A Certain Kind of Hero (21 page)

“All his life you've been his safe harbor.”
And I've been shut out. I shut myself out.
“Don't worry, Raina. He'll come back to you. It's part of the circle. Don't you see that?”

“Bring him home—
here
—as soon as you can. Will you do that, Gideon?”

“I will.” He closed his eyes and swallowed back the sand in his throat. “Will you be there? At home, when I get back?”

“I can't stay here like this, like… Gideon, I feel so—” The space between them sounded long, hollow and empty. “If I'm not here, I'll be at the lodge. I really have nowhere else to go until…”

“I'll find you.”

P
eter wasn't ready to go back to anyone. Far from it. Gideon found him sitting on the porch with his grandfather, both of them working on his dance bustle. Peter was preparing the vanes of the synthetic feathers that Arlen was working into a creation that would eventually become a dancer's fan-shaped tail feathers.

Gideon greeted Arlen with a handshake. Then grandfather reminded grandson of his manners, just as uncle had once done. The boy dutifully, if grudgingly, obliged Gideon with the requisite handshake.

“That cop came and got me again,” Peter said as he went back to carving the end of a feather with his grandfather's penknife. “Took me to a clinic. I had to have a stupid blood test.”

“I know.” Gideon hiked one booted foot up to the porch and braced his hand on his knee. “I did, too.”

“So, what if they don't match?”

Gideon hadn't given that possibility much thought. Maybe he was flattering himself, but he could see more of himself in Peter every day. “None of this changes anything as far as your mom and…and your dad are concerned.”

“My dad?” Peter's dark eyes challenged Gideon to try to apply that designation to himself. Just
try.
But when Gideon wouldn't take the bait, the boy shrugged it off. “My dad's not concerned about anything anymore. He's dead. You can bet if
he
was here—”

“He's not.” Gideon traded a hiked brow for Peter's glare. “So, you wanna do a sweat with your grandfather and me or not?”

The muscles in Peter's jaw were working just as vigorously as his hands. Gideon waited patiently for his answer. Finally the boy glanced up from his task. “I wouldn't have to be too mad at you if you wouldn't have to mention anything about being, you know…my father or anything.”

“It's a deal.” Gideon scraped the sole of his boot against the edge of the porch as he lowered his foot to the ground. “We go into the sweat simply as three men. Different generations, different experiences, all living in the same world.”

Arlen flashed Gideon a glance that sparkled with approval. “Next time you go up for chairman, I might just vote for you.”

 

In the close, dark heat of the sweat lodge, Peter learned new ways to pray. They were ways that were almost as old as the red-hot rocks that were used to make the steam, but they were new to him. He took the heat and the smoke in stride and contributed what prayerful thoughts he could come up with on the spot without giving too much of himself away. He'd already been given away once, and now that he knew
who'd done it, he wasn't sure he could trust him again. After all, a guy had ideas, and then he had
thoughts.

He'd told his uncle Gideon some stuff, but that was before he knew he wasn't really
Uncle
Gideon. Well, he was, but he wasn't. Either way, things could never again be the way they were. Which was okay. He wasn't a kid anymore, and he didn't like it when people treated him like one.

The trouble was, he felt like a kid sometimes. Not often, but
some
times. And when those times came, whose kid was he going to be?

Since nobody was anxious to force anything on him, he'd been spending a lot of time with his new friends. He talked about Tom and Oscar during the sweat, about how he was teaching them how to head a soccer ball and they were showing him how to do the men's fancy dance. He told his grandfather and Gideon that they were pretty cool dudes.

What Gideon didn't realize was that Tom Strikes Many had also given Peter a few political lectures. Tom had spent long hours listening to his father bemoan the prospect of limiting some of the treaty rights through what Marvin called “Defender's sellout.” The Strikes Many clan had threatened to file a legal suit, claiming that the Pine Lake Tribal Council and its chairman couldn't speak for them. The federal court had denied their claim.

But there were new ideas being discussed now. Secret challenges were being issued by another group opposed to the settlement. Challenges like,
If you've got the guts to defend your so-called treaty rights in a real court of law, why not start out in criminal court? Why not do what you say you have the right to do—what the state says no one can do—and that's hunt and fish out of season or by illegal methods off the reservation in the ceded territory?

