“No, Sister. I want to know what Will is going to toast to. Come on, Willy, illuminate us all!”

Wilhelm shifts his weight on his throne. He spits down toward his shiny black cowboy boots. Raises his blue eyes and says, “To Native Whores!” and bursts out laughing.

“You fuck that? What is the matter with you?” I say as my eyes weave their way to Sister’s. “This is what you let sleep next to you? This is what made you walk away from your marriage and your son? This small piece of Perfect White Shit?”

I begin to walk away on my own, shaking off Lance and Sister. Shaking my head. I knew that none of this would end well.

I walk out into the kitchen. I’m so thirsty. I find myself wondering if this is what a hangover is. I’ve never felt this sense of grogginess before. Dirty dishes are stacked up on the kitchen counter. Supper appears to be over. They ate without me. My head aches, but I still remember the words I said. I don’t regret them. My problem now is that I don’t have a vehicle to drive myself out of here. I need to find Ama’s keys. Drive back to town and get into my own car. I must leave before things get any worse.

She never understood it. Never thought about why the things that happened growing up were the way they were. She never thought what made our folks be the people they were. She never talked to them. She never saw them in their older years. The gentleness that came to them. The peace they had found with one another. She only hated all of us and left home as soon as she could.

She had said in different phone conversations that she has no memory of growing up. It was only pain and one wrongdoing after another that befell her. She doesn’t acknowledge that time. Life has only ever been about her and her and her. The sins of the father do visit the daughter, and now she doesn’t have her son either. She only has white Wilhelm and his pretend life. She’s in a mess.

I start going through her purse. Wallet, prescriptions for drugs I can’t pronounce, gum, old after-dinner mints. No keys. I hear our younger brother in my head saying, “No Key, No mail!”—his announcement every time I lost the post office key when we were kids. I giggle quietly at the sound of his voice, coming to me here in this jailhouse.

“Sila?” I turn at the sound of my name and there she stands. Her left eye is turning purple. I gasp and go to her. I hug her hard.

She pushes me back and tells me that I have to leave.