The Dust and the Roar Page 27

  “That’s beautiful,” a voice said next to me. The pastor. “Isadora gave so much to our community, to her family. She may not have lived a long life, but it was a fruitful one, like wheat. It’s a symbol of immortality, you know. The resurrection. From the dried shaft is harvested the life-giving grain.”

  My heart rolled up into my throat, and I moved away from him, from the crowd of families and townspeople hugging and kissing one another by the side of the cut open hole of ground. Ryan put his arm around his wife, his eyes meeting mine across the green as he ushered his family toward the main gate.

  “You need any backup with anything around here, you just say the word,” Scout said.

  “We’re good, man. Real good,” I replied.

  “Oh yeah?” Scout said, his tone slightly tense.

  “Yeah.”

  Willy and Mick got Scout and his boys over to Pete’s for drinks. “You coming, Wreck? You want me to stay with you? I’ll stay with you,” said Dig standing a few yards off from me.

  “You go on. I’ll see you at Pete’s.”

  “You sure? I’ll—”

  “Go.”

  “Okay.” Dig turned and strode back up the hill to the old iron gate of the cemetery, Boner at his side.

  I needed to be alone with my girl. My girl in the ground. The cemetery workers shoveled at the mound of dirt. The sound of the earth hitting her casket jolted my insides.

  “Could you stop? Give me a minute.”

  “We’re on the clock, man.”

  “Fucking stop right now.”

  The one guy dropped his shovel. “One cigarette’s worth of time. That good?”

  I nodded, and they finally left Isi and me alone.

  She was staying here, but life would push me along no matter how much I didn’t want it to. No matter how hard I clung to this moment. I didn’t want to move on to anything, to anywhere else. I didn’t.

  “I love you, Is,” I said. “I’ll never love anybody else. I don’t have any more of that love to give because it’s all yours. You brought it out in me, and I gave it all to you, baby.” My head fell to my chest. “Oh, Is, wait for me. Don’t leave me alone, honey. Don’t. I can’t bear this without you.”

  Maybe it was fucking selfish of me, but I didn’t want her to rest until we were together again. I closed my eyes and took in the cold air, the scent of pine and ash wafting around me. If I could lift a thousand curses in that wind right now and make it bitter, I would.

  I wiped at my wet eyes and took in another deep breath. I had my brothers, and that was good, that was core, but I also had a load of fucking nothing after having all that was her. Isi had made me poke my head out of my cave and brought me out into her fresh sweet air.

  My eyes riveted on her casket in that deep and sharply sliced rectangle of fresh earth. I stepped closer to the edge of the hole. I saw myself there inside that shiny, cherry wood, satin-lined box with her. Holding her, keeping her warm, keeping her—

  “Wreck? Hey, Wreck?” A faltering voice shook me out of my evil prayers. Stewart, the drummer from The Silver Tongues, stood to my right.

  “Hey, Stewart.”

  “Hey. I’m real sorry to bother you like this. Now.” He tugged a hand through his long black hair. “Um, but I waited until you were alone. I’m sorry, I…”

  “What is it?”

  “I-I got to talk to you about something. I have info on the boy.”

  “Boy? What boy? What are you talking about?”

  “This kid at Pine Ridge.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He shifted his weight. “Isi had asked me to find out about a boy named Miller LeBeau.”

  My jaw screwed tight, my muscles tightened. “She did?”

  “Yeah. And I found him, but it ain’t good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Stewart’s teeth scraped at his lower lip. “Miller tried to kill himself the other day.”

  My pulse hitched. “What?”

  “Wasn’t much of a surprise. Like a lot of the kids there, his dad can’t hold a job down, and he’s interested in drinking more than anything else.”

  I watched his lips move. I needed to hear it again. “Miller LeBeau?”

  “Uh, yeah?” His voice ended on a question mark. He was nervous.

  “You said he tried? Is he alive?”

  “He’s alive.”

