Thankful for Love by Peggy Bird

over their entrees was mostly about what the boys were doing in Portland and how the wheat crop looked for the season. But when their dinner plates were cleared and they waited for their desserts, Jack returned to the conversation they’d started before dinner.
    “I’m curious about what you said—about being older than your years. I realize I don’t know a whole lot about you other than the glowing references I got from everyone who ever employed you. And the clean criminal background check I got.”
    “You did a criminal background check on me?” She wasn’t sure if she should be angry or surprised.
    “I would have done it for anyone I was leaving in charge of my kids. Didn’t you have to have one at Golden Years?”
    “Yes, but I never thought I’d have to have one to work in someone’s home.”
    “It was important to know my kids were safe.”
    “I understand. I shouldn’t have sounded so surprised.”
    “Or angry.”
    “Yeah, a little bit.” She picked up a spoon and stared intently at it, twisting it in her fingers. “I’ve heard too many times how Indians can’t be trusted. I’d like people to trust me.”
    “And I do. With what I value most—my two boys.” He reached across the table and took the spoon from her hand. “Are you avoiding talking about your personal life? If you are, that’s okay. It’s not any of my business.”
    “Of course it’s your business. I practically live in your house. It’s just that my family’s not particularly interesting.”
    “Why would you say that? Your mom’s Umatilla. You told the boys the first time you met them your dad was from Central America. There must be an interesting story about how they met.”
    “He came through here as migrant labor and stayed when they fell in love. They got married and proceeded to have a bunch of kids. He had very little education so work was hard to find. We never had much money. I don’t think he ever considered himself a success at much of anything. Not like you and your family.” She was trying hard not to sound defensive about her family, but it wasn’t easy. Compared to Jack and his siblings and their family ranch, her family wasn’t very successful.
    “Do you speak both your parents’ languages?”
    “Not as well as either my mother or father would have liked, but I can get along in Umatilla and I’m pretty good with Spanish.”
    “Did—does—your mom work outside the house?”
    “She doesn’t. Miguel, the youngest of my siblings, was born with Down syndrome and a congenital heart problem. He needs full-time care.”
    “So, two brothers ...”
    “And a sister, Aiyana. She’s the oldest. Then Frank, me, and Miguel.”
    “How come Frank doesn’t have an interesting name like the rest of you?”
    She laughed. “He’s actually Franco. The boys got Hispanic names like our dad. The two girls got Indian names like our mom.”
    “As long as I’m prying into your life, mind if I ask something else?”
    “Of course not.”
    “What made you move to Portland? You lived there for quite a while even though you said you love the plains.”
    “My mom wanted both her daughters away from here so we wouldn’t end up like her, no education, early marriage, bunch of kids. Aiyana went to Bellingham to live with a cousin while she went to school to be a nurse. I thought Portland was a better choice for me to get my degree so I could teach.”
    “You moved back before you finished. How come?”
    “It was hard to make enough money to live in Portland and go to school while I was working full-time shift work. And the boyfriend who I thought might be serious someday broke up with me about the same time my dad died. It seemed a good time to move back and help my mom.”
    “I can only take so much of the city. I admire you for sticking it out for all those years. I can’t make it through much more than a weekend.” He sat back in his chair and began to play with the spoon he’d taken away from her. “Can