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Her dad climbed back into the truck, buckled up and then leaned out the open window.
“Thanks for your help with them. I really appreciate it.” Guy was hella sincere, she had to give him that.
Elora shrugged, and he almost patted her arm, but stopped himself. She waved a little awkwardly at the kids as Rick pulled out of the gravel parking lot. Megan, with her pigtails in sparkly pink scrunchies, blew her a kiss.
Mabel’s car was the only one left in the visitors parking lot, surrounded by empty Sonic cups and patchy grass. Being summer, the sky was blue and empty, the sun a bronze ball that wouldn’t sink ’til nearly nine. It was only just after four; Elora thought about changing out and heading for the campus pool.
One of the residents came out on the porch. Lank hair, too tired to have a color, and cheekbones for days. She had skinny lips and behind her pink-rimmed glasses, had the manic eyes of many a user. Pointing her chin affably, the woman asked, “What’s your name, girl?”
Not seeing any reason not to tell her, she answered, “Elora.”
“The Lord is my light,” the woman replied dreamily, instead of telling Elora her own name, like that was just what anyone said when you introduced yourself. She lit a cigarette. “You came in with my kids.”
Elora felt her elbows lock up. She hadn’t actually seen any pictures of Rick’s wife. The kids all looked enough like him that she somehow hadn’t really pictured their mother at all.
“I guess.”
“You his new girlfriend, then?” The woman frowned at her, but didn’t seem angry -- more puzzled. “I’m a little surprised is all. You can’t be more than 19.”
“Ew, no, he’s my dad!” She felt stupid the moment she said it; was it worse for this lady to find out her husband had a kid he hadn’t told her about, or to find out he was dating again? Nope, both were pretty bad.
“Oh, you’re Cookie’s girl,” the woman said sagely. “Makes sense I guess. You look like her.”
“You knew my mom?” She kind of hated it about herself, the way she always perked up if someone said her mom’s name. Like they were going to give her a copy of her mom’s will folded over the deed to an oil field, or hand over a blood-smeared treasure map.
“We went to high school together. Only senior year, though. We weren’t chummy or anything, but she was one of those kids that everyone knew. Like she had a glow or something. Everyone knew Cookie.”
Elora nodded a little. People kept saying that.
“Maybe you have it, too. Something. Not a glow, really, but… something.” Rick’s wife tilted her head toward the half-way home, and the wandering murmur of its occupants.
“Everyone else here is so filmy-- like, spindly and see-through,” She gestured vaguely with her cigarette. “Like smoke.” She coughed a little laugh to herself. “You, though. You’re… solid. Like, dense. Like those rock guys the Canadians make. You won’t wear down, is what I’m saying, right?” She took another drag of her cigarette and the red cherry gleam caught in her eyes, reflected, a hot spot on her smudged glasses.
“That’s not even the right kind of Indian, but you know what I mean,” she said. “You’re a landmark. Built to guide people.” Stubbing out her cigarette, the woman rubbed her nose against her shoulder sleeve. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Elora said.
“My kids could use a big sister.” She flicked the cigarette butt into an overfull trashcan and walked back inside.
*
Rita was stowing groceries in the fridge when Elora got in.
“Hey. I got a lot of frozen vegetables. It’s less depressing than letting them dissolve in the crisper drawers,” she sighed.
“Are you making soup or something?”
“Maybe. I could put a bunch of frozen strawberries in it. And some vodka.”
Elora grimaced.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course! Who doesn’t love cauliflower and broccoli in their boozy concoctions.”
“I guess that’s what a Bloody Mary is,” Elora said cautiously.
“Ooooh, we should make Gazpacho! God knows it’s hotter than Satan’s dick out there.”
“What’s Gazpacho?”
“It’s… well, yeah, it’s basically a Bloody Mary without the alcohol. It’s a chilled tomato soup.”
“So we’re living on a strictly soup-based diet then, huh?”
“You are welcome to cook,” Rita said with a generous wave, like she was showcasing a new car, only it was a narrow, crowded kitchen counter instead. “I can teach you a little if you want. I wouldn’t want to see you wither away, mummified by the dust of a thousand packets of Flaming Flamers.”
“Okay,” Elora said. She figured she’d get scurvy if she only ate fry bread and Sonic and toaster strudel. Well, maybe not scurvy. Rickets?
