Chapter 22

He’d overstayed his welcome. He’d burned his last bridge here. It was time to go.

Sitting on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, Xavier tried to make a decision.

Earlier today, after he’d slammed the front door shut and left the house, he’d changed the Chevy’s tires and gone for a long car ride. He’d taken the Mercier Bridge to the south shore. The bridge the Kanien’kéha:ka, or theMohawks, had taken hostage that summer six years ago. The summer everything had changed. With his music blaring out of the speakers, Xavier had rolled down highway 132 and stopped at a gas station to buy more cigarettes. He’d stared at the houses across the highway. The Kahnawake reserve.

Mohawks. The People of the Flint, guardians of the Eastern doors.