  A grunt escaped my throat. “What did he…”

  “The kid’s grandma died a couple months ago, and he got a hold of some of her pain pills or something. Luckily, his dad found him in time, but, damn, the kid tried it. He went there, you know? And I’m telling you, Wreck, he’ll try again, ‘cause that’s the way that shit goes down over there. I’ve seen it myself. I had friends who…”

  The blood simmered in my brains, bitter and hot. Stewart’s run of words evaporated, and only a voice was clear—my own voice from years ago screamed at me the same way it had screamed at my mother: “You’re his fucking family.”

  Icy spikes razored over my hot skin. My breath shorted.

  “Man, you okay?” Stewart’s voice sounded far away.

  “You sure about this. This is Miller? Miller LeBeau?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Jason LeBeau’s kid?”

  Stewart’s neck stiffened, his brow furrowed. “You know Jason?”

  My jaw clenched even tighter than it already was. “Tell me everything you know about Miller.”

  “One of my cousins works at the outreach center for kids that they set up on the res. Isi had tried to talk to her when we’d played there for that children’s festival. I don’t know if you remember that?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I remember everything.

  “But things were crazy busy that day, and they didn’t get a chance to talk. So later on, Isi asked me to find out about Miller, but I forgot.” He pursed his lips. “She reminded me again about a month ago, said it was real important to her. I finally asked my cousin if she’d heard of the kid, and she said she knew him. Said he’s a good, quiet kid, especially since his grandma died.” He averted his gaze, his voice breaking. “I didn’t get a chance to tell Isi. Then this happened a couple nights ago, and I was like, man, what the fuck—”

  I clapped a hand on Stewart’s shoulder, gripping it so hard he winced. I couldn’t hear any more. I couldn’t. “Is he okay?” I bit out.

  “He’s okay,” added Stewart. “Well, I guess that’s relative for the kids there, huh? A lot of them raise themselves, then a lot of them started killing themselves.”

  No. The word burned in my throat. Miller being alive and “fine” was not relative and never could be. A wave of heat flared inside me, swirled around me.

  “What kind of sister would I be?” Isi’s voice echoed in my head.

  “Finding out about him was real important to Isi,” Stewart said, his voice husky. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell her. So, I thought I’d tell you.” He ran his hands through his long black hair, his teeth chewing on his lip. “Crappy timing, but I don’t know, man, somehow … somehow, I felt I should tell you, for whatever it’s worth.”

  My grip on his shoulders only tightened. “It’s worth everything.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  I headed to Pine Ridge.

  Stewart set me up with his cousin, the reservation youth center manager, Cecilia Red Cloud. She gave me directions on how to get there and how to find her.

  I guided my truck through the southern end of the Badlands with the heaving of the late afternoon sun. The red-orange light made the red layered stone even more otherworldly than it already was. I had no idea what I’d find on the other side of these ominous spires and gouged valleys. No idea what I’d do once I got there. I only knew I had to go.

  The ancient peaks and ridges of the Badlands were finally behind me, and I tore through open prairie grasses. A sign made of wood announced: “ENTERING PINE RIDGE RESERVATION. No Hunting Without Tribal Per
mits.” I swallowed, my throat dry in the warm air, and drove on, past the big red sign that described the Wounded Knee massacre, until finally, I got to the center Cecilia had described. A toddler in diapers and an older kid, maybe eight or ten chased each other in an aimless game of tag in the parking area. The toddler with spiky black hair charged over to me and grabbed my legs, smiling, saliva dribbling out of the side of his mouth. My muscles tensed.

  “Sorry, Mister. He likes new people. He wants you to play with us.”

  The toddler smiled up at me, anticipating something, anything. I swallowed past the clump of granite in my throat, past that sting twisting in my gut at the very thought of … I reached out and brushed his cheek with my fingers. His skin was really soft, and he let out a laugh.

  “Hi,” was all I could manage.

  He babbled sounds back at me, smacking at my thigh. “Come on, Joe,” his brother unhinged the toddler from my legs. “You looking for somebody?” he asked.

