Home For Keeps. Lynn Patrick

WASN’T SPEAKING to him again, and Caleb was ready to pull out his hair.

      He still couldn’t believe he’d come home the day before to find a rickety structure that passed for a sweat lodge in his yard. Not that he objected to the idea of his daughter building one, but she had been grounded for the entire spring vacation. Apparently she’d chosen to interpret what that meant for herself. He’d given her a stern lecture about following rules and taking responsibility. He’d been sorely tempted to order her to tear down the flimsy shelter before it fell down, especially when he’d learned she’d used their winter blankets to build it. But his daughter’s tearful, accusatory expression had torn at his heart. He’d merely told Angela she couldn’t use her sweat lodge until her punishment was over at the end of the week.

      She’d refused to have dinner with him.

      Or breakfast.

      What was he going to do with her? They’d never been at odds like this until the past few weeks. He needed someone to talk to about his daughter—someone who could give him some guidance. A good reason to visit his mother. Angela wasn’t speaking to him anyway, so he was simply spinning his wheels walking through the house.

      Stopping at her closed bedroom door, he raised his voice. “I’m going out for a while.”

      No answer.

      No big surprise.

      “I expect you to stay inside the house.” He waited for a moment, then said, “I need to know that you heard me.”

      “I heard you.”

      Still sullen. What was he going to do with her? Hopefully Mom would give him some good ideas of how to handle his daughter. How to get her to open up and not simply in anger. He thought about calling Mom first, then just decided to surprise her.

      Maddie Blackthorne was a member of the Sparrow Lake Chippewa Band on what was the smallest reservation in Wisconsin. The land was a little more than seven hundred acres, supported by three tiny family farms surrounding a single village. The band that had broken off from its Lake Superior cousins had fewer than a thousand members, only half of whom actually lived on the rez itself.

      It was beautiful land, with a couple of hundred acres of meadows and unharvested old forest that he’d explored throughout his youth. His love of nature had inspired him to become an environmentalist. And a professor of environmental studies.

      The Blackthorne family house was situated on a quarter acre halfway between the village proper and the untouched land. It was a simple two-bedroom with a living room and eat-in kitchen, but the garden surrounding the house would be spectacular in full bloom, the flowers intermixed with rows of vegetables. Caleb had helped his mother start the garden when he was a kid, before he’d begun finding ways to get himself into trouble.

      He’d barely parked the truck before his mother came out of the house to greet him. She smoothed back the silver wings of her long blue-black hair, caught in the back with a clip. She was wearing her usual jeans with a long-sleeved pullover sweater. Mom’s clothing was always practical. A social worker, she spent her life taking care of other people rather than fussing over herself. He appreciated her dedication but wished she would fuss just a little. She deserved it.

      “Hey, Mom.” Stepping up to the porch, he threw his arms around her.

      She gave him a big hug. “This is certainly a surprise.”

      “I needed to talk to someone with more wisdom than I have.”

      “Angela?”

      He nodded.

      “C’mon in. I have a fresh pot of coffee to go with the acorn bread I made this morning.”

      Caleb’s mouth was already watering as he followed her inside. “Any of that rhubarb ginger jam left?”

      “Of course. You know I always make enough to last until the next rhubarb crop comes in.”

      The acorn bread must have come out of the oven a short while ago, because the wonderful smell still filled the air. The kitchen was old-fashioned, a combination of wooden cabinets and shelves with speckled laminate countertops and ancient white appliances. Caleb loved Mom’s kitchen, because it felt like home. She’d said it felt like home, too, when he’d offered to buy her a new stainless steel stove and refrigerator, saying that would be a waste while the old ones still worked. While his mother sliced the bread, Caleb poured them mugs of coffee and fetched half-and-half, butter and the jam from the fridge. When everything was on the table, they sat opposite each other in comfortable silence for several minutes until they’d spread thick slices of bread with butter and jam, and Caleb had taken a big bite.

      “Delicious,” he murmured as he chewed. “Your cooking always makes me feel better.”

      “What did Angela do this time?”

      Caleb took another bite and washed it down with coffee before answering. “You know I grounded her, which by that I meant study. Instead, she went outside and built a sweat lodge that looks like it would fall over if someone bumped into it.”

      “Well, I would say that’s educational.”

      “She wasn’t supposed to leave the house.”

      “Perhaps she thought ‘house’ included the property, too.”

      “Mo-o-om.”

      “She’s so much like you were before you became a father.” His mother grinned at him. “It’s kind of just retribution.”

      Caleb scowled. “That isn’t helpful.”

      “But just a little satisfying to me, honey.”

      Finishing the slice of acorn bread, Caleb muttered, “What am I going to do with her? She keeps defying me and getting into trouble. I’m afraid that if I can’t find a way to reason with her, she’s going to go too far.” He sighed. “What is it with teenagers?” Including his younger self. “Why do they all seem to go crazy?”

      Maddie laughed. “It’s called hormones. A body that’s mostly adult combined with a mind that’s mostly child.” She added, “Maybe you’re taking the wrong approach.” Her smile faded into a more serious expression.

      “Wrong approach?” Was she going to place the blame in his corner? He couldn’t help feeling defensive. “What is that supposed to mean?”

      “You’re so demanding with Angela that it surely backfires on you. You need to listen to your daughter, to understand what it is she wants. What is important to her.”

      “You mean this new kick about her becoming an artist?”

      “It’s not new, Caleb. She started drawing the moment she could use a crayon. You’ve been displaying her artwork for years.”

      “That’s what you do when your kid creates something for you.”

      “Even if you don’t like it?”

      “I never said that. I love it. She has incredible potential. But thinking you can make a living as an artist isn’t practical.”

      “So you dash her dreams.”

      “What should I do? Encourage her to live in poverty? Being an artist doesn’t bring in a regular income. I keep trying to tell her she needs to have a real job and that she can do her art on the side.”

      “Which makes her dream sound unimportant. An afterthought.”

      “If I could make it work for her, I would.”

      “Then try to help her find a way. There are jobs with regular incomes for trained artists. Help her see that she can channel her creativity to something that will support her like graphic arts—or teaching art—while she creates a portfolio that she can take to art shows or galleries. When you tell her to do art on the side, it sounds...dismissive. Be positive and supportive instead of demanding she do things your way all the time.”