Mr. Lawson returns to remove the pads from my skin. He reminds me to practice my exercises at home and tells me to have fun on the road trip with my family.
When I return to the lobby, I find Mom leaning against the front desk, nodding as Marisol speaks. Marisol’s voice is hushed, her words rapid and anxious. Her curls bounce as she shakes her head.
“—and with everything else going on, I just don’t want to see her bomb this test too, you know? Her entire future depends on it. That’s what’s at stake here. Her future.”
“I know,” Mom murmurs. “I get it.”
Marisol sighs. “She’s a smart girl. She’s capable of so much. I just wish she understood how important it is to go to college. That she can strive to be something more than—more than . . .” Marisol glimpses me out of the corner of her eye and trails off, swallowing hard as she stares at my face.
I pause awkwardly in the middle of the room. Mom straightens to greet me, forcing a bright smile.
“Maisie! Mr. Lawson says that you’re ready for once-a-week visits. Isn’t that fantastic news?”
“Yeah.” My response comes out dull-sounding, closed off.
“We’re celebrating,” Mom declares. “I ordered a pizza, and we’ll have some ice cream for dessert. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good.”
Marisol pulls up the calendar to book my next appointment. Mom retrieves a credit card from her wallet to pay for this one. She gives Marisol a reassuring pat on the hand before we leave, with a few urgently whispered words: “It’s going to be okay. Everything will be fine.”
Marisol nods, even though her eyes are still a little sad.
I pipe up with, “Thanks again for the books, Marisol. Tell Fabiana I’m really excited to read them.”
“You are so welcome. Take care, sweetie. Be careful on this trip.”
Mom and I leave; I hug the stack of books against my chest as I follow her down the sidewalk. “What were you guys talking about?” I ask.
Mom waves the question away. “Oh, nothing. She’s worried about her daughter’s SAT scores. She’s working with a tutor, but Fabiana’s still struggling.”
“Oh.” I think of the C– on my math test; my stomach muscles clench.
Mom leads the way into the pizza place. When we walk in, there are two slim cardboard boxes on the counter waiting for us. I pull my phone out of my pocket to check for messages from Eva.
Eva: OMG IT WAS AMAZING. I THINK I DID AMAZING. WOW.
Eva: That was my best audition yet. Hands down.
Eva: Omg I’m so excited. I hope I got in!
I type back, Congrats! I hope they accept you too. So proud of you.
Even though I mean every word, my heart turns to lead in my chest as I hit send. A lump rises in the base of my throat, tightening my airway and shortening my breaths to shallow gulps.
Mom is oblivious as she thanks the restaurant workers and scoops the pizza boxes into her arms. She doesn’t even meet my gaze as she hurries us back outside and to the car, talking the whole way about how she needs to finish packing for our trip, and how she couldn’t find Connor’s hiking boots this morning, so she hopes that Jack will know where they are.
We climb in, I place my new books in the back seat, and she sets the warm boxes on my lap.
“Hold them level,” she says. “Please.”
I shakily inhale the scents of garlic and marinara sauce. Mom pulls out of her parking spot and starts drumming her thumbs against the steering wheel as she inches through the traffic to exit.
We drive all the way home, and I don’t say a single word. I just sit here, waiting for my breaths to even out. Waiting for this sudden pang in my chest to go away.
11
Cape Woman and the River Men
February 15
My parents had a love story similar to Romeo and Juliet’s: short, tragic, star-crossed.
But Mom and Jack? They’re more like Cinderella and Prince Charming: proof that even after losses and heartbreak, happily-ever-after can be possible.
Jack grew up in the city of Port Angeles, about two hours east of Neah Bay. He is Native too, an enrolled citizen of the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe. Jack is the type of person who knows a little bit about everything, but he knows everything about Klallam and Pacific Northwest history. Probably because he was raised by his grandfather. His see-yah.
“I was only allowed to call him See-yah,” Jack told me once. “Never Grandpa. He thought the English words for grandparents sounded ugly. But you know, sometimes when I was trying to be funny, I’d call him Gramps. Just to see the look on his face.” He chuckled at the memory. “God, I miss him and the looks he used to give me.”
Jack’s see-yah was born on the Ediz Hook—a sandbar that extends into the Strait of Juan de Fuca—in 1928. At that point, his family was homeless. Landless. Like many other Klallam people.
“The late 1800s and early 1900s were a difficult time for the people,” Jack explained to me. “Settlers were coming in, and there were all kinds of epidemics. Our ancestors suffered from smallpox, measles, influenza. Construction began on the Elwha Dam. And laws were passed that made fishing illegal for Natives. They weren’t supposed to hunt or fish in the rivers or off the beaches around their traditional villages. Not even to feed their families. The state required special licenses to fish, and you had to be an American citizen in order to apply for a license. But we weren’t US citizens until 1924. Natives could be arrested if they were found fishing outside the system. Just like they could be arrested for refusing to send their kids to the boarding schools.”
The early years of his see-yah’s life were difficult. The family lived in poverty. They were forcibly removed from Ediz Hook by white settlers when Jack’s see-yah was only a small child.
“His family didn’t want to leave him, but they were hungry, and homeless, and of course, there was the threat of going to jail if they didn’t give him up. And so, he went to the Chemawa Indian School in Salem, Oregon.”
This was where Jack’s see-yah learned to speak English. Where he was forced to speak it. His teachers tried to beat the Klallam language out of him.
“He never talked about it much,” Jack told me. “Even as an adult, he seemed haunted by that place.”
Jack can be the same way about his own childhood. About the years before his see-yah took over as his guardian.
“Hurt people hurt people,” I’ve heard him say, especially in reference to his own parents.
Jack moved in with his see-yah when he was fifteen. Which was the same age he dropped out of high school.
“I’m not proud of what my life looked like back then. I was young and dumb, convinced I was invincible when I wasn’t. See-yah helped to straighten me out. He taught me what it really means to be one of the Strong People.”
In their language, the Klallam tribes are known as the Strong People. According to Mom, the Makahs are the Cape People. And the Piscataway are the People Where the Rivers Blend.
We have a running joke in my family, that my mother has a type. That she goes for the river men. Especially the high school dropouts.
12
The Pirate
February 15