“Okay! Well, we don’t have any tomatoes, but I’ve got potatoes and frozen cauliflower, and some canned beans and bullion… yes, it’s soup, stop making that face, but it’s easy to make and I treated myself to a bottle of truffle oil.” She held up a small bottle and laid it over her forearm like she was showing off a fancy wine, “and an immersion blender, so it’s even a little bit fun. Wash your hands and we’ll get started.”
*
While they ate soup, which was pretty tasty actually, Rita described her day, how this one hot guy at work had the eyes of a serial killer, and how this little podgy shy dude couldn’t really look at her, but was always very polite and brought her tiny jam filled donuts sometimes.
“I guess he bakes a lot. They’re so light it’s easy to pretend they’re not a million calories a bite. If he keeps making them for me, I might have to ask him to marry me. We can be podgy old people stuffed with raspberry beignets. Now I want to break out my Prince albums. Kids these days still know who Prince is, right?”
Rita actually had a fairly impressive vinyl collection; a lot of Metallica and Judas Priest. The woman had a thing for metal.
“Was he the blond one with the snaggle tooth and the wiggly eye?”
“If you are referring to the legendary David Bowie, I will pinch you,” Rita warned.
Elora snickered, but then felt bad about it. And then she felt even worse because…
“Like. They all messed around with a lot of underage girls though, right?”
“Probably,” Rita admitted glumly. She set her soup bowl down and leaned back on the couch with a groan, covering her face. “Why can’t we have nice things? Why can’t rock stars keep it in their pants? Would it be so hard for them to consider women people, to have respect for other humans? I just want to be able to listen to Michael Jackson without wanting to walk into the sea thinking about…”
Remorseful, Elora bumped Rita’s shoulder with her own.
“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to tear down your idols or whatever.”
Rita scrubbed her face and then cocked a smile. “That is some turn of phrase, Ms. Elora.”
Elora shrugged.
“The strong, silent type,” Rita said with a waggle of her eyebrows.
“Maybe,” Elora hedged. “I met Rick’s wife today.”
Rita’s eyebrows said she was surprised and wanted details.
“She’s like, in recovery. Rick had to meet a client and the kids were scheduled for a visit, so I took them.”
“That’s really sweet of you, kiddo. What was his wife like?”
Like a spirit, Elora didn’t say.
“A little weird. She said I was like a rock pile. Like Canadians build big rock piles as landmarks or something.”
“Inuksuk,” Rita said. “Yeah. I can see it,” and she cocked her head and surveyed Elora like she was dressing her for prom.
“Inuksuk?”
“All I know is what Wikipedia tells me, but the Inuit and like the Kalaallit, and other people, they built these big rock piles for navigation. Kind of like lighthouses but on land, right, to mark fishing spots or food caches.They have some shaped like people, too.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Elora’s ear.
“What do you think it means?” Probably that the lady was crazy.
“It means you’re a leader. That people look to you when they need help. Because they can tell that you’re strong.”
For no good reason, Elora felt her eyes sting.
“But what if I don’t want to be a leader? What if I don’t want to spend all my time taking care of a bunch of idiots who don’t know anything?!”
“No one says you have to,” Rita soothed. “No one will make you. But. Sometimes people are just built a certain way. Here’s a super shitty thing about the world - out of say, every ten people, there are maybe two who do anything useful. Like. They go to med school, they teach kindergarten. There’s like six more who don’t do much at all, sometimes they get in the way, but they don’t have any bad intentions, and then there are two that are absolute fuckers. Just. They just destroy things. They have hate in their hearts, or they’re just empty and mean, and sometimes there’s a reason for that, but mostly people like that just decide to be shitty one day and go with it. Almost everybody gets a say in how they want to live their lives, whether they’re in prison or high school or working in a factory. Sometimes circumstances steal chances. Sometimes willpower can get you through. I won’t lie though. It’s mostly luck.
“Some people just have brain chemistry that makes them too sad or too scared to move. Or a kid who might play pro football fucks up his legs in a car accident. Sometimes a pretty white kid is born to pretty, rich parents and a lot of things are easy for them.
“All we can do is make use of what we have. And one of the things we can do is… build things. It doesn’t have to be a 30 foot pile of rocks.” Rita gave Elora a lopsided smile. “It can be Lego castles or layer cakes. Or community,” she added.
They were quiet for a while, just the whuffle of the air conditioner in the window and the hush of passing cars.
