Naki turned to her, eyes crinkling at the edges, his voice rich with warmth. “Native Americans all share responsibility for the next generation.”
“I love that. Imagine if everyone thought that way about the next generation.” There was such wisdom in that thinking. Scout’s interest in the lives of Native Americans kept growing. The Penobscot people, in particular. One, especially. “So what was it like growing up here?”
He gave a small, thoughtful smile, his dark eyes softening. “Like growing up in a family with no walls. The kind of childhood where everybody knows everybody—and I mean everybody. You couldn’t go to the store without running into at least five people who’d tell your parents exactly what you were up to.”
Scout grinned. “Sounds charming.”
“In that way, yes,” he said, the smile fading. “But in many other ways, it wasn’t. Take the school—one building for everything. It felt like there were as many cracks in the walls as there were books in the library. Most kids didn’t think about finishing high school, let alone college. They just wanted to get off the island.”
“Why?”
“Jobs are scarce, the poverty is generational, and medical care ... well, it’s almost nonexistent.” He paused, growing somber. “My mother was diabetic. She couldn’t get the health care she needed and passed away when I was eight.”
Scout glanced at him. “I’m so sorry, Naki.”
He nodded, his voice steady but quiet. “My father never said much about it, but knowing her death could’ve been prevented if she’d received better care hurt him deeply. It hurt all of us.”
Scout swallowed the lump in her throat. “But you made it to Harvard.”
“I got accepted, but the whole town made it happen. They pooled together what little they had to help pay my expenses. Not because I was anything special but because I had been given an opportunity.”
He was being modest. She knew how special he was.
“They wanted me to go, but they wanted me to come back too.”
“And you did.”
“I did,” he said, “but too many of our teens leave the island and never return. I don’t blame them. But I want to change that. It’s good to get off the island, but it’s even better to come back with something to give. To make the community stronger.”
Scout was struck by the quiet determination in his voice. “What are you doing to change things?”
“Whatever I can. I mentor kids, help with the youth programs, teach skills that might actually give them opportunities. It’s slow, but I see progress. Some of them are starting to believe they can make a difference without leaving everything behind.” He looked at her then, his dark eyes meeting hers. “The problems among Native Americans are serious ones. Besides the poverty and inadequate medical care, there’s alcoholism and drug use, lack of higher education, embezzlement within tribes. Then the century-old one with damage that continues to ripple—when our children were stolen from us and sent to boarding schools to erase their heritage. That’s why I’m committed to advocating for my people through public policy. It’s the most effective way I know to make positive changes.” His voice trailed off as he added, “Second only to the work of God.”
Listening to him, she felt just ... gobsmacked. That was the only word for it. She’d never known someone like him. Someone so selfless.
As they crossed the bridge, her gaze shifted to the island itself. And to be perfectly honest, her heart sank.
They drove past a smoke shop, a casino, a small corner grocery store. A group of kids chased each other near the corner store. An elderly man sitting on a bench waved at Naki, who raised a hand in return. A few people lingered on porches or leaned against buildings, chatting. Yards cluttered with broken bicycles and rusting car parts spilled onto poorly paved streets. The houses were small, many of them worn and in need of paint.
She felt an ache in her chest. This place was Naki’s home. A world so different from hers.
“Park over there,” Naki said, gesturing toward a small building with a weathered wooden sign in Penobscot. Scout couldn’t read it, but she noted the pride in the hand-carved letters.
She pulled into the gravel lot and cut the engine.
“Uh-oh,” he said, looking through the windshield. “Brace yourself.”
Scout had been trying to zip up her ranger jacket over the gold boxes. She wasn’t about to leave them in the jeep. “Why?”
He unbuckled his seat belt. “Here comes my father,” he said, stepping out of the jeep.
The man approaching them was an older version of Naki—not quite as tall, not quite as broad in the shoulders, his long black hair streaked with gray. Slowly, Scout got out of the jeep, but she stayed on her side. He spoke to Naki in a soft, rolling cadence, a language Scout didn’t understand, but she didn’t need a translation to know she was part of the conversation. The older man’s dark eyes flicked to her more than once.
Instinctively, Scout glanced down at her ranger uniform.Great.So official looking. He probably thought she was here on some bureaucratic errand, filing complaints or asking questions no one wanted to answer.
Behind Naki and his father, Scout noticed a woman step out of the small store to watch them with an intensity that made her stomach tighten. She recognized her from the library event. Hardnotto. This woman was striking, with waist-length black hair, sharp, elegant features, and a presence that seemed carved from something older, deeper. Like Naki, her facial features were placid. But unlike Naki, something in the woman’s eyes was hostile.
And just like at the library, Scout became painfully aware of herself—her fair skin already turning pink despite repeated layers of sunscreen, her hair held back by a silly pink ribbon, her too-round blue eyes that always made her look slightly startled. This woman looked like she should be at Naki’s side. She belonged, fitting into his world in a way Scout obviously didn’t. This, she realized, must be how it feels to be a minority in America. An outsider, looking in.
