“I had a visitor today.”

Standing at the sandwich counter was Caitlyn’s caseworker, a usually bubbly woman named Ginger with curly dark hair and a smile for everyone. Ginger had probably seen more horrors that Travis could imagine, yet she remained upbeat and focused her energy on trying to help people. He had heard horror stories about Child Welfare and caseworkers, but Ginger was the real deal – a woman who wanted to make her corner of the world a better place.

“Hello to you too,” Travis said with a frown. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I want to smack you upside the head, is what I want to do. What on earth possessed you to confront a man you thought was Caitlyn’s father without telling me?”

She also had a tendency to not pull her punches.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Ginger snorted. “Oh.”

“He was your visitor?”

Ginger glanced at the menu on the wall behind Travis’s head. “Tuna salad please. Whole. And yes. Imagine my surprise when a man comes to my desk and tells me that he’s just discovered he has a daughter and wants to be allowed visitation.”

“He can’t do that,” Travis said, griping the knife for the sandwich so tight in his gloved hands that it slipped and clattered across the counter.

“He can, and he did. It’s scheduled for next Monday at two in the afternoon. Don’t be late.”

The man hadn’t wanted anything to do with Caitlyn, that had been perfectly clear even after Travis told him off. Never in a million years had Travis imagined that Pastor Ricky would change his mind and reach out to Caitlyn. And the fact that he did it through the Child Welfare office, when he knew how to get in touch with Travis directly? His stomach churned.

“Fuck.”

“I know. At least they’re supervised, for now. But after how hard you worked to get custody, what were you thinking? That wasn’t just a can of worms. It was more like a creepy tarantula waiting to attack. Can I get a bag of chips too?”

Travis had to get a second bag, he squeezed the first so tight, he was sure there wouldn’t be any decent chips left.

“I’m going to stop by the library to say hi to her. Do you want me to let her know, or do you want to do it?”

“I should do it,” Travis croaked before banging his head onto the countertop. “Fuck.”

Caitlyn was late again. She’d been working there for over two months now, and it was only the second time she failed to show right at ten.

Whitman checked the clock again, for the fifth time.

The day’s children’s program was the Oregon Bird Man, which Whitman would have otherwise found fascinating. Instead, he could barely pay attention, even when one of the birds tried to dive-bomb Whitman’s head. The Bird Man obnoxiously blamed it on the shine.

When the clock struck noon and Caitlyn had still failed to show or to answer the numerous calls and texts Whitman had sent her, he gave in and called Travis.

Half an hour later, Travis dragged Caitlyn into the library by the sleeve of her hoodie.

“If she needs a sick day,” Whitman began, because Caitlyn’s eyes were puffy and her nose shining red.

“What she needs is a distraction,” Travis said firmly, and guided Caitlyn with a hand between her shoulder blades back behind the front desk.

“I’m great at distraction,” Whitman said, “Although you missed the Bird Man, which probably would have been even better. Did you know that birds like shiny objects? My head does now.”

He had gone for laughter but would have taken even the smallest of smiles, but Caitlyn was being stingy with them.

Travis muttered something under his breath that Whitman didn’t catch, but might have been, “Don’t I know it.”

After Travis left and the library quieted down after all the children and birds were gone, Whitman tried his best to redirect Caitlyn’s brooding.

“How’s the redecorating?”

Caitlyn shrugged. She sat on the floor behind him, stacks of books around her as she tried peel away worn out barcode stickers without causing more damage and affix fresh ones. It was a project long overdue, and it allowed her to stay relatively out of the public eye. Whitman had offered to let her use the conference room, but Caitlyn claimed to want the company, despite refusing to speak.

“Did you end up making enough for a new couch?”

“No,” she grumbled and Whitman gave himself a point.

“The offer to make you a slipcover is still on the table.”

“Those always look so bad, though. Like someone just threw a sheet over it.”

Whitman gave himself two more points for two full sentences and went to work at the computer.

“I know there’s a book around here somewhere …” He typed and scribbled on a sunflower-shaped notepad kept near the computer. “Aha. Follow me.”

Caitlyn easily unfolded from the ground in a way that Whitman envied.

“The type you’re thinking of are the ready-made fit-any-sofa kind. But you can make slipcovers specifically for your couch. And those look a lot more natural and normal. See?” He held out the book that he had been searching for, Snug-Fitting Slipcovers and Upholstery.

“Exciting,” Caitlyn said in a flat voice.

“Hey. In here, you can find the key to replacing that pastel monstrosity you guys call a sofa. In here, you can change your whole house, maybe even your whole world,” Whitman fanned his hands into a rainbow and Caitlyn twisted her lips to avoid smiling. Whitman gave himself bonus points.

“When do you want to go fabric shopping?” he asked as they carried the book back to the front and Whitman checked it out himself. “Saturday?”

“Saturday’s the Pow-Wow. You’re not going?”

“I didn’t want to intrude,” Whitman said setting the book under the counter and straightening up the mess he had left. Organizing was one of his nervous tics. Truth was, he longed to go to the Pow-Wow. It sounded fascinating, and it was all anyone in Slat Creek had talked about for the past week. But he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to go, as an outsider, both to the tribe and the town.

“It’s open to everybody. They have the best shaved ice there. You should come. Travis will be there, running the sandwich stand for Molly’s.” Caitlyn dropped back into her spot on the floor and grabbed the next book in the stack, using her fingernail to pick at the edge of the worn sticker.

“I don’t think he’d want to see me.”

Caitlyn looked up, pinned Whitman with her bored teenage gaze, and made a huge show of rolling her eyes. Twice.

