Never Alone
A Killian Kendall Expanded Universe Short Story
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 2
After work the next day, I rushed home to shower and change. Standing in front of my closet, I hesitated. What exactly was the dress code for uncovering your family’s deepest, darkest secret? For that matter, what was appropriate for a powwow? It had been years since I’d last been to one, and my memory was hazy — drums, dancing, the smell of frybread drifting through the air — but I couldn’t recall what anyone had worn besides regalia.
I stared at the handful of clothes I owned, none of them particularly ceremonial, and sighed. Fashion wasn’t exactly in my budget. With six kids, Aunt Daisy barely kept us all clothed, and every spare dollar I made went straight into keeping my bike alive. After a minute of indecision, I just grabbed a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans. It wasn’t much, but at least it was me.
Once dressed, I slipped quietly downstairs. I was hoping to make it out of the house without Aunt Daisy giving me the third degree since she would demand to know where I was going and would no doubt flip out if I told her I was going to a powwow. I hated lying. I was no good at it anyway, so there really wasn’t much point. I lucked out and she was on the phone gossiping with one of her church friends, so I was able to make a clean escape.
Or so I thought.
I slipped into the garage to grab my bike — and froze.
Michael was there, tangled up with a girl in a passionate embrace. Against my motorcycle.
“What the hell?” I gasped.
They scrambled apart in a panic, yanking at clothes and tucking stray body parts back into place.
“Jacy!” Michael yelped. “Don’t tell Daisy!”
“Seriously? Here? In the garage? On my bike?” My voice shot up an octave with each word.
“Shhhh!” he hissed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, though the second the words left my mouth, I realized how pointless they were. It was obvious what they’d been doing — and knowing Michael, he’d probably give me play-by-play if I gave him the chance.
“Never mind,” I cut in before he could open his mouth. “Forget I asked. But Aunt Daisy will kill you if she catches you.”
“That’s why you need to keep quiet,” he said with a grin that only made me angrier.
I risked a glance at the girl for the first time. She was staring at the floor like it might open up and swallow her whole, but I recognized her immediately. Andrea — though everyone called her Drea — lived a few houses down. She had a reputation as a bit of a wild child, which made her a natural fit for my brother. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. This had to be mortifying.
Not that you’d know it looking at Michael, who wore the smug expression of a cat that had not only eaten the canary but gotten away with it.
“This isn’t funny,” I snapped. “Both of you need to get out of here. And next time, pick somewhere else to fool around — or you won’t live to graduate high school. And I don’t just mean Aunt Daisy. If you knock my bike over, so help me God—”
That finally got through to him. He winced, the grin faltering.
“I’m sorry, Jacy,” he said, sounding almost sincere. “It won’t happen again. Promise.”
“I know it won’t, because if it does and I find out, you won’t have to worry about Aunt Daisy killing you — I’ll do it myself.”
“Don’t be so uptight, Jace,” he said, the grin sneaking back. “We were just fooling around. Just ’cause you don’t—”
“Finish that sentence and I’ll tell her myself,” I cut him off.
That shut him up fast. His face paled, and I knew I had him.
I folded my arms. “Find a bed next time. Or at least a car. Leave my bike out of it.”
Drea seemed to have had enough. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the garage.
“Drea, wait!” Michael called after her.
“Go fuck yourself,” she snapped as she flipped him a rather rude and dismissive gesture and kept walking.
I chuckled. “I guess that’s all you’ll be doing tonight,” I said as I hopped on. “I have to go, but this isn’t over. We’ll talk about this later.”
Michael groaned. “Great, just what I need — a sex talk from my freakishly prudish big brother.”
“If you prefer it came from Aunt Daisy...”
He sighed. “We’ll talk later.”
I kick started my bike, which roared to life with a sputtering cough, and I was on my way.
Michael’s sexual escapades had momentarily distracted me from my worrying, but now that I was alone, my anxiety came back with a vengeance. I had no idea what Lily was going to tell me, but my overactive imagination had been busy coming up with all sorts of horrible scenarios.
The theory that seemed to make the most sense, given what little I knew, was that I’d been adopted. Honestly, that one didn’t sound so bad. It would at least explain why I’d always felt like the odd piece in the family puzzle, the one that never quite fit. The problem was, every time I looked in the mirror, I saw Mom’s side of the family staring back at me — the same eyes, the same cheekbones, the same stubborn jaw. Hard to argue with genetics.
