Chaska met his sister’s gaze, saw her shock and regret, unanswered questions rushing through his mind. What kind of woman could abandon her newborn? Who had raised Naomi? Given that she’d been found in Martin, which sat roughly halfway between Pine Ridge and Rosebud, had the authorities even bothered to check the two reservations when they’d searched for her mother?
Naomi looked up at the two of them, defiance on her face. “You asked about my blood. I have no idea what I am. All I know is that my mother left me with this. It was tucked inside my blanket.”
She took the leather cord that hung around her neck, drew the medicine wheel from inside her tank top.
What would Old Man say at a moment like this? If only Chaska had one-tenth of his wisdom…
He nodded to show that he’d understood her, waiting to speak until he was certain he could do so without emotion. “What you are, Naomi, is a survivor.Whoyou are is entirely up to you.”
She gave a little laugh. “Yeah. Right.”
What did that mean?
Winona reached over, touched her hand to Naomi’s arm. “We don’t care where your blood comes from.”
Naomi’s chin came up. “Then why did you ask?”
Naomi satin the rocking chair in her room and checked her online sales with her smartphone, trying not to notice the hole she’d punched in her own heart, her eyes not really seeing the data on her screen.
Why had she told them? What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t told anyone where she’d come from in a very long time. She didn’t like talking about it, and she didn’t want anyone’s pity. If Chaska and Winona were like the Native people she’d met at art shows, they would lose all interest in spending time with her. If they were like the young women she’d waited tables with, they would pity her or ask lots of questions that opened up dark places inside her. They were good people, and they had already done so much for her. But even good people could be disappointing.
You ought to have stayed in a hotel.
She could still do that. She could pack up and take a taxi to the inn that Lexi’s family owned. She’d feel better if she were paying her way. She hated being dependent on anyone for anything. It made her feel vulnerable, weak. She had learned long ago that the only waynotto get hurt was to have no expectations of others.
What you are, Naomi, is a survivor. Who you are is entirely up to you.
That wasn’t true.
What a person became depended in part on what othersallowedthem to be.
She’d been told who she was her entire life. Men at the restaurants where she’d waited tables thought of her as a set of breasts and a vagina, while those at Peter’s church saw her as a womb and submissive helpmeet. White people saw her as Native or Latina. Native people learned that she wasn’t a registered member of any Indian nation and told her she wasn’t one of them.
The only person Naomi had ever been able to rely on was herself.
A knock came at the door. “Naomi?”
Naomi closed the browser on her phone and drew a breath, steeling herself against what was bound to be an awkward conversation. “Yes?”
The door opened, and Winona stepped inside. “Are you okay?”
Naomi couldn’t look her in the eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Chaska has a surprise for you.”
A surprise?
Chaska appeared in the doorway, carrying her tool box in one hand, her camera bag and tripod in the other. “I think these belong to you.”
She gaped up at him. “You brought my stuff.”
She hadn’t been expecting this.
“I stopped by the police impound yard on the way home.” He set the camera down on the bed and the tool box on the floor near her feet. “They’re done with your vehicle, so I took your stuff and had it towed to Frank’s garage. It’s the only repair shop in town, but he does good work.”
“Thank you. Do you have his number? I’d like to get an estimate.”