  “I am. Cecilia Red Cloud.”

  “I’m right here,” came a voice from a short, dark-skinned woman in a denim dress and black hair swaying at her shoulders. “You, Wreck?”

  “I am.”

  “Show me what you got,” she said, planting her feet in the ground before me.

  I showed her my birth certificate with my mother’s name on it. Proof that I was Miller’s brother. Her dark eyes lifted to mine. “All right then.”

  “So where does Miller live? Where can I find him?”

  “Caleb and Joe can show you the way to the house. I can’t leave the center right now. I’m in the middle of three things at once.”

  “Okay. So, he pulled through. He’s better?”

  “He made it. I’m not sure I know what you mean by better, though.”

  Foolish thing to say. Better. Was there a better on this reservation? Little Joe and Caleb were wearing faded and torn clothing, and they were skinny. I let out a breath, but it didn’t release the jangle of my nerves stewing in all that adrenaline.

  “Like I told you over the phone, Miller’s been a good kid, quiet, never a troublemaker. But lately, there’s been incidents of gang life with the teenagers here. Some of the kids who left for the big cities and came back brought some gang culture with them. Since his grandma died, he’s been on his own, and he got involved with some of those kids.”

  “And Jason? What’s he up to?”

  “He’s one of the lucky ones. He’s got a job at a ranch, but he’s gone for weeks at a time. Comes home when he can. At least he provides. Most kids here don’t have that—the basics, I mean.”

  Poverty was a reality here. No mistake about that. Poverty and no hope for any kind of future.

  “Caleb? You want to take Mr. Wreck to Miller LeBeau’s house? He’s Miller’s brother come to pay him a visit.”

  “You’re Miller’s brother?” He blinked at me. “Let’s go.” Caleb loaded his little brother up in the back of my pickup and climbed in after him. I got the truck in gear, and we took off, Caleb pointing and directing me. Three turns past a couple of rusty old cars that looked long abandoned and wedged into the land, a few small clapboard houses and many more homemade shacks that somehow had withstood the weather and time. If there were electricity and running water here, I’d be impressed. Sewer system? Maybe.

  Caleb’s little hand pounded on the side of the truck, and I stopped. “Right here.” He pointed to a small white and metal structure I would not call a house. “This is it.”

  We got out, and little Joe waddled over to the door and banged on the ripped screen, grabbing onto the handle, banging the door open and shut.

  I knocked on the wood door. “Hello? Hello?” I went to the back where there was a window. I looked through the dirt filled glass. Nothing. A small round table, four wooden chairs, a shitty old stove.

  “Jason?” I shouted.

  “Mr. LeBeau’s truck isn’t here.”

  “You got a point, Caleb. Do you see Miller around at all? You seen him lately?”

  His head slanted. “Not really.”

  “What do you mean, not really?” I fought to keep my tone light and non-demanding, not enraged.

  “At night, I see him.”

  “Oh yeah? You two hang out together?”

  “We used to. But lately, he’s been with his dad who’s back from working at a ranch.”

  “Do you know what he does with his dad?”

  Caleb licked his lips. “Miller’s lucky because his dad takes him to Whiteclay. My momma only goes whenever she’s got money, but I don’t get to go. Yesterday, she had a five dollar bill, and she went to Whiteclay and got herself her can.”

  “Her can? Can of what?”

  “This really big can of beer. It makes her smile. It’s a great deal, she says.” He shrugged. “I wanna go to the store in Whiteclay. Maybe there’s something there I want to buy. Don’t have money, but still…”

  His mother got her high on for the day with a five dollar can of beer. And that was a good day. “So Miller’s dad takes him to Whiteclay?”

  He nodded, eyes bright. “Yep. I seen him in Mr. LeBeau’s truck almost every afternoon this week.”

  Boredom, disillusionment, depression were at work here on the reservation. “Do you know around when that is?”

  “Another hour or so.”