Which left the other possibility. Maybe Dad wasn’t really my dad. The thought hit harder than I expected, a knot tightening in my stomach. It was the kind of idea that once it crossed your mind, you couldn’t stop poking at it, no matter how much you wanted to.
My mind wouldn’t stop churning the whole drive, serving up one grim possibility after another, each darker than the last. By the time I finally pulled into the state park, my nerves were shot.
The powwow grounds were tucked back in the woods, but I knew I was close when the steady pulse of drums reached me even through the trees. Volunteers in bright safety vests guided cars into neat rows on the grass, while others took admission at a folding table.
Lily hadn’t mentioned paying to get in. I dug out my wallet, praying I had enough. I did — though just barely — and handed over a few crumpled bills before joining the flow of people heading deeper in.
The closer I got, the stronger the atmosphere became — like walking into another world. The drumbeat rolled through the trees, steady and alive, matched by the rise and fall of voices singing in a language I didn’t know but somehow understood in my chest. Smoke from food stands drifted on the breeze, carrying the scents of frybread, roasting corn, and grilled meat. Children darted between adults, laughing, while friends caught up.
Large white tents stood around the perimeter forming a rough circle, echoing the one in the center, each marked with signs, some were filled with vendors, some held tables for eating in the shade, and some were restricted to performers only.
Lily had said she’d be in the arts and crafts tent, but the steady thrum of the drums tugged at me, insistent and alive. I’d come back to the tents later.
Then the trees opened up into a wide clearing, and I stopped dead in my tracks.
The crowd was enormous — hundreds of people surrounded the central dance ring. An inner circle sat in camp chairs, ready for the full day, with an outer band of standing observers. Dancers in brilliant regalia filled the space at the center, their feathers flashing in the sun, beadwork glittering with every turn. The air jingled with the sound of bells sewn to their outfits, a rhythm layered over the heartbeat of the drums. Color, movement, sound — it all swirled together into something bigger than I could process at once.
My childhood memories of coming here with Mom, Dad, and Michael were faint at best, but I was sure it had never been like this. Back then it had seemed smaller, almost intimate. Maybe the powwow had grown over the years. Or maybe I was just seeing it with different eyes.
In the center of the large roped-off circle, some sort of demonstration was underway. A group of drummers sat to one side, pounding a huge hide-covered drum and chanting in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The beat seemed to reach into my chest, tugging at me like a current, and I found myself edging closer to the circle, weaving between other spectators.
I stopped just short of the rope and watched a young man, not much older than me, whirl around the circle. He wore little more than face paint, leather, and feathers — barely enough to cover anything — but it was his dancing that held me spellbound. His feet moved so quickly they were almost a blur, executing intricate steps with precision and energy, every movement perfectly in sync with the drumbeat.
“He’s good, isn’t he?” a voice asked nearby.
I turned to see an older woman sitting in a folding lawn chair. Her face was weathered and lined, but her eyes were warm and kind. Gray hair was pulled back with a simple leather thong, and she wore a brightly patterned cotton dress. She smiled at me and nodded toward the dancer.
“He’s amazing,” I said, my eyes drawn back to the young man in the center.
“He’s my grandson,” she said, pride glowing in her voice. “It takes years of practice. And heart,” she added, eyes glinting. "Not too many of the young ones dance these days. There are only a few others in his league. He has a good chance of winning this year.”
“It’s a competition?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, sounding surprised. “Not right now, of course. This is just exhibition dancing. Is this your first time here?”
“I haven’t been in a long time.”
She looked confused for a minute. “You’re blood though, right?”
It was my turn to look confused.
“You’re Indian?” she clarified.
“Oh. Yes.”
She smiled again. “Thought so. At least I’m not that feeble yet. You look a bit familiar. Do you have a name?”
I blushed at my bad manners and extended my hand. “I’m sorry. My name is Jacy Elliott.”
She took my hand as her eyes widened. “You’re James and Rose’s oldest?”
“You knew my parents?”
“And your aunt. I know your whole family. Your grandparents and I go way back. Let’s just say I’m no longer surprised that you haven’t been to a powwow lately,” she said with a kind smile. “I’m glad you’re here now, though. It’s good that you are trying to learn about your heritage. And we still miss your mother and father.”
I decided not to enlighten her that it had been Lily’s idea and simply nodded.
She watched her grandson for a few seconds, then said, “You know, your father used to be quite a competitor.”
“I remember. Well, I don’t remember him dancing, but I remember he told me about it.”
She nodded. “He was even better than my grandson. When he danced, you could feel the ancestors dancing with him.”
