I took a step back toward him. “What is it?”
“Maybe you could visit Micah sometime. He likes rock music and, well, you study music and play in bands. Maybe you could bring your guitar and keep him company some afternoon.”
I was struck speechless. How bad off was this kid? The look of anguish on his grandfather’s face might have said it all. “Sure, Sam, anytime. But right now I gotta get on the clock. So let me ask you about visiting hours later.”
“Do your father proud,” he said as I strode away from him.
I knocked on the office door before firmly twisting the knob. I heard my father’s deep, rich voice as I pushed it open. “Come in.”
Mom was the first person I saw as I entered the lush space. She sat behind a small oak desk at the back of the room right beneath a giant portrait of a Navajo warrior in battle. She had her own office upstairs, but my parents always hung out in the same space, so it was no surprise to see them together. Mom rose first to greet me, stepping around my father’s large desk, which took up most of the middle of the room.
“There’s my favorite guy.” She tugged me into her arms, and I felt how thin and bony she was. My father was a tall and imposing man, so next to him she looked like a porcelain doll.
I kissed her cheek and pulled away. “Hi, Mom.”
Then I looked over at my father. He stood behind his desk and stretched out his hand as if I was a new employee or something. And maybe that was the message he was trying to send.
“Dad.” I reached over to grab his hand, and he gave me two solid claps on the back. “Have a seat, son.”
He only used that formal tone when I was about to be reamed out. I figured he’d gotten it all out on the phone that morning, but maybe he had more to say. Even behind closed doors, my father was the consummate professional in his place of business. Suddenly I was thankful this meeting hadn’t taken place at their house instead. Even though I was an adult, I still sometimes felt like a twelve year old who’d just been caught taking a sip from his father’s beer when I was reprimanded there.
My father cleared his throat. “I’m glad you decided to work here this summer.”
I worded my response carefully. “Not sure I had much of a choice, Dad.”
My ears automatically tuned into the sound of the lame elevator music piping through the speakers. My thoughts veered off to the idea of creating different mood music in the casino before I realized I had totally tuned my father out. Fuck.
I heard my father sigh, and when I looked up his face was beet-red. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Of course I have,” I snapped, in a lame attempt to convince him. Besides, I’d heard all of his lectures before. Even the ones about smoking pot. “Whatever you need, Dad.”
“Look, son,” he said, sitting back down in his seat. “You tried it your way. Now let’s try it my way.”
I looked him directly in the eyes. The eyes that I’d respected and admired my whole life. “Is it your way or the highway?”
“Knock it off, Kai,” he rumbled, and I sat up straighter. His voice still had the power to disarm me. “Do you have a better idea for making a living?”
He had me there. He wasn’t going to spot me any more cash. And playing gigs paid shit. And I certainly didn’t want to flip burgers or put on a monkey suit for an office job.
Mom came up behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Honey, I really want you to finish your degree somewhere in the fall. Have you thought about that any more?”
“Mom, I’m just not sure I’m cut out for school,” I said in a show of honesty. “I mean, I liked the classes I was taking, but I liked working at the studio more.”
“The classes are necessary in order to get to the thing you love,” my father said through a clenched jaw. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I just know music is where it’s at for me.” The only two things I’d even been good at in my life were playing music and taking care of Rachel. Even my parents told me how proud they’d been of me during her stay at the hospital.
“That’s obviously not working for you.”
“Then I’m out of ideas,” I said simply. Because it was true. I was at a roadblock. Or maybe a crossroads. Nothing really made sense anymore. Nothing ever really did to me.
My father stood to his full intimidating height. “Look around this casino, son. You’ve been given an opportunity to get an education. Something that many of our employees will never have.”
Same argument, different day. He thought he was doing a service to our people by giving them jobs and bringing money into the tribal nation. And he definitely was. But my uncle Elan disagreed. It was an old argument between him and Dad that dated back to Dad’s initial decision to invest in this casino with other tribal owners and become the majority shareholder.
Uncle Elan had argued that Dad was only adding to the problems plaguing our community. Alcoholism. Gambling. Elan mostly stayed away from the casino because of it. He’d always been inflexible. My father was stubborn as well, but he was also compassionate and giving.
But at least they both stood for something. I didn’t know where I stood on the issue. I could see both sides. And that had always been my problem. Nothing really mattered to me besides music and Rachel. I went through the motions, and if shit happened around me or to me, I just shrugged it off and kept on going.
“I understand, Dad.” I brushed my fingers through my hair in exasperation. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”
Chapter Nine Kai
My mother, who had been raised in the Netherlands, stayed out of my dad and uncle’s argument as well. But she supported my father fully. I could see the admiration in her eyes. Privately, she told Dakota and me that every culture had examples of failures and successes—the Dutch Eighty Years’ War, for example.
Before I moved overseas, she gave me a quick lesson in her homeland’s history—about the pinnacle of her culture, called the Dutch Golden Age—which I appreciated. Amsterdam had its share of culturally tolerant and liberal thinkers, and I’d felt comfortable there—even though my heart had been someplace else—despite the fact that I was referred to as an allochtoon, the Dutch word for foreigner, everywhere I went. I snickered to myself at the memory.
My father’s booming voice brought me out of my reverie. “Today I’m putting you out on the floor under Stuart.”
“Got it.” Stuart was one of Dad’s oldest and most trusted employees.
“And you’ll get a regular paycheck,” Mom said. “Depending on how many hours you work.” Mom handled the books in the casino with a team of accountants under her. Dakota was learning the ropes from my very intelligent mother. Apparently she’d gotten all the smart genes.
According to my late grandfather, I took after some distant relative who loved smoking his peace pipe, dispensing advice to the tribe, and beating the poplar drum every morning. Cool by me. At least he’d been accepted by his people.
“I want you to take out those piercings you love so much,” Dad said.
“Honey, he’s fine,” Mom said, squeezing my shoulders. But had she known all the places where I was pierced, she’d have fainted right on the spot.
She leaned close to my ear. “Ik houd van jou.”