“Can we make Gazpacho tomorrow? I have a study group on Wednesday. I could bring… some.”
“I’ll get you some tabasco… and some shot glasses. Maybe a bottle of vodka, if you promise not to let anyone drive drunk,” Rita said slyly.
Elora didn’t have to roll her eyes; with the ghost of Cookie between them, they both knew better than that.
“Bear’s a good guy,” Elora said. “Maybe he’s just naturally that way, maybe he’d be good no matter what happened to him. But I’m pretty sure he’s a good guy because you’re a good mom.”
Eyes damp, Rita squeezed Elora’s elbow before grabbing the remote.
“Let’s catch up on Drag Race.”
*
On Sunday night, Elora’s phone lit up with a call from Jackie.
“Hey,” Jackie said. “We broke a window.”
Elora would have shrugged, but it wasn’t like Jackie could see her.
“Okay. Tape it up or whatever.” If it rained, the carpet would smell like wet dog and old cigarettes.
“It was White Steve,” Jackie continued, sounding annoyed. “He and Weeze were fighting over the remote.”
“Sounds like them. They paying their share?” When Elora had gotten her place in Oklahoma City, Jackie and the Mafia had moved into Mabel’s house. She was paying rent to Elora, but Elora was only charging them her own half of the apartment she was sharing with Rita. As far as Elora knew, Jackie was the only one with a job. The grocery store had hired her back. Maybe she’d gotten the other kids jobs as stockboys or something.
“White Steve’s dad in Rhode Island is kicking in some. Look, he got blood on the carpet. When he broke the window.”
“That’s fine. See if you can put, like, club soda on it.”
“It’s a lot of blood,” Jackie admitted, sounding dubious.
“He’s not dead though, right?” Elora had painted a few walls, but it was still Mabel’s house, as far as she was concerned. The only thing she’d brought with her, besides her clothes and the quilt from her bed, were Mabel’s Blue Willow dishes. Leaving them in a kitchen full of idiot Mafia boys had seemed too risky.
“Nah. Bev said he only needed Dr. Kang to like, hot glue his face. They kept him overnight though. His eybrow’s split.”
“I bet he thinks the scar will look cool.”
“Him and Bone Dog are saying they want to go to Alaska, like for the Deadliest Catch. Pirate scars look good for the cameras.”
“You think they will?”
“I think they’ve never been on a boat in their lives and I know for a fact Steve can’t swim. He mostly just rides around with Bone Dog when he’s delivering for Pizza Boy.” Pizza Boy was the most reputable weed dealer in three counties. He and his son Jumbo opened the dispensary together when it went legal, but the Elders still liked it to be brought over on the sly. Bone Dog also delivered for Pizza Boy’s Italian restaurant in the strip mall near the 165.
“You get a raise when Theresa left?”
“I guess. I’m the floor manager now that she’s gone and Heda got her old job.” Heda was 70 and had emphysema, complete with oxygen on a cart, so it was likely Jackie was doing her own job and Heda’s, too. White Steve, drunk and busting with pride at the barbecue at Willie Jack’s that had served as Elora’s going away party, had looked around to make sure no one was near enough to hear him when he whispered, “Jackie’s been taking accounting classes online. She does math puzzles and shit for fun.”
“Sounds cool. How’s Bear?”
“Seems fine. Willie Jack told me Rita found out he wasn’t wearing a harness for roofing jobs and tore him a new one.”
“Huh.” Rita was actually extremely chill with everyone BUT Bear. But then, she was his mom.
“The new butcher asked me out.”
“You say yes?”
Instead of answering, Jackie volunteered, “Cheese thinks we could tour with a KPop band.” Weirdly, Elora could see it: stonefaced Jackie with her steely eyes and jagged bleached-out hair, some skinny dark haired dude with a woman’s mouth and knuckly hands.
“School good?”
“Yeah. Rita’s teaching me to cook a little. You ever had Gazpacho?”
“No. What is it?”
“Cold tomato soup.”
“Sounds like ass,” Jackie decided.
“Yeah. It’s not, though.” Elora thought about the three other women in her study group, how loose Annemarie’s shoulders had gotten, how Eun-sae had gotten so flushed Elora had actually been a little worried she’d had an allergic reaction to something. How Kay had done three shots and not seemed remotely different afterwards. After a bit, she said, “Thanks for keeping an eye on everyone for me.”
