Page 43 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
He rolls his eyes. “Har. Har.”
Having succeeded in making him laugh, I breathe a sigh of relief. “Why does she go by Helen?”
“Always did when she wasn’t on the reservation.” He shrugs. “At least, that’s what she told me. And then, when we moved here, it was easier to introduce herself as Helen. That’s her middle name.”
Huh. I look at the girl with heavy dark bangs in the picture next to Helen. “And Brittany?”
“Mom flipped it when Brittany was born, gave her a Zuni middle name, Tacia. It was my great-grandmother’s name.” He snorts. “Means quiet.”
“Why is that funny?”
“You’ll see.”
I smile at the frustrated affection he has for his sister. “And you? What’s your Zuni middle name?”
His smile disappears again. “Lonan, like my dad.” He nods back at the portrait. “Let’s hope it means more cloud than blackbird this time.”
My heart drops at that inauspicious comment.
“You know”—Vance tilts his head, studying the family portrait—“I never understood why Mom hung this.”
He sounds like he’s talking to himself, so I say nothing.
“I still remember coming home from the funeral.” A V forms between his brows. “Mom started going through all the mail that had been piling up since we got the call that he died.”
I reach out and hold his hand. Second-guessing myself, I try and pull it back, but his grip tightens on mine.
“The picture was buried beneath some overdue bills, and when she saw it, my mom just lost it.” He shakes his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory, still not letting go of my hand. “Cried so hard she passed out. My sister had to help her to bed.” He swallows. “Stayed there for months.”
“Helen?” It’s hard to imagine such a strong woman having a huge breakdown.
“Yeah.”
We’re quiet for a moment before I get the nerve to ask another question. “What branch in the military?”
“Army.”
A few feet away, the back screen door slams, Brittany coming in wearing what looks like overly large work gloves with her black leggings, fitted T-shirt, oversized cardigan, and Nikes. I’m glad Vance wasn’t lying when he said to dress casually. I was nervous when I traded the silk dress I was going to wear for jeans, sandals, and a cotton wrap blouse.
“We have a problem.” Brittany blows a strand of near-black hair out of her eyes.
Vance is alert in a second, no trace of the lost little boy look he wore a moment ago. “What’s wrong?”
Brittany sees me and does a double-take. Then her eyes flick to our clasped hands.
She smirks.
Together Vance and I let go, me clenching my hand tight, feeling somewhat odd without his to hold on to.
Vance clears his throat. “Well?” he prompts his sister.
Adopting another dramatic expression, Brittany throws her hands in the air, one glove flying off. “The turkey is still frozen.”
I catch the glove.
Brittany slumps against the wall. “Mom’s going tokillme.”
I like Brittany. She’s got good dramatic flair.
