cookers into every kitchen outlet, laid the big pieces of beef chuck inside, covered them with sauce, and set them on low overnight. On party day everybody woke smelling the overpowering barbecue smell. It wasn’t, somehow, a wake-up smell. They opened the windows. Landreaux separated the barbecue meat with two forks and kept the cookers on. By the afternoon, it would be perfect. Emmaline had already made the meatball soup and frozen it. There would be a meat soup, which the old people preferred.