Damage Done by Virginia Duke

more
difficult between her parents, when the drinking had become unbearable, Rachel
sometimes rode her bike to visit Dylan while he worked after school. Ginny
would wipe her dirty hands in the folds of her long, brightly colored skirts
and apologize before pulling her in close for a hug.
    "Hello Hátka," she'd say with her southern drawl,
a kind smile across her face. Dylan's smile. Hátka meant 'white' in the Kosati
language Ginny learned growing up, she'd always teased Rachel about being so
fair.
    Ginny was only half Coushatta Native American, a smaller
tribe that was pushed into Louisiana by the growing white population, but she'd
lived on the reservation a few years as a child, and she'd always been
surrounded by the culture. Ginny's children were outwardly white to anyone who
didn't know their mother, but in small town Texas where race was still a
factor, everyone knew they were 'that Indian lady's kids,' which only made it
harder for them to fit in.
    Dylan was always respectful of his mother's heritage, but
he'd never showed the kind of interest Ginny would have liked. Still, she'd
done her best to impart what limited knowledge she had of their history to her
three children, and whenever Rachel asked questions, Ginny's face lit up as she
shared stories of her mother and her ancestors.
    "Rachel, don't encourage her," Dylan had teased
her once as he sat potting bulbs in their large green house, "Or she'll
have you weaving pine needle baskets to sell at the rodeo."
    The light blue SWIM t-shirt clung to his sweaty frame,
muscles ripped from his favorite pastime. Light brown hair hung over his eyes
and he'd reached up with an elbow to push it back, then smiled and winked at
her.
    He'd always been able to flood her with excitement without
any real effort, and even now as she thought back on how sexy and charming he'd
been, she felt her chest grow heavy and her panties grow wet.
     
    ***
     
    Settled back in the office with a couple of turkey
sandwiches from the deli around the corner, she and Lauren sat on the floor
watching Sesame Street. Puking had helped, she told everyone she must have
gotten food poisoning from lunch in Houston the day before, and as soon as
Lauren's nails were painted, she'd paid and they left.
    The front door creaked open and the UPS delivery girl
called out, "Hello? Package for Rachel Daniels, I need a signature,
please."
    Rachel took the clipboard and signed for the envelope,
thanking the girl who left in a hurry. Sometimes it was nice when people did
their job without needing to stop and make small talk or drill her about her
personal life.
    She threw the envelope on the table near her office when
Jake pushed the door open and danced a little jig across the floor, his smile
bright, his bald head brighter. He'd been devastated when his hair started to
fall out and started shaving it almost immediately, refusing to take any
hormones or pills to make it grow back.
    He pulled her into his arms and started turning her around
to some music only he could hear, singing loudly about diamonds and fast cars.
    "Jake, stop, I puked earlier," she protested,
making her way into the hall so as not to interrupt Elmo.
    "Oh wow, preggers?"
    "No asshole. You have to have sex to get pregnant."
    "So that's your problem? I'm calling Kenneth. You need
to get laid before I have to ask Regina and Savannah to help plan this larger
than Texas gala we're having in nine weeks."
    He pulled out his cell phone and pretended to make a call.
    "Not funny! Besides, he wouldn't give a shit. It's not
like he's complained about the fact that we're not sleeping together. He's been
sleeping in the guest room since January."
    Crap.
    That wasn't an admission she'd been prepared to make.
Jake's eyebrows shot up dramatically, hands hit his hips and he looked at her
in mock surprise. God, he was going to make a huge deal out of this.
    "Rachel," he whispered, looking over his shoulder
to see if Lauren was out of earshot, "That's not okay. What's