Arthur locks eyes with me, sly grin forming, so slight it might not be there at all. “That’s right.”
I open my mouth, prepared to ask him…something, although I’m not sure what the question would be. Before I can, he jerks back, eyes suspended in the air above my head as he throws his hands up to catch an incoming football.
“Uncle Arthur!” MJ shouts. “You in?”
“Depends. You boys still calling it football?” he quips, reallylaying that British accent on thick. “Or do I need to give you another history lesson on the origins of European football and how they predate your American caveman excuse of a sport by nearly two thousand years.”
MJ and the boys collectively groan with the intermittent“not again”and“is he for real?”
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Arthur prods, ball held hostage in his grip as a slew of boys flock toward him. Arthur’s face splits with a broad smile as he sprints off, the boys on his heels. “It all began in ancient China, Greece and Rome,” he hollers, voice jilting as he runs. The boys catch up to him, jumping as high as their little legs can carry them as they try to swat the football out of the hand held high above his head. Meanwhile, the youngest boys attempt to climb him like a tree. “Did you know the balls were made of rock and stuffed with hair?”
Laughter breaks out from onlookers as one of the boys pokes Arthur in the stomach and he keels over. Arthur topples to the ground, a mountain of boys piling on top of him. “Cavemen, I tell you. Cavemen!” he shouts.
“Gretchen.” I turn at Cheyenne’s voice and come face to face with Winona at her side. “This is my sister, Winona.”
Our gazes meet and a bone deep recognition I can’t explain sparks like a flint between us. Winona takes me in with awestruck eyes before she wraps me in a hug, whispering, “Happy birthday, Yanaha.”
My mind searches for her meaning until she releases me. At a loss, I ask, “I’m sorry, what’s Yanaha?”
Cheyenne smiles and looks to her sister who smiles right back. The two of them reach for each other’s hand. “I think it’s time you open your gift.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
TEN-YEAR-OLD ME HAD NO IDEA
Gretchen
There’s barelya chance to respond before Cheyenne calls everyone to gather on the patio and I’m ushered to a seat at the outdoor dining table. Miguel makes way for my siblings to sit across from me, grins spread wide on their face. A surprise I’m clearly not in on.
Nerves already settling in, I crane my neck to find Connor. He appears a few seconds later and drops into the seat next to me. “I’m right here.” He kisses my temple as he squeezes my hand, steadying me.
Cheyenne emerges through the sliding patio door with a large gift-wrapped box that she sets in front of me before moving in beside Miguel who stands behind my brothers and sisters.
“I wasn’t expecting gifts,” I say hoarsely, searching for a smile to match everyone else’s.
Cheyenne’s fingers fidget nervously over her stomach and my heart clenches at how familiar the action feels. For a moment, I’mcomforted by the fact that her nerves get the best of her the way mine do.
“Well, it’s only one,” she says. “But we’ve been working on it for a long time,”
Music silenced, nobody says a word as I tear away the wrapping and open the box beneath it. Inside sets a large photo album. It takes both of my hands to heft it out as Connor clears away the box underneath.
It’s a scrapbook. A scrapbook bursting at the seams, so thick I’m shocked the binding is intact. The jagged, uneven edges are made up different colored pages of varied thickness and texture as though pages have been added over time.
The photo pocket on the front holds a three by five purple index card with the wordYanahawritten in an artistic script, decorated with hearts and stars drawn on in colored marker.
My fingers run over the word Winona whispered into my ear. Not a word. A name.
“It means ‘brave’ in Navajo,” Winona’s voice comes from my left.
“It’s the name I gave you when I held you,” Cheyenne adds.
The calm press of Connor’s palm runs over my back.
“It’s what I wanted most for you. I didn’t know where you’d end up or what you’d have to face. I just wanted you to be brave in the face of whatever life brought you.”
Any and all words get stuck in my chest. Emotion courses through me too rapidly for me to speak.
Brave is the last word I would use to describe myself. I’m cautious and careful. The person who volunteers to stay on the ground and keep watch over your personal effects instead of jump out of the airplane. The girl who stays home to read instead of going to the party.
