Chapter 12

This evening, the women had decorated the room with potted palms borrowed from a nursery, and there were brightly woven cloths and bouquets of flowers on the tables where people could sit to eat and visit.

“Logan!”

“Rudy Yellow Feather! How are you? I haven’t seen you in what…a dozen years?”

“Just about.”

They shook hands. They had been best friends, and, like Logan, Rudy was a big man, but at forty, his frame already carried too much weight. Fat, lazy Indian…Logan had heard that comment used too often about his people. It echoed in his head, and he felt bad for Rudy, who worked as hard as any white man he’d ever known.

“How’s your wife?”

“She stayed home with the kids, but we’re all fine. And you?”

“Still single and doing okay.”

Several of his middle school friends were there, even some who, like the two of them, no longer lived on the rez. They hugged and laughed as they remembered how it had been during the four years he’d lived with Kenu.