“But you don’t with him?” I asked, tilting my head toward her grandson.
She laughed. “Nobody shares the spotlight with him. When he dances, he dances alone.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, but I should go find my aunt now,” I told her.
She smiled at me again. “The pleasure was mine. And by the way, my name is Celia Vessey. Tell Lily I said hello.”
I stopped, startled. “How’d you know Lily is my aunt?”
She smiled, and her eyes sparkled. “I said I know your whole family, didn't I? Besides, Lily’s the only one of those girls that still comes to the powwows.”
Feeling rather foolish, I said goodbye and went to find the arts and crafts tent. I wandered through a couple of tents on my way, checking out the vendors as I passed. Many of the booths held various Native-style jewelry, clothes, and books. Some of the jewelry was high quality, but some of it looked as if it had been mass-produced in China.
The food tent smelled incredible, but above all was the smell of fried dough. I desperately wanted a piece of fry bread, preferably sprinkled liberally with honey and powdered sugar, but I’d used almost all my money just to get in and couldn’t afford to buy any.
I finally found the arts and crafts tent, which was slightly larger than the others and marked with a sign that read: “Local Artists and Craftspeople. A portion of all proceeds goes to the tribal association.”
I slipped inside and found that the tent was mostly empty except for Lily, a few other artists chatting to each other, a middle-aged man who was browsing, and the dancer from earlier, Miss Vessey’s grandson, his tanned bare back arched gracefully as he bent to look closer at one of Lily’s pots.
Lily spotted me right away. “Jacy!” she said, obviously pleased to see me. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”
The young man stood and turned to face me as well and, up close and without his headgear, I recognized him. I felt my face flush as I realized he was the guy from the ice cream parlor, the one I’d seen get hit by a car. Or didn’t see get hit by a car. Whatever.
He arched an eyebrow. “Fancy meeting you here, Crossing Guard.”
“Crossing guard?” Lily asked. “You two know each other?” She sounded very surprised.
“No,” I said quickly.
“We’ve not been formally introduced,” he said after a beat. “But we’ve met.”
“Jacy, this is Skye Morgan. Skye, this is my nephew, Jacy Elliott.”
Skye held out his hand, and I didn’t have a choice but to shake it. It felt like an electric shock as his hand touched mine.
“So what’s this about a crossing guard?” Lily asked.
Skye laughed. “Jacy stopped me the other day to tell me to be careful crossing the street.”
I don’t think I could have been any more embarrassed at that point. Lily looked at me with a questioning gaze, but I couldn’t even meet her eyes. I was wishing fervently that I’d never come to this stupid powwow.
“Well, I’d like to stay and chat but I have to go get ready. The competitive dancing starts soon,” Skye said, his eyes never leaving my face. “Come see me. I’m good.”
With a final smile, he left the tent. I stood staring after him, my mouth agape and my heart pounding.
“Smug bastard,” Lily said as soon as he was gone, but she was grinning as she said it. “He is good, and he damn well knows it. Still, you can’t help but like him.” She turned back to me, and her grin widened. “I see you’re not immune to his charm.”
I felt my blush deepen.
“Don’t sweat it,” she said thoughtfully. “But do tell me the whole story behind that crossing guard thing.”
“There is no story,” I mumbled, unwilling to tell anyone about the strange occurrence.
“Bullfeathers,” my aunt scoffed. “Give me a little credit. Unless you expect me to believe you just go around telling random strangers to be careful crossing the street. Or maybe it’s just the cute strangers?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Jacy, you’re going to have to trust me.”
I threw a meaningful glance in the direction of the two older women closest to Lily’s booth. They were pretending not to listen but obviously were. Much to my relief, Lily understood immediately.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested. She turned to the two women. “You two can hold down the fort while I’m gone, right?”
They agreed, and Lily and I made our exit. Once outside, we walked aimlessly into the trees.
“Okay, now let’s hear it,” she said.
I sighed. There was going to be no getting around it. I quickly told her the whole story, trying to gloss over the vision as much as possible. When I was finished, she walked quietly for a few minutes.
Finally, she said, “I think I made the right decision bringing you here today.”
I looked over at her. “What do you mean?”
She stopped walking. “Jacy, since your parents died, you’ve been raised white. Daisy has never been very connected to our heritage. She married a white man and dove head first into his religion. Don't get me wrong, Harley was a nice guy, but to him, our beliefs were just pagan nonsense, and after he passed, well, she became almost fanatical.
