He said, “I thought it might be good to have Jon Bjork talk to Ray Jay. He’s Ray Jay’s AA sponsor.”
“I really thought this time Ray Jay had it kicked. But without Dexter . . .” Stella shook her head and sipped her coffee. “Me, I couldn’t have made it except for my kids. You’ve got to have something, someone, to hold on to. Ray Jay’s got nothing now.”
“Not true. He has you.”
She frowned. “When they put us in foster care, that pretty much screwed up the family ties. Ray Jay and Harmon, they went their ways. Me, I went mine. Maybe if they’d tried to keep us all together.”
Cork understood. In Minnesota, Indian children were fourteen times more likely than white children to be placed in foster care, the widest such gap in the nation. Despite the dictates of the 1978 Indian Child Welfare Act, which required that tribal members be involved in child placement, these decisions usually remained in the hands of white social welfare workers who often had little understanding or appreciation of Indian families or the traditional roles family members played in the raising of children. The result was that families were often separated and familial ties irrevocably broken.
“Anything I can help you with, just give a holler.”
“Actually, there is something. Could you give me a lift to Ray Jay’s place? I want to get it cleaned before he comes home tomorrow.”
Cork glanced toward a closed door down the hallway at the other end of the house. “Leaving Marlee here?”
“No, she’ll come along.”
“How will you get back?”
“Judy’s driving over to help when she gets off work at the casino.” Stella was speaking of Judy Goodrow, Cork knew. A cousin. “She’ll give us a ride home.”
“Is she staying with you tonight?”
Stella shook her head. “She’s got a date.”
“Anybody staying with you tonight?”
“Uncle Shorty offered again.”
“He was supposed to be here last night.”
“The only offer I’ve had so far.”
“All right, let’s take it one step at a time. Let’s get you over to Ray Jay’s.”
“Thank you.”
Stella went to the closed door and knocked. “Marlee, honey? We’re going to clean Ray Jay’s place.” She eased the door open and disappeared inside.
When Stella came back out, Marlee was with her, still moving gingerly. Stella helped her into her coat, then put her own coat on, and Cork held the door open for them. In the Forester, Marlee sat in back, Stella up front.
As Cork maneuvered out of the yard and up the drive toward the highway, Marlee asked, “How’s Stephen?”
“Worried about you.”
Marlee was quiet a few moments. “I don’t want to see him right now.”
Stella turned and spoke over the seat back. “That’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to see anybody until you’re ready.”
“I mean, I want to see him. But I don’t.”
“I understand,” Stella said.
“Does he?” Marlee directed this at Cork.
“He’s having some trouble with it, but I think he does.”
“Tell him I’ll call him,” she said.
Raymond Bluejay Wakemup had an apartment on Makwa Street in Allouette. It was a bland, single-story, L-shaped structure of cinder block, painted a faded green, built long ago by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Originally, it had housed seniors on the rez, but the tribal government had used casino funds to build a new care facility a few years earlier, and the old structure had been haphazardly redone as apartments. There were bicycles and tricycles scattered in the yard near the front entrance. The building might have been secure at one time, but the door clearly hadn’t latched properly in a long time, and Cork opened it without a key. The smell of frying fish was strong in the hallway. The floor was covered with threadbare carpeting, deeply stained. They walked to the last apartment at the end of the L. Stella opened the door; it wasn’t locked.
Cork had expected a scene of disorder, which was how, in his experience, most bachelors lived, especially those who battled issues with addiction. But Ray Jay’s apartment was in decent order, except for the dog hair layered over most of the furniture upholstery. The place had a gloomy feel, maybe because all the curtains were drawn. The air was stale and, even though Dexter had been with the Daychilds while Ray Jay had done his jail time, still smelled of animal. Cork chocked it up to all that shed hair the dog had left behind.
“It’s not too bad,” Cork said.
Stella said, “It smells like Dexter. I don’t know if that’s a good thing for Ray Jay to come home to or not.”
“How would you get rid of it?”
“Burn the furniture,” Stella said. She went to the windows and drew the tattered curtains aside. Bright winter sunlight exploded across everything but didn’t completely dispel the feeling of gloom.
“I’m going to check the bedroom and bathroom,” Stella said. “Marlee, see what the kitchen looks like.”
She started toward the back rooms but stopped when Marlee called to her.
“Mom, somebody’s been here!”
Cork stepped into the kitchen, Stella right behind him. Marlee stood next to a badly refinished dinette table that occupied a corner of the small room. In the center of the table sat a large, round, opaque Tupperware cake carrier. Propped against it was a sheet of paper folded into a tent with “Welcome Home, Ray Jay!” printed in black Magic Marker.
“That’s nice,” Stella said and smiled.
Marlee said, “I wonder what kind of cake it is. Can I look?”
“Be my guest,” her mother replied.
Marlee reached out and lifted the tall plastic cover. Then she stumbled back and screamed.
Because what had been left for Ray Jay Wakemup was not a cake but the severed head of his beloved Dexter.
CHAPTER 22
Stephen found Jenny playing with Waaboo in the living room, throwing a blanket over the little guy, who squealed happily and, each time, dug his way out. Stephen leaned against the kitchen doorjamb and watched his sister’s delight in the child they’d both had a hand in rescuing. He loved Waaboo, too, loved him with all his heart. Which was how he felt about all his family. But at the moment, he was also very confused.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
Jenny looked up from the floor, from Waaboo tangled in the blanket. She clearly hadn’t heard him come in. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I need to talk.”
She caught the gravity in his voice and drew the blanket off Waaboo. She went to a corner of the living room, where a large toy chest sat, and pulled out a little roller device with a clear plastic dome and a handle. She pushed it across the carpet, and colored balls went popping inside the dome. Waaboo cried out happily and stumbled toward it. When he was busy with the toy, Jenny said, “Okay, talk to me.”
They sat at the dining room table, while Waaboo lurched around them, the balls popping like corn kernels in a hot kettle.
Stephen said, “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I have to tell somebody.”
“I’m listening.”
He explained what he’d seen on Crow Point, the embrace between Skye and Anne.
“Are you sure they weren’t just being sisterly?” Jenny asked.
“That wasn’t the kind of kiss one sister gives another, believe me.”
Jenny studied his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I guess. I just didn’t think . . .” He faltered.
“Does it matter, Stephen?”
“I guess not. I mean, she’s still Annie.”
Jenny sat back, looking relieved in a way. “No wonder she was so mysterious about it all. Oh, poor Annie. This has got to be so hard for her.”