“Look, Travis doesn’t know what he wants. He acts all big and tough, but as soon as feelings are involved, he runs away like … a roadrunner.”

“I think we need to work on your metaphors.”

“What would you have said?”

“He runs away faster than Usain Bolt.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

Whitman smiled and Caitlyn huffed at him.

“Anyway. He wanted so bad to leave Slat Creek. You’re a reason for him to want to stay, and God knows, he can’t have that. Forget the fact that he’s being a total weirdo. Or don’t, because really, that just proves that he likes you. Which means, no matter how much he’ll try to deny it or act like he doesn’t care, he’ll be thrilled to see you on Saturday.”

The girl’s logic twisted more than a tornado, but somehow settled into sense.

“Maybe.”

Caitlyn rose to her feet and grabbed a stack of books to return to the shelves. “Not maybe. Definitely.” She shook her head and took off, but Whitman still heard her and choked on air. “It’s like I’m the freaking gay whisperer around here.”

It really was the best shaved ice he’d ever had.

Whitman had on his light blue shorts and yellow and blue polka-dot polo. The weather forecast had threatened showers, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Whitman was sweltering, but the shaved ice helped.

Cars lined the streets leading up the hill to the pow-wow grounds. Families had turned their front yards into parking spaces for a few bucks in cash, and little kids set up lemonade stands on the way, hoping to share in the profits. By the time he reached the Pow-Wow, Whitman was glistening.

The arena sat empty at the moment, although people had started to collect in the surrounding bleachers. Outside of the grounds, two consecutive circles of vendor booths created a pathway for wandering visitors. Everything from jewelry to Caitlyn’s favorite shaved ice, which Whitman purchased immediately to help cool off, was on sale. Shelters stood at the back, where groups of people gathered as they waited for the Pow-Wow to begin.

Whitman saw the Molly’s booth at the bend just before the corner rounded to the right, so he took his sno-cone and found a seat in the second row of the bleachers.

“Would you like a brownie to go with that?”

Breath tickled the back of his left ear and Whitman jumped. Half the row in front of him turned to look at the commotion, and Whitman was sure his bald head was now cherry red as well as glistening with sweat. He probably could double as a human torch.

“No, I would not, thank you.”

Travis grinned as Whitman still clutched at his collar and stepped over the seat and situated himself next to Whitman.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Yeah, right.”

Whitman regained enough control to spoon at his treat and stuff a bite in his mouth so he didn’t say more, or worse, to Travis. Unfortunately, that led to a serious case of brain-freeze.

Travis cupped a hand over Whitman’s mouth. “Blow.”

Whitman’s brows met in the middle, and he most certainly did not blow.

“It helps get rid of brain-freeze. I promise.” When Whitman still did nothing, Travis sighed and removed his hand. “Fine, but it really does work.”

They sat in silence until a voice came over a loud speaker, announcing that the Grand Entry to the Pow-Wow was about to begin. The stands quickly filled up, and Whitman sat closer to Travis than his nerves liked.

“I thought you had to work the stand for Molly’s.”

Whitman hadn’t wanted to be here alone, but since Travis was his only, sort-of, friend, he had resigned himself to it. A part of him wondered if Travis understood how much he hated being alone, thus accounting for his sudden appearance and brain-freeze assistance. Based on what he had seen of Travis’s heart already, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“I do. Caitlyn’s helping too. Just taking a quick break.”

“Well don’t let me ke–” A drum beat cut Whitman off, and the crowd stood. It reminded Whitman of the graduation ceremony, except after a few minutes, a parade of people carrying flags and banners entered the arena. Even those holding the large, billowing flags danced as they made their way around the arena, followed by dancers dressed in full regalia. Whitman guessed the dancers might have ranged from those in their eighties to a few toddlers. Different groups were represented – veterans, tribal councils, tribes from other areas who traveled to join in the celebration.

“I wanted to thank you,” Travis leaned over and said low into Whitman’s ear. “For calling me about Caitlyn.”

“Of course. You know I’d do anything for her. Your sister is incredible.”

“Yeah, I heard you’re going to be sewing things for the house together?”

“Yes,” Whitman said and waited for the punchline. Most people had one when they learned he sewed.

“I just don’t know how I can ever repay you. It’s been hard, trying to get her back on her feet. I wish I could take credit, but honestly, I think your help has been more instrumental in her recovery than anything I’ve done.”

Damn, he was trying to pay attention. His parents would throttle him if they knew he was here and allowing himself to be distracted, but despite the beauty of the colors and the energy of the dancing and drumming, all of Whitman’s focus was on the hurting, but hopefully healing, man beside him.

“That’s not true. You love her. That’s the most important thing of all.”

“Her dad called up Child Welfare and insisted on visiting her. That’s why she was so upset on Tuesday, and probably all of this past week. He, apparently, had all sorts of opinions that he couldn’t wait to share with her about Mom and me. Love should be the most important thing, but it’s the hatred that unfortunately is so quick to bring us down.”

Whitman stared until Travis could no longer avoid his gaze, and blue trapped gold.

“I am here, for both of you, whatever you need. But don’t ever discount what you give her. Real family and love and hope. And if you could relax a bit and remember how to tease her like a big brother, a sense of normalcy.”

“I think I forgot how to relax the second I answered that phone call from Andrews.”

“You’ll get there. I believe in you. In both of you.”

A drumbeat vibrated his whole body at the end of his sentence, like the seal of a proclamation, or the banging of a gavel at a verdict. Whitman could only hope it signaled better things to come for the two Butlers he had come to care for so very much.