As an adult, that was her prerogative, but it also denied you your culture. You know nothing about who you are, but, as the saying goes, blood always tells. Just because you don’t know about your heritage doesn’t make who you are go away. There are...let’s just say there are certain hereditary traits awakening in you right now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“No, you wouldn’t, but if you want to, I’ll try to help you understand.”
I didn't have to think about it for long. “I do want to understand,” I said slowly. “I think...I think I have to understand.”
She smiled. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. It won’t be easy though. And you’ll have to keep it a secret from Daisy.”
I nodded — that one I knew without being told.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get back to the powwow. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
We made our way back just in time to hear the emcee announce that Skye Morgan was next up to compete in the category of fancy dancing. I found myself trying to see through the crowd to the dance circle.
Lily couldn’t help but notice.
“Go watch him,” she said. “I’ll go make sure the person I want you to meet is still here.”
I stood indecisively as the drumming began until Lily gave me a gentle push in the direction of the circle. I glanced back to see her weaving away through the crowd, so I turned back to the circle and eased my way forward again, slipping between shoulders and strollers until I reached the rope.
Skye had just begun to dance. Even with my limited knowledge, it was obvious he was extraordinary. Every movement flowed into the next, his body a seamless extension of the drumbeat. His feet struck the earth in dizzying patterns, fast and precise, while his upper body seemed to ride the rhythm like a wave. There was a kind of effortless grace in him, something fluid and alive that drew every eye to the center of the circle.
Watching him, I found myself believing that dancing might really be a kind of magic — an ancient language carried in the body, a way of speaking to the gods. Or maybe not so ancient after all. Nothing about Skye’s movements felt primitive. They were powerful, commanding, almost otherworldly. At times they even bordered on sensual. Whatever it was, it held me captive.
Transfixed by his dance, I watched unblinking while he moved faster and faster as the drums swelled to a heart-pounding crescendo, then stopped suddenly as Skye leaped impossibly high into the air, his body arched, his arms flung over his head. For a moment, it seemed as if he might keep rising, but gravity exerted its hold, and the drummers thumped the drum one last time as Skye’s feet touched the earth once more. The reverberation of the final beat still thrummed in the air as Skye raised his eyes, found me in the crowd, and gave me the same slow, smoldering smile he’d given me at work that day.
He stayed in the center of the circle until the applause began to die out, then walked directly toward me. He ducked under the rope and stood in front of me, breathing heavily. He was too close for my comfort, so close I could feel his body heat rolling off him like steam. I tried to keep my eyes on his face, but his glistening chest heaving only inches away kept drawing my eyes south.
“You didn’t clap,” he said.
I blinked several times. “Sorry?”
“Was I that bad?”
“No!” I gasped. “You were incredible.” I bit the inside of my cheek when I heard the awed tone in my voice.
He grinned. “You really think so?”
I nodded.
“Come on,” he said with a jerk of his head. “I need something to drink after that.”
I followed him as he made his way toward the food tent, but our progress was slow as people kept stopping him to compliment him on his dancing. We finally made it to the booth, and he bought a bottle of water. The smell of the fry bread was enough to distract me from Skye momentarily.
Skye, of course, noticed right away.
“You want anything?” he asked.
“No, I’m okay,” I said quickly.
“Have you ever had fry bread before?”
I nodded. "Yeah, but I haven't had it since I was a kid."
“You gotta be kidding me. That's just unacceptable. We're going to fix that right now.”
I tried to protest but he ignored me, instead ordering a piece of fry bread, and a steaming plate was handed over.
“What do you want on it?” Skye asked, moving toward a small table set up to one side. It held an assortment of toppings: powdered sugar, honey, and jellies.
“I don’t know. Just fix it how you usually do,” I said shyly.
He poured on some honey then dusted it liberally with the powdered sugar.
“Follow me,” he said, once he had it garnished.
He led me a short distance from the hubbub to a picnic table that was lightly screened from the rest of the park area by a small stand of trees. He sat down on one side and patted the bench next to him. I obediently sat to his right. He tore off a piece of the bread and popped it in his mouth.
“You really haven't had fry bread in years?” he asked.
“No,” I answered shortly.
It was all I could manage. For some reason, my heart was hammering at my chest like it wanted out. It left me feeling tense, as if I sensed something was about to happen but didn’t know what.
"Why not?"
"We stopped coming to the powwow after my parents died."
His eyes widened slightly for a second, but then creased back into his usual confident smile. "But you're back now. That's what matters."