It had been done, of course. But not blatantly. And now,
with the settlement in the works, the tribal fish and game wardens were guarding their jurisdiction closely. But there were other jurisdictions. And there were many ways to skin a cat.

 

The sweat had been good for Gideon. There had been no talk of politics, for such was not the purpose of a sweat. With their tangled relationships off-limits for discussion, they'd spoken of other things, and they'd spoken candidly, for in the dark, close, warm womb of the sweat, there was no other way to speak. They had shared cares and concerns for those close to them, for friends and family and the Native community. They had made prayers for wisdom and clear vision.

Gideon knew that Raina would not be happy to learn that Peter had not come home with him. The boy had said he'd made plans with his friends, and Gideon chose to respect that. But he hoped she would take what communication they'd had as a positive sign. Gideon certainly did.

Now if he could only figure out how to communicate with Raina. He called her at the lodge and asked her to have dinner with him. “Like a date,” he said hopefully. “Like two people who just want to get to know each other.”

“What's it going to take for us to get to know each other?”

“I don't know.” Something like a sweat would have been good. Except traditionally, men and women didn't go in together. He could see why. Damn, it was hard to keep sex out of it. “I figured I'd get dressed up, though.”

She laughed. “Oh, great. And me sitting here with nothing to wear.”

“Wear the dress you had on the first time I saw you this summer. You looked all sunshine and flowers.”

“That one isn't very dressy.”

“Wear the hat, too. I loved the hat.”

She was ready at the appointed time, and she was listening for the knock on the door. But when it came, her body had to jump up pretty fast to keep pace with her heart. Silly to be nervous, she told herself. Or overly eager. She'd just been with him in the most intimate way possible. For her, anyway. For him, well, maybe
that
was a date, and maybe conversation over dinner was an intimacy. Who could tell about men?

There would be none of
that
tonight. Nothing too personal. She'd already decided that she wasn't going to keep him waiting. She didn't want to have to invite him in, to have him sit on the bed and watch her comb her hair or put on her shoes. This was a date.

But the doorknob proved to be a tricky mechanism for an unsteady hand, and when she opened the door, the man who stood before her startled her even more than his quick knock. He was physically breathtaking. His hair seemed thicker and darker, more luxuriant, than ever, his eyes more penetrating, his lips fuller, his shoulders broader. And when had she ever seen him dressed in a sport jacket?

“Hi.”

His smile lit a matching spark in his eyes. “Hi, yourself.”

She smiled, too. She couldn't help it. Her senses were instantly, giddily glutted with all things Gideon.

“This is as fancy as I get,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. Along with the brown jacket, he wore a blue chambray shirt, blue jeans and a wide brown belt. Very understated. Very handsome. The dentalium choker added a touch of true distinction. She reached up to touch it, forgetting all about her plan to remain impersonal.

“The loon's necklace.” Her smile turned wistful as she traced a row of tubular shells with an admiring forefinger. “The sign of a chief.”

“Sign of leadership,” he corrected. “And the loon would have to fight me for it. I might as well admit right off, I wore it to impress you.”

“I'm impressed.”

“So am I.” He braced his shoulder against the doorframe and gave her an appreciative head-to-toe appraisal. She'd worn the dress he'd said he liked, along with a silver bracelet that Peter had given her for Mother's Day. She fanned her skirt demurely, fluttering the soft cotton like a little girl with a brand-new full-circle skirt.

“You look great. Do I get a kiss?” He pushed himself away from the door and took her shoulders in his hands. “Isn't that what people do on dates? Give each other a kiss at the door?”

“That comes at the end,” she said, smiling. Lord, he looked good enough to eat. “Like dessert.”

“I like to start with dessert.” He lowered his head, and her lips sank into his for a long, slow, wet, glad-to-be-together kiss. Their mouths parted reluctantly, their lower lips lingering to touch a little longer, tongues reaching for one more tiny taste. And their eyes held court together beyond that, acclaiming the dessert cum appetizer with a silent
mmm.

Finally Gideon glanced at the top of her head and gave a lopsided smile. “Where's the hat?”

