For Keeps

40. Darla Kickingbird.

{Jon}

Jon had just set his email auto reply to say he was on holidays when he heard Naomi speaking to someone in the hallway.

"Why don't I just give you a tour of the children's rooms?"

Frowning, Jon got up from the computer. Who was here? The children's rooms were private and Naomi knew it.

A woman's voice, deep and unfamiliar, said "No. I'll wait."

A rap on the office door, and Naomi put her head in, her full cheeks pinched with worry. "Darla Kickingbird is here to pick up the children."

Jon's eyes flew to the clock on the wall. Jordin and Dusty's mom wasn't expected until suppertime; it was barely noon.

"I'll sort it out," Jon said. "Thank you Naomi."

A tall woman stood in the middle of their kitchen, her arms folded over her black Metallica Tshirt. Her high, rounded cheekbones and long angular limbs reminded Jon of her daughter Jordin. Darla looked like a woodcarving, like she would wait there for hours, unmoving, until her children arrived.

Jon gave her a friendly smile and put out his hand; she glanced at his hand but didn't move a muscle in response.

"Ms. Kickingbird," Jon said. "Hi. Um, we didn't expect you so early. Dusty and Jordin are in school until three-thirty."

"I'll wait," she said again. Her lidded eyes studied Jon's face.

Jon took his hand back, brushing the front of his hoodie. "I'm Jon White." Her flat mouth twitched, curling a little in contempt. Jon sighed inwardly; in situations like these he truly regretted his last name. Did this woman really need a reminder of his privilege? "We spoke on the phone briefly last month."

"I know who you are," Darla said evenly. "Dusty told me about you."

Jon decided to be as forthright as he knew how. "Dusty's been in the house as long as I have--so long, he feels like family." He laughed a little. "Both your children have thrived here, I think."

There was a pause. "You want I should thank you?" Darla said, her accent making the words sound soft and rounded, but they were blunt as the backside of an ax. "For taking my children from our family and keeping them in institutional care like orphans?"

Jon took a breath, spreading his feet a little to just absorb that without punching back. As far as he knew, there had been no family able to care for Jordin and Dusty for some time. Their Kokum was too frail to keep them permanently. But there was always another side to the story, and the history of their Canadian government with Indigenous children was shady at best.

"I hope you can see this home is as far from an institution as we can make it," Jon replied quietly. "We're more than happy for Dusty and Jordin to spend Christmas with their family this year. They've been counting down the days." At least, Dusty had.

His brain was rapidly looking for ways to solve this--no way was he leaving this woman to wait in the kitchen for four hours. "Would you like me to contact the school and pick the children up early for you? Then you can get on the road to whatever Christmas plans you might have."

She nodded shortly and Jon turned aside, shoving his hand through his rumpled hair trying to think of everything. "I'll just pack their things."

Darla followed him down the hall, standing in Dusty's doorway while Jon checked the boy's backpack. Dusty had packed the night before, and Jon just made sure he had enough pairs of socks and underwear and grabbed Dusty's bunny off his bed.

Darla glanced over the Spiderman bedspread that Dusty had hastily pulled up over his pillow this morning, the dresser covered in Marvel stickers, the photos tacked up by his bed of Jon and Jordin on their camping trip last summer. Her face remained impassive, but she reached for the backpack and bunny in Jon's hands and hugged them to herself, following him to Jordin's room.