After signing, shaking, and introductions to others in the armory, Hollis was invited to the afternoon’s youth symposium. Mike made him an honorary uncle for his three-year-old son and introduced Jacey, his wife, who looked uncannily like her husband. Everyone split up into their family groups and each group attempted to build a tower out of marshmallows and uncooked spaghetti noodles. It turned out that Hollis was very good at this. He planned an elaborate base using the noodles and marshmallows like fragile Tinkertoys. While their toddler ate Cheerios and hollered for marshmallows, Mike and Jacey carefully broke the spaghetti into the lengths that Hollis required. He laid five brittle rods together so they could reinforce one another, like a pasta beam. He’d worked at Wink’s Construction that summer tying rebar. Their tower was the tallest of all and it did not even wobble. Sergeant Verge Anderson chose their marshmallow tower as most worthy, and showed it to the other family groups at the end. He pointed out the double construction, the reinforcement, the alignment, the precision. Mike introduced Hollis, gave him the credit, and everyone applauded. Sergeant Anderson said that Hollis had the right stuff to become a combat engineer, if he so chose, or go on to have any sort of career he wanted, and that his country needed him and his presence honored the North Dakota National Guard family—people working together to ensure the safety of their fellow Americans.
Hollis drove back home with a schedule for drills, a schedule for his payments, a schedule for acquiring his uniform and materials for study, a schedule for each step in becoming a member of the National Guard. As he drove, he thought of Landreaux, who had told him that the army was easy to get used to, seemed natural after boarding school. He thought of the times he’d hunted with Landreaux, before the accident, how careful Landreaux had been in teaching him. Landreaux had told him that in basic training his instructor had ordered the western boys to step out, the rural boys from Wyoming, Montana, the Dakotas. He’d set them aside to work with one-on-one, because they’d always be his best shots. Landreaux’s grandfather had taught him to hunt so early in life that it all came back, he said. Landreaux hadn’t shot anyone in Desert Storm—he had worked way back in the support sector, filled out their medical forms and done routine health checks, taken care of superficial wounds, and promoted overall general health. Hollis was pretty sure he’d never have to shoot anyone either. He’d do the opposite. He’d save people. In a crisis Hollis would know what to do and be the one to depend on. In a vague way, he understood that saving people could be just as dangerous if they ever got into a real situation.
When he stepped into the house he smelled fried rabbit with onions and bacon. He smelled burning sage and saw that Snow and Josette were smudging themselves, for some special mysterious reason. Emmaline put her thin arms around him. Coochy punched him, punched him harder when he didn’t respond. Hollis felt his heart swelling with love so he put a fake choke hold on Coochy. LaRose yelled.
Take it outside! I’m making a hogan.
He was gluing pieces of construction paper into a frame shoe box. He was making a diorama of Native American dwellings for Emmaline’s office.
Josette quit fanning smoke on herself, looked over his shoulder, tipped her head back and forth.
Make sure you put a cactus in there.
No, said Snow. A sheep. And a FEMA trailer.
Plus a volleyball, Josette said. Those Navajo girls are killer.
Dine girls, said Snow. I think they live in super nice new suburb houses, actually. Put in a cul-de-sac and sprinkler system.
Sprinkler system?
Josette looked disturbed.
Nah, you’re right. They wouldn’t waste their water.
Damn straight! Phoenix is stealing their water! I read about it! Put in big pipes sucking away Dine water! LaRose, you can use drinking straws!
LaRose looked up at Hollis and said, Brother, will you get them out of here?
LAROSE WAS AT his Ravich family, in the lilac bush cave. Maggie squeezed into their green shadowed hideout and sat with him. They’d lined the space with dried grass, like a nest.
I have to tell you something, Maggie said.
LaRose had brought a frozen twin pops out to eat, the kind you could break into two Popsicles. He gave her one half, though she didn’t like banana flavor.
How come these are the ones always left?
Because you don’t like them.
Yeah, they’re gross, said Maggie.
She licked the bogus flavoring and watched LaRose. His eyelashes were so long and full they cast shadows on his cheeks. But he wasn’t a cute boy. He was soft and beaky.
I’d kill to have your eyelashes.
Josette and Snow already said they’d kill for my eyelashes too. Why don’t you pull them out and paste them on your eyes? I don’t care.
Yeah, okay, said Maggie. But see, Mom tried to kill herself.
LaRose bit straight into the banana ice and cold pain shot up between his eyes. Maggie put her hand on his shoe and spoke into his face.
Mom was standing on a chair in the barn; she had a rope around her neck. She was going to hang herself to death.
LaRose frowned at his running shoes. He took a smaller bite, then ate the rest, closing his eyes when the ache bloomed inside his forehead again. He put the stick in the neat pile he was saving to build a fort for his action figures. Maggie put her stick in his pile.
Can you help me? Tears shot into Maggie’s eyes but she blinked them out. She drew her legs up and hugged her kneecaps. Her head flopped down and her hair snarled over her face.
I know what to do, he said, though he didn’t know.
Maggie rested her hand on the ground, splayed toward his. After a while LaRose reached into his pocket and took out a smooth little gray rock. He put the rock on her palm.
What’s that?
Just a little rock.
You’re always picking up rocks. Like, what can this rock do? She threw it down.
We gotta watch her. We gotta stop her!