Page 34 of Lily's Eagle

I slept in my clothes, since I hadn’t expected to fall asleep when I lay down, so I just run my fingers through my hair a few times and join her in the kitchen.

Her eyes are red and puffy as she grins at me and wishes me a good morning. She had tried to remove her make up, but some of the blue glitter is still on her cheeks. She’d been crying.

“I’m sorry for just storming out like that last night,” she says. “But I suddenly just had to go, you know? We were talking like a good friend of mine hadn’t just died, and I owe him more than that. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome.”

I wave my hand through the air dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, I get it. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I probably should’ve said that yesterday, but better late than never.

“I have to go to work now, but then I have a week off, so we can get started on the camp,” she says. “Gotta beat the winter, and the work will help get my mind off other things.”

“And I’ll go see Ariana and the two ladies at the help line, see if they need any help,” I say. “But first, I think I should take a shower.”

She looks at me sadly and grins. “If you’re OK with very cold water, you’re welcome to use the one here. My boiler broke and I haven’t had a chance to get a new one yet. Or find anyone to help me install it. There’s a shower at the gym in the community center. There’s hot water there.”

“Cold is fine,” I say.

She gives me a sideways look like she doesn’t believe me.

“I have to get ready, but I’ll be back by five,” she says. “Have some coffee.”

Then she grabs her own cup and takes off for the bathroom. The sky outside the trailer windows is overcast, and the light seems to have a grayish, dirty quality to it. A good day for mourning, my grandpa called days like this.

Moping around is the most useless thing in the world, Cross would say.

As for me, I just wish I didn’t still feel so damn alone. But Cross has the right of it.

I came here because I’ve always wanted to be here. And to be of use. So that’s what I’m gonna focus on.

* * *

Ariana’s coffee shop is locked up and all the lights inside are off. The two tables closest to the door show signs of having been occupied recently, with the ashtray half full of cigarette butts and a couple of empty soda cans and candy bar wrappers scrunched up on the tabletop. The chairs aren’t neatly stowed under the tables either.

I knock on the door and call Ariana’s name, but nothing moves inside the house, at least nothing that I can hear. Last night’s howling wind has let up, which is a shame since it’d be nice if it could blow away the thick grey clouds. I think are gearing up to start raining. I sit down at one of the tables anyway, and check my phone, surprised to find I have service again. I send a quick text to Cross letting him know that I’ve arrived safely.

Take care of yourself, he texts back almost instantly and leaves it at that.

I haven’t noticed any of his guys following me on the road, nor seen any here. Maybe he’s kept his word and didn’t send anyone after me. A part of me actually wishes he had and that’s ridiculous. I was also worried that the bikers chased off the Rez yesterday were his guys, but I'm sure he would've told me that and demanded I come back home right away. A part of me kind of wishes that was the case too. Which is twice as ridiculous.

So before I can start missing my old life with them all any more than I already do, and before I get any bright ideas of contacting Eagle, I leap to my feet to bang on the door again. But before I can, it flies wide open and a long haired man towers over me. His dark eyes are shooting angry lighting, he’s head and shoulders taller than me, and wider than even Tank. He’s not fully Native. I’m thinking he’s part Latino, judging by his glowing black eyes and the curls in his hair.

“Stop making so much noise,” he growls at me. “Who are you?”

I’m not easily intimidated by big grumpy men, having grown up in a house full of them, but I take an involuntary step back from him anyway. His dark brown hair is generously laced with grey, there’s deep creases around his eyes, but his face still shows signs of youthful beauty. He’s wearing an unbuttoned black and white checkered flannel shirt, washed out blue jeans and no shoes.

“I’m Lily Eagle Feather,” I say in not as firm a voice as I’d like it to be. “I’m supposed to meet Ariana today.”

He gives me a once over sort of look and face visibly relaxes, the creases suddenly all but disappearing. “Ah, so you’re she. Ariana isn’t feeling well today. I’m Mitch.”

He extends his hand and gives me a limp sort of handshake.

“She won’t be opening up today,” he says apologetically. “But Joyce is expecting you at the helpline. Do you know where it is or do you want me to take you?”

He did a one-eighty shift in his demeanor towards me in a space of less than a second and I’m still coming to grips with it. I suppose it’s because he got a better look at me. Men usually react this way to my looks.

“No, no, I know where it is,” I say. “What’s wrong with Ariana?”

“She’ll be fine,” he says, and grins showing me two rows of yellowed teeth. “She just needs some rest. Come by tomorrow.”

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