He locked eyes with me as he tore off another chunk of bread and deliberately lifted it to my lips. Without thinking, I parted my lips and he slid the piece into my mouth, letting his fingertip trace across my bottom lip as he pulled away. It was incredibly sensual, and I felt a stirring in my pants.
I chewed automatically as he brought his fingers to his own lips and licked off the sugar and honey, his eyes never leaving mine for a second.
I almost forgot to swallow.
“What do you think?” he asked after a moment.
“Huh?”
His mouth twitched. “About the fry bread.”
“Oh, uh...” I hadn’t even tasted it. “It was good.”
He grinned knowingly. “Want more?”
I nodded.
Before I could reach for it myself, he’d broken off another piece and fed it to me. I was achingly hard by now and desperately hoping that Skye wouldn’t look down at my lap. I made a point to taste the bread this time and childhood memories flooded back. It was similar to the funnel cakes served at carnivals, but better.
“So, Lily Snyder is your aunt?” he asked, startling me with the suddenness of the question.
“Yeah,” I answered softly.
“Then why did you stop coming to powwows?”
I shrugged. “I live with my aunt and she doesn’t really get along with her sisters. She’s pretty religious.”
“So?” He frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything? It’s not like we’re out here worshipping the devil. They pray and read scriptures at the opening ceremony. We worship the same God. I even go to church…sometimes.”
I shrugged again. I didn’t have the answers and even if I did, I didn’t feel like defending my aunt.
“Does she know you’re here?” he asked after a minute.
“Aunt Daisy? Nope,” I said.
He grinned. “Cool. The crossing guard is a rebel.”
I flushed again at the reminder of our first meeting.
The grin vanished in a blink and he was all earnest sincerity. “Hey look, I’ll stop teasing you about that if you’ll explain what it was all about.”
I shook my head no.
“Come on. It’s been driving me crazy ever since it happened. I’ve almost come back to ask you a couple times. Jasmine, my friend who was with me that day, thinks I’m being stupid and it’s only because you’re so cute...” My blush deepened at that. “...but that’s not it. Or at least it’s not all of it. I felt something really weird that day when I was looking into your eyes.”
I looked away now and shook my head again. “I can’t,” I whispered.
“Why not?”
“I don’t even understand what happened.”
He watched me for a minute, then seemed to decide that I was telling him the truth. “Then why don’t you tell me what happened and maybe we can figure it out together.”
A tingle went up my spine at the word ‘together’ and, suddenly, I did want to tell him.
“I…after you left…I thought I saw you get hit by a car.” The expression on his face froze as I spoke the words. “When I ran outside though, you, uh, you weren’t even near the road. I was really confused, but then you started backing toward the road just like I thought I’d seen you do a few seconds before, so I yelled for you to stop. And then the car that I’d just seen hit you drove by.”
I shuddered at the memory.
The drums stopped behind us and Skye sat staring at me expressionlessly in the sudden hush.
I started to babble to fill the silence. “I know, it sounds stupid. I shouldn’t have even told you. Now you probably think I’m some sort of freak. I’ll just go.”
I stood to leave, but Skye’s hand shot out and caught me by the wrist, pulling me gently back down.
“You really don’t have any idea, do you?” he said in a quiet voice.
“About what?”
He shook his head slightly, almost to himself. “Never mind,” he said, his voice so soft I almost couldn’t hear him.
He was looking at me differently now, with a new respect. He smiled suddenly.
“What?” I asked defensively.
“You just look so cute sitting there with that powdered sugar on your lips.”
I swiped at my mouth, but his smile just grew. “You missed.” I wiped again. “Missed again. Here. I’ll get it.”
He leaned slowly toward me. I knew what he was about to do and wasn’t at all sure I wanted him to, but at the same time, I seemed unable to move. His lips met mine and for a moment, we were kissing. Then I snapped out of whatever spell I’d fallen under and jerked away.
“I’d better go find Lily,” I gasped as I leaped up. I was breathing as heavy as if I’d just finished a marathon. “She’s probably looking for me,” I gibbered as I backed slowly away. “There’s someone she wants me to meet. It was nice meeting you and thanks for the fry bread. It was really good.”
Skye just watched me make my ungraceful exit with a half-smile on his lips.
“Bye,” I blurted as I spun around and practically ran away.
“See you later,” he called after me.
I threw myself back into the crowd, which had thinned out significantly since I’d first arrived but was still large enough to lose myself in. As I walked, scanning the faces for Lily, I tried to calm myself down. That was easier said than done since I could still feel his lips pressed against mine.
