“Because I knew Spencer had taken you and Charlotte to Northern California. And I wanted Mary to feel like she had a connection to her children, even if she was never going to see them.” Tamra finished her soda and cursed her pounding heart. “So we rented a little apartment and tried to make a go of things. I got a part-time job and earned a degree in marketing, and Mary got a full-time job, working at a hospital. Later she became a certified nurse’s aid.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “A marketing degree. And you came back to Pine Ridge?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Why?”
“Why not? This is our home.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me the whole story. I don’t care anyway.”
But he did, she thought. Or he wouldn’t be so hurt about Mary letting him go. “Have you called your sister yet? Did you tell Charlotte that you found your mom?”
“Yes.” He made a face at the phone, cursing the object as if it were his enemy. “But she’s not coming back to the States. Not for a little while. Can you believe it? She thinks I need to spend some time with Mary first. To get to know her.”
“Sounds logical to me.”
“Because you’re a woman. Your kind stick together.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I think I’m going to like your sister.”
“I’m sure you will.” He quit snarling at the phone and noticed her smile. “Don’t patronize me. I’m being serious.”
“So am I.” But she laughed in spite of herself. “You’re just so agitated all the time, Walker. Everything upsets you.”
“And you think that’s funny?” He grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at her.
She caught it and tossed it back at him. Then they both fell silent.
“Want to get a pizza with me?” he asked suddenly.
Was he inviting her on a date? No, she thought, not after his spiel about their warped attraction. He was probably just bored, looking for something to do. “Sure, I guess. But on the rez. Not here. And I have to stop by a friend’s house first.”
“I noticed the pizza place at Pine Ridge. But I haven’t eaten there.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t make you sick.”
He shrugged off her sarcasm. “It’s a franchise I’m familiar with.”
She came to her feet. “I’ll drive. And on the way I’ll teach you about Lakota protocol.” She dug through her purse, snagged her keys. “Indian 101.”
“I can hear it now. Don’t point, Walker. And don’t get drunk on the rez.” He followed her out to her truck. “All those winos I saw must have missed your class.”
Wiseguy, she thought. “Just listen and learn.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He climbed in the passenger seat, and she gunned the engine, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.
Three
Walker studied Tamra’s profile. He had so many questions about her, about his mother. He was even curious about Lakota protocol. Although he wasn’t sure why.
“Who told you I was looking for my mom?” he asked.
“I heard it through the moccasin telegraph. Someone who knew someone who knew someone else.” She turned onto the highway. “You’re lucky that Mary works at the PHS. That people are familiar with her. It’s not easy to locate someone on the rez.”
“No, I suppose not.” Which was what he had been counting on. “Everything is so spread out.”
She continued driving. By Walker’s standard, her pickup was old, an early-eighties model with plenty of mileage. But it seemed reliable enough. At least, he hoped so. He knew there were places in Indian Country where neither cell phones or CB radios worked. But for now they were still in Nebraska.
“Did you forget about my lesson?” he asked.
“No. I’m just deciding where to start.”
He examined her profile again, thinking how striking she was. Her prominent cheekbones, the slight imperfection of her nose, the way her hair framed her face. Her eyes fascinated him, too. Whenever she looked at him, heat surged through his veins.
A sexual response, he thought. Lust in the first degree.
“We’ll start with respectful eye contact,” she said, making him blink, making him realize how closely he was watching her. “In the old way, you’re supposed to avoid eye contact with your elders. And children were taught not to stare. When you stare at someone, you’re challenging them.”
He glanced away. He’d been staring at her from the moment they’d met. Of course, she’d done her fair share of locking gazes with him, too.
“As for pointing,” she went on to say, “the Lakota gesture with their lips.”
He frowned. “Their lips?”
“Like this?” She moved her mouth in his direction.
He tried it and made her laugh.
“You’re overdoing it, Walker. You look like Mick Jagger.”
He laughed, too. “What other social laws should I know about?” he asked, deciding he enjoyed her company, her relaxed sense of humor.
“Addressing a family member by a kinship term is part of the old way.”
“Like mother, son, daughter? That sort of thing?”
“Yes. But some of the terms are quite specific. Older brother. Younger sister. Male to female. Female to male.”
He leaned back in his seat, knowing this would be important to Charlotte. “What’s the term for younger sister?”
“From a male to a female? Tanksi, I think. Sometimes I get confused. I’m still learning the language.”
Walker nodded. He suspected that Mary hadn’t raised Tamra in a traditional manner. Not after the things she’d said about his mother avoiding the Hunka and other Lakota ceremonies. “Does my mom speak the language?”
“She’s not fluent, but she’s working on it. We’re both trying to make up for the past. For the years we didn’t embrace our culture.” She kept her hands on the steering wheel. “But we’re still not overly traditional. We just do the best we can, trying to respect others.”
Walker tried to picture Tamra in San Francisco, far away from the Lakota. Knowing that she’d chosen SFSU because of him and Charlotte made him feel closer to her. But it made him uncomfortable, too. She’d grown up in his shadow, and now he was struggling to survive in hers.
“Are their different types of Sioux?” he asked, still trying to absorb his culture. “Or are they all Lakota?”
“There are three branches,” she responded. “Lakota, Dakota and Nakota, who are also called the Yankton Sioux.”
“So where does Oglala come into it?”
“It’s one of the seven Lakota bands. It means ‘they scatter their own’ or ‘dust scatters.’” She sent him a half-cocked smile. “But the Oglala have seven bands of their own, too.”
“Okay, now you’re confusing me.” He shook his head and laughed. “So much for Indian 101. This is turning into an advanced course.”
She laughed, too. “It’s not as complicated as it sounds.”
“If you say