“It's kind of a
sun
hat.”

“I'm kind of a sucker for sun hats.”

With a light, feminine laugh she took the hat down from the closet shelf and let him put it on for her. It was just a hat, she told herself. Nothing too personal. Neither was the way he winked at her and flipped the petals on the big sunflower that was tacked to the hat band.

He'd made reservations at the most exclusive restaurant on the lake, one that was not on tribal land. They were seated
at a table near the fireplace. Not far away, the dining room's huge windows overlooked the lake, its blue waters glistening in the summer's evening sunlight.

They talked about the day each of them had had in the comfortable conversational tones of two people who were more than friends, who shared more than a backyard fence or acquaintances in common. She was pleased to hear about the reception he'd gotten at Arlen's. Even though he couldn't tell her what was said in the sweat, he was able to convey the sense of renewal that had pervaded. He knew he had a long way to go with Peter and that it would take time to regain the boy's trust. But he believed he'd made a start.

Then he learned that in a single day she had been promised a teaching contract, put her house on the market and looked at several houses that would be available for rent when school started.

“Nothing I'm crazy about,” she said with a shrug. “But who knows? Once the house sells, I might just decide to buy something here and fix it up to my liking.”

“That's what I did. 'Course, I don't know much about stuff like decorating.”

She planted her elbow at the edge of the table, rested her chin on the back of her hand and smiled warmly. “Your house is very comfortable. It suits you perfectly.”

“What would you do to it, if you were going to, say, fix it up to your liking?”

“I might add on so I could open up the kitchen more. Do that whole great-room thing. The fireplace would be a real focal point. I like the woodwork and the stone. I like the North Woods feel.” She glanced at the rafters and considered more possibilities as she reached for her water glass. “I'd put some flower beds in, maybe a deck. I love the porch.”

He caught her hand in his and turned her wrist slowly,
inspecting her bracelet. It had a single silver charm attached. “What does this say?” He tilted the small, shiny cutout toward the flame that flickered within the amber votive cup in the middle of the table. It took a moment to decipher the words in the dim light, but finally he looked up, smiling. “So you're ‘Number One Mom.'”

“My last Mother's Day present.” She glanced away, her cheeks flushing. “I mean, most recent.”

“There'll be more.” He pressed her hand between his, massaging palm to palm. “I've never thanked you, Raina. Seeing him now, seeing the fine, healthy young man you're raising…I want to thank you.”

“I'm his mother.” Her tone was as level as the look she gave him. “I think… I hope I've done what good mothers do. Thanks aren't—”

“Necessary, I know.” He rubbed his thumb over the links of the bracelet. “He thanked you with this. And I'm thanking you.” He shook his head, chuckling as he tore his eyes from the bracelet. “I gotta tell you, you know what I thought?”

“What?”

“I thought this was probably something Jared had given you, and maybe it said ‘I love you' or something, and I thought…” He looked into her eyes, lingering uncertainty muting his voice. “I thought, this woman's trying to tell me something.”

“I do have gifts from Jared. Keepsakes and memories.” But it was Gideon's hands that warmed hers now, his thumb caressing the soft side of her wrist. “He did love me, you know.”

“I know.”

“And I loved him.”

“I know that, too.”

“So did Peter.”

Gideon nodded. They sat there for a long, quiet moment, holding hands across the table. There was such an aura about them that the waiter bypassed them twice, reluctant to offer menus until the mood at the table changed.

“Raina,” Gideon began finally. “What you said about the way this is shaping up to be like a custody battle in a divorce…” He lifted his eyes to hers, probing deeply, earnestly. “It shouldn't be like that. I mean, why should Peter be part of that kind of tug-of-war when there's been no divorce?” With gentle urgency he squeezed her hand. “You know, we…when we put ourselves into it, we really get along fine. What I mean to say is, if we—”

A restive murmur spreading from table to table drew their attention from their own little world. Around the room other curious heads were popping up the same way. One of the waiters was hastily drawing the drapes, while a couple of people stood half out of their chairs, trying to get a peek before the view was cut off. A tide of noise seemed to be building outside. The buzz level in the dining room was also on the rise, along with growing disquiet.