  “I think I’m going to meet them there. In the meantime, how would you like me to take you and your brother to a store or a restaurant and we can get something to eat? We’ll ask Miss Cecilia first, of course.”

  “I know where there’s a store with food. It’s right down…” Caleb explained the directions as he hopped up and down on his toes. He was excited.

  We found Cecilia and asked her, she gave us her approval. I took the boys to the small grocery store and told Caleb to get whatever they wanted. He chose ice cream popsicles, chips, and candy. I got them ready-made sandwiches and exchanged the soda for juice. Caleb held onto the two stuffed plastic bags like they were sacks of Christmas treasure.

  “That was fun. Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome. You liked that, huh?”

  “Oh yeah,” Caleb replied, tearing open a chocolate bar and handing half of it to his brother.

  I dropped the two of them off in front of the center with their bags in hand.

  “You gonna come back?” Caleb asked me.

  “Yeah, I will. I’ll bring my friends with me. We can have a great big picnic. How’s that sound?”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded. “No bologna sandwiches, okay? I’m kinda sick of bologna.”

  “You got it. Thanks for the directions to Whiteclay, Caleb.”

  “Sure. See ya.”

  “See ya.” I held up my hand, and Caleb high-fived me. I waved at Cecilia who leaned out the window.

  “Come on inside now, Caleb, we’re watching a video,” she said. I sped off toward Whiteclay.

  I’d heard of Whiteclay, who hadn’t? A small town on the South Dakota Nebraska border whose existence was focused on providing the residents of the reservation with booze since Pine Ridge had been under prohibition since the late nineteenth century. Four liquor stores that made a tremendous amount of money selling booze almost exclusively to people from the reservation. Whiteclay was barely a mile off the res. This wasn’t much of a dry zone. How convenient for big white business. Another government-made decision in reverse.

  Bootlegging on the reservation wasn’t unheard of either. I was sure whatever money the residents were able to generate went straight to the liquor stores—oh so conveniently located practically down the road. These fuckers must be raking it in.

  Tumbleweed rolled down the dusty road. I pulled into a parking lot with at least thirty cars and trucks parked. A brawl between two incredibly drunk men had begun, and most of the men and women drinking outside were enthralled by it. Laughing, sucking down those big cans of beer Caleb had talked about—cheap malt liquor at over twenty ounces at least. Some were toting bottles of clear
liquor. Several men were lying prone on the asphalt. People were littered all over the curbs, the road, the lot like so much human trash.

  A red truck pulled up. Same truck I remember from that time my mom had gone off with him. Jason LeBeau emerged from the dusty red pickup, slamming the door behind him. Someone else was in the cab. Jason was still fit and muscly, although thinner, and his head hung from his neck and shoulders now as he strode inside the store. Miller had to be in the truck. A light bloomed inside, a hand emerged from the window with a lit cigarette. The kid was smoking.

  Jason emerged from the store, but he was in no hurry to get back in his truck. He sat himself down next to a group of men and drank from a bottle with them. Miller tossed his cigarette and lit another. And another.

  We were there an hour plus. I lit my own cigarettes and waited. My mouth dried.

  Finally, Jason got up and staggered to the truck with his bottle now half empty and a bag with several of those cans of malt liquor. He climbed back in his truck and peeled out of the lot. I backed up and followed him from a distance.

  We entered the reservation, and I stopped as he pulled up to his house. He stepped out of the truck and stumbled to the ground. The other door finally opened, and my heart beat hard in my chest. A tall, skinny boy with long black hair hopped out of the truck.

  Miller. Miller. Miller.

  No longer the toddler who clutched at a small stuffed buffalo and sucked on his fingers. Now he was sucking on a can of malt liquor. He shook his head, his long hair moving out of the way as he drank. My fingers gripped my steering wheel hard. That boy had been vulnerable from the moment he’d been conceived. I’d known that all along, and it had proven to be true. So fucking true.

  The kid’s one eye was swollen and bruised. His father grabbed him by the shirt, taking the can of beer from him and kicked him into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.