I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost walked right into Lily.
“There you are!” she said, grabbing me by the shoulders. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Where’ve you been?”
“I was with Skye,” I said. I couldn’t read the expression that flickered across her face, but I quickly explained. “He bought me fry bread.”
“That was nice of him,” she said carefully. “Jacy...” she started, then stopped.
“What?” I asked.
“Just...be careful with Skye.”
I tried hard not to reveal anything with my face. “What do you mean?”
She paused and seemed to be thinking about her next words. “Just that Skye is a very...compelling person. He's from a good family, but... Oh, just be careful, okay?”
“I don’t understand, but I’m always careful.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Yeah, I can believe that. Well, come on. The person I want you to meet is still here.”
She set off at a purposeful pace and hurried to keep up.
She wove through the crowd with ease, making me feel clumsy in comparison, until we reached a small booth tucked between two larger vendors. A hand-lettered sign swung gently in the breeze, its words painted in uneven but careful strokes: Handmade Soaps, Essential Oils, Teas, and Herbal Remedies.
The booth smelled of earth and spice — lavender, sage, and something sharper I couldn’t place. Behind the table sat an old man surrounded by his wares: neat rows of soaps wrapped in brown paper, tiny glass bottles filled with liquids, jars of loose tea. At the back, another table was stacked high with books, their spines worn with use.
He was finishing up with a customer when we arrived, which gave me the chance to take him in. He looked to be in his seventies, his face weathered into the texture of creased leather, but there was nothing frail about him. His snow-white hair was pulled into a single braid that hung down his back, bound at the end with a bright red strip of cloth. Thick, unruly eyebrows shaded dark eyes that were still sharp as a hawk’s, missing nothing. His hands, steady and strong, handled the customer’s money with ease before passing over a bundle of small brown vials — essential oils, I guessed.
Transaction complete, he turned toward us, and his face softened into a smile that radiated quiet warmth.
“Hello again, Lily,” he said, his voice deep and kind, carrying the weight of someone who didn’t need to raise it to be heard. Then his gaze shifted to me, keen and unflinching. “Would I be correct in guessing that this young man is Jacy?”
Something in the way he said my name — like he already knew me — made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
“You would be correct," Lily said with a smile. I could tell she was genuinely fond of the old man. “Jacy, I’d like to introduce you to Fletcher Snyder.”
Snyder? That was Lily’s last name. I glanced between her and the older man, trying to puzzle out the connection — or was it just coincidence?
As far as I knew, Lily had never been married, though I couldn’t say for certain. She must have been, though, I realized. Otherwise, her last name would have been Allen, like Grandma’s. Which meant this man could be her father-in-law.
Lily watched my face carefully. “This is my father,” she said softly.
I blinked in confusion. “What?” I asked, thinking maybe I’d misunderstood.
“Fletcher is my father.”
“But Grandpa Allen…”
“Grandpa Allen was my stepfather.”
I shook my head, trying hard to understand. “So wait, you and Mom have different fathers?”
Lily shook her head. “No. Fletcher is your mom’s father as well.”
“But that means...”
I turned to the old man.
He nodded, still smiling gently. “I’m your grandfather.”
I stared at the stranger across from me, my thoughts tumbling over each other in disbelief. My grandfather? How could that possibly be? I had never met him, never even heard his name before today. As far as I’d always known, Grandpa Allen was my grandfather — end of story. That had been the truth for as long as I’d been alive. And now, with a single sentence, the ground under me shifted.
My brain balked at the idea, refusing to take it in. If this man was truly my grandfather, then what did that make everything else I’d been told? It was too much to swallow, too much to believe that everyone I loved and trusted had been keeping something like this from me all my life.
Lily and — what was I supposed to call him? Mr. Snyder? Fletcher? Grandpa? The word lodged in my throat like a stone. Whoever he was, they were both watching me now with nearly identical expressions, their concern etched plain across their faces.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I managed to push a word past the tightness in my chest. “How…?”
The question came out raw, unfinished, but they seemed to understand anyway. They exchanged a look, quick but loaded, the kind of glance that carried an entire conversation in silence.
“Not here,” he said after a moment.
Lily nodded. “Jacy, this is a conversation we should probably have somewhere else. Fletcher lives nearby. Would you be okay with going there to talk?”
I nodded woodenly as some small part of my brain registered the fact that Lily called him Fletcher. Is that what they would expect me to call him too? I decided it would do for now anyway. At least I’d have something to call him in my own mind.