“It’s not hard. Your Dogs are smarter than mine, at least.”
A short laugh leaped out of her. “Maybe.”
“Willie Jack says you see your dad?”
“Yeah. Guess I have a brother and two sisters now.”
“He got any money?”
“Probably a little. He has a house and his own company. The truck looks pretty new.”
“Bet his parents have some, then. You met ’em?”
“No. They might not even be around. He’s a good dad, but he’s definitely winging it.”
“Bev says everyone is winging it.”
“Teenie says that, too.”
“Aunties.”
“Aunties,” Elora agreed.
*
The rehab where their mom was living was a ten minute drive from Lake Hefner. The third time Elora picked the kids up after a family visit, Ally asked if they could go to see the lighthouse.
Of all of them, Ally spoke the least. She was very smiley though, her silvery braces gleaming. Elora hadn’t minded a side trip before Rick made them all spaghetti for dinner.
Megan and Marty went to play tag with the coots and the cranes on the shore and Ally leaned against a low concrete wall. They watched the water together for a bit. It was annoying to realize that she was shorter than a 12 year old.
The wind off the lake was dense and physical, like a giant invisible hand trying to nudge you one way or the other, and Elora’s hair kept flapping into her eyes if she turned her head the wrong way.
“I want to learn how to kiteboard.”
“Looks cool,” Elora said. She could see the bright triangles skimming across the laketop, girls in bikinis and boys with ski goggles.
Ally giggled. “Those are windsurfers.” She pointed to the sky.
People strapped to parasails were looping around up there, booted to what looked like snowboards. They swirled and dipped down to the water, kicking up froth in their wake.
Idiots, Elora thought. It looked like a recipe for so many broken bones. Bear and Willie Jack would love it.
“Ask your dad, then.”
Ally sighed.
“He can’t swim. And he’s old.” She made her eyes big and leaned in toward Elora, her hands clasped under her chin.
“Oh, hell no,” Elora snapped, recoiling.
Ally’s shoulders shook when she laughed. Either the hilarity or the wind made her eyes tear.
“My mom said you were way too sensible to ask. You should have seen your face.”
“Your mom talks about me?” Maybe she was more surprised about that than finding out about Rick.
Ally shrugged. “She likes you. She said she was glad I didn’t have to be the oldest any more.”
Leaving for college was supposed to be a time for Elora to stand on her own, focus on taking care of herself instead of wrangling kids. She didn’t owe Rick anything. But Ally clearly looked up to her, even though she was already two inches taller.
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Sonseeahray.” When Elora blinked at her, confused, Ally explained, “It means Morning Star in Apache. She says her dad liked Jimmy Stewart and there was a girl with that name in one of his movies.”
“What about your name? Ally short for something?”
“Amalthea. But Ammy sounds dumb and Thea’s a grandma name.”
“Your dad named you, too, huh?” She felt sympathetic. Empathetic? Cheese would know.
Ally nodded, “It’s a good movie, though.” She checked Elora’s shoulder with her own. “Better than Willow,” she teased.
Elora nudged back, but didn’t otherwise argue. Lady Amalthea was maybe the white Jesus version of the Deer Lady. A forest spirit that brought retribution for her lost people.
She’d never read it, but there was a copy of The Last Unicorn on a bookshelf at Mabel’s, next to old TV Guides and three different bibles. Could have been Cookie’s. She’d never really thought about what books her mom might have read. All she actually knew was that people had liked Cookie when she had been alive and that she’d died in a motorcycle accident.
Sensible. Solid. Those were good words. Elora decided she liked them, liked the idea of being someone other people could depend on. Even though she knew she’d hate it sometimes, too.
Cookie and Rick and Mabel. Bear and Rita and Cheese and Willie Jack. Daniel. Even Big and Bobson. Elora had been shaped and stacked together by everyone who’d ever known her. After Daniel, she had maybe been pretty close to tumbling down, but she felt stable now.
She could get her degree, start a foundation or a non-profit, something like that. The Dogs had spent so much time at the hideout, but it hadn’t had a roof, not even walls, really. What if she built a place to really shelter kids, nothing like the boarding schools or the shitty boy’s home that had stolen Cheese. A place that stood out, called to you, blocked the wind. Where you could meet your friends, get something to eat, like the church basement or Rob and Cleo’s.
Inuksuk.