All the tensions of ‘ethnic versus a lived identity’ surface and collide with Charles's desperate attempts to help his mother in her dementia, and to know the daughter he has been forced to live without. The everyday frustrations and inequalities of life in a Native tribe form the background reality, but your heart is always with Charles in his self-denial and longings.
When I wasn't worrying about my mother, I worried about Elizabeth. Since the day I'd seen Mary to ask about burial rights and she said our daughter could be better, I'd started to arrive at all sorts of crazy conclusions. How could I not when her blood was Louise's blood? How could I not when the night after Louise's doctor appointment, after I gave her that elephant, two tribal police cruisers showed up in Elizabeth's parents' driveway, and all ideas pointed to the worst? I wouldn't find out anytime soon what had happened, but when I did, I learned my suspicions of blood and what it carries were not so crazy.