I stood in shocked immobility while the two of them quickly packed his wares into cardboard boxes. It only took two boxes to pack his herbal items and a tarp was thrown over the book table. Lily plopped one of the boxes into my arms, picked up the other one, and started walking in the direction of the parking lot.
I stared dumbly after her for a few seconds. My brain seemed to be having trouble keeping up.
“Better follow her, Jacy,” Fletcher said with a hint of humor in his voice. “Lily waits for no man.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’ll meet you at my house. I’m parked somewhere else.”
I nodded and rushed to catch up with my aunt. I was halfway to the parking lot when Skye and I spotted each other at the same time. He took a few steps in my direction, but something in my face must have warned him off.
He gave me a small wave, which I couldn’t return for the box in my hands. We maintained eye contact until a group of people surged between us, cutting him off from my view.
Something else to figure out, I thought wearily. As if I don’t have enough going on.
Lily wove her way through the thinning crowd and stopped beside a beat-up pickup that looked like it had been on the road since before I was born. The faded blue paint was sun-bleached almost to gray, and patches of rust gnawed at the wheel wells. A cracked Orioles bumper sticker clung stubbornly to the dented tailgate.
Without a word, she hoisted her box as if it weighed nothing and slid it into the bed of the truck with a practiced ease. Then, before I could protest, she reached for mine. I still had a decent grip on it, but she tugged it free with a raised eyebrow that dared me to argue, and dropped it neatly beside the first box.
“Hop in,” she said.
“My bike...”
“I’ll bring you back later. I’ll drive for now. Just get in.”
I mutely did as she ordered as she climbed into the driver’s seat and started the truck.
“Jacy, I’m sorry to have sprung this on you all at once,” she said as she drove. “Maybe that wasn’t the best decision, but I didn’t know how else to tell you.”
“I just don’t understand,” I said weakly.
“I think we’d better wait and let Fletcher explain.”
“Why do you call him Fletcher?”
She paused. “I never really knew him as a father until I was an adult. By that time, I already had a father, the man who’d raised me.”
“Grandpa Allen,” I supplied.
“Right. When I became closer to Fletcher, it just felt natural to call him that.”
“Why didn’t you see him as a child?”
“Like I said, I think I should let Fletcher explain.”
We fell into silence and soon after, Lily pulled into the driveway of what I assumed to be Fletcher’s house. It was set well back from the road, trees liberally dotted the front yard and the forest seemed to crowd right up to the back of the small dwelling. With its weathered cedar siding and redwood deck, the house itself looked less like it had been built and more like it had simply grown from the soft mossy ground it sat upon.
The landscaping could best be described as naturalistic. Sunlight beamed through the canopy above to create small pools of warmth where wildflowers and what looked to me like unattended weeds competed for attention. The total effect was quite enchanting. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.
We climbed out of the truck, and Lily immediately shoved a box back into my arms. She had just hefted the other one when the quiet evening shattered with the roar of a huge red Harley Davidson pulling into the drive. Fletcher sat astride it like some modern-day conquistador claiming new land.
My mouth fell open as I gawked at the sight, the rumble of the bike still vibrating in my chest. At least now I knew why we’d taken the boxes.
Lily caught my expression and grinned, clearly enjoying my shock.
Fletcher pulled the bike up next to Lily’s truck and shut it off. He pulled off his helmet to reveal a grin that matched Lily’s watt for watt in intensity.
“Not what you expected, eh?” he asked.
I shook my head “no” since words seemed to have failed me yet again.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll brew up some tea while we talk.”
He started off for the house with Lily and me trailing behind. I was surprised at the agility with which he moved. Both he and Grandma Allen had to be in their seventies, but he moved like a young man while Grandma Allen’s movements were stiff and slow. He unlocked the door and led us into the house’s interior.
The first thing that hit me was the scent — warm and layered, faintly spicy with a subtle sweetness, threaded through with that same indefinable aroma I’d noticed at his booth. It clung to the air, earthy and comforting, like something old yet alive.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside, the space began to take shape around me. The entryway opened directly into the living room, and it felt like stepping into a strange crossroads between a cozy southwestern lodge and a wing of the Natural History Museum. An invitingly plump leather sofa and matching chairs anchored the room, their worn cushions softened by years of use. Pine end tables held sturdy cast-iron lamps while vibrant pieces of southwestern pottery added splashes of color.
The walls drew my gaze next. Glass-front cases displayed a staggering array of artifacts — arrowheads glinting like tiny shards of history, tomahawks worn smooth by long-forgotten hands, and other relics whose stories I could only guess at. A deep, sprawling bookshelf dominated one corner, crammed to bursting with stone tools I couldn’t begin to name. Nestled between them were an assortment of skulls and bones that made my stomach tighten when I looked too closely. Behind all of it, row after row of books strained against their shelves, as if the stories themselves were trying to push into the room.
“Just set those boxes anywhere,” Fletcher said.
“I’ll make the tea,” Lily offered, placing her box on a rustic bench near the door, where a jumble of shoes had been kicked off in no particular order. “You two can get started talking. Jacy has a lot of questions.”
Before I could protest, she slipped through a doorway, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a dining table stacked high with papers and notebooks.
“My home office,” Fletcher said, following my gaze with a wry smile. “I don’t get much company. Come on in. Put that box down and make yourself comfortable.”
I set my box beside Lily’s and trailed him into the living room. The leather chair nearest the entry seemed to beckon, and when I lowered myself into it, I was surprised at how soft and enveloping it was — like the chair had been waiting just for me. Fletcher settled easily onto the end of the couch, leaning back with the air of a man completely at home, his smile warm and unhurried.
“This furniture is my biggest luxury,” he confided. “Well, that and my bike.”
“The chair is very comfortable,” I mumbled.
Fletcher grinned. “Yes, it is, but you’re not here to discuss my furniture.”
I stared back at him without comment.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he asked after a moment.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I said quite truthfully.
He sighed. “That makes two of us. I guess the beginning’s as good a place as any.”
For a moment, he stared past me, his eyes fixed on something only he could see. When he finally spoke, his voice took on a faint, sing-song cadence, like he was slipping into an old story.
“I spent a lot of time with my grandfather when I was a boy. Back then, we called him a medicine man. Today, people might say shaman, though he would have hated that. He knew the woods better than any survivalist you’ll see on TV. Every plant — whether it was food, poison, or medicine — he could name it and tell you its use. He could look at a trail and know exactly what animal had passed, how long ago, and where it was headed. He recognized birds from the sound of their wings, not just their calls. To me, it seemed like there wasn’t a thing in the world he didn’t know.”
He paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, I was just a kid. I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have. But some of it stuck. What he drilled into me most, though, was respect — for the land, for the life around you, and for yourself. I wish I’d listened more closely to the last part. About always being proud of who you are.”
I wondered where he was going with this meandering storytelling, but I didn’t interrupt.
“When I was a young man, I met and married Vida, your grandmother.”
“Grandma Allen?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded. “Yes. We had five beautiful daughters together, but I still wasn’t happy. I felt like something essential was missing. I started exploring the Old Ways my grandfather had tried to teach me, and in that search, I began to find myself. It became clear, to both Vida and me, what we needed to do.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “The divorce was amicable. Truly. No hard feelings. I was genuinely happy for her when she met Bob Allen and they married. It was the girls who struggled. We couldn’t tell them the whole story at the time, and they couldn’t understand. They felt abandoned — especially the older girls, Daisy, Violet, and Rose...your mother. It probably hit Daisy the hardest. She was older and she'd always been a daddy’s girl. Later, when the truth came out, it only deepened her resentment. I’m fairly certain that’s why she chose not to tell you I even existed.”
He leaned back slightly, his gaze fixed on me, waiting, as if my reaction would confirm something he’d been carrying for decades.
I sat in silence, studying his face. It was obvious he was leaving out a large portion of the story...but why? Was it some sort of test? Was I supposed to challenge him? To accept it blindly? My pulse quickened as I decided.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach.
At that moment, Lily returned, carrying a small silver tray laden with steaming teacups and a sugar pot. She set it carefully on the coffee table and handed Fletcher and me each a cup. The aroma of the tea — subtle with a hint of sweetness — filled the space, grounding me slightly, though my mind was still racing with questions.
Fletcher sniffed his appreciatively.
“Clover catnip?” he asked.
Lily nodded as she sat down next to him on the couch.
“Good choice,” he said approvingly. Then to me, “Clover catnip tea has very cleansing, soothing qualities.”
“You’re avoiding my question,” I said somewhat impatiently.
I sat the cup down on the table next to me, untouched.
Fletcher and Lily exchanged another glance laden with subtext. Lily gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Fletcher turned back to me.
“Jacy, the reason your grandmother and I separated — and part of the reason your aunt tries so hard to pretend I don’t exist — is because I am two-spirit.”
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