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trying to get their children back from social services, wanting to make a will to protect what little property they had managed to accumulate. Ironic how the number of little cases had kept increasing. Finally she and Adam had decided to dissolve the firm, and he had started his own natural resources firm, which he merged into a large firm in Denver last fall. Adam was good at natural resources; he was the best. The little cases now took up all of their time, hers and Roger’s.
    Annie handed her a Styrofoam cup. “Saw you drive in.” The aroma of hot coffee made Vicky blink. She could feel Annie’s eyes on her. “You all right?”
    â€œI can use the coffee.” Vicky sipped at the plain, black liquid, hot and strong the way she liked it. God, Annie knew her so well! Answering the phone, working on the computer, making appointments, ushering clients into her office. Studying her. Studying her. There was no one on the rez she was closer to than Annie.
    â€œLot of people looking forward to seeing you,” Roger said. “Grandmother Nitti.” He gestured with his head toward the grandmothers in the first row of lawn chairs. “The grandfathers over there.” Another gesture toward the old men seated together, apart from the women. Easier for all of them to gossip. “Some of your old school friends.”
    Vicky smiled over the rim of the coffee cup. This white man, more at home on the rez than she was, but then, he spent more time here. With Annie’s big, sprawling family and her kids and all their friends. He had changed everything for Annie. He was security, safety, certainty. Vicky had grown fond of the man for all he had given to Annie. And he was a good lawyer, smart and tenacious. Hecared about the small cases. So different from Adam, she thought. So busy caring for the big cases, he couldn’t see the small.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen.” The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers strung overhead. Heads turned in unison toward the man in the cowboy hat, fringed leather vest and blue jeans with the mike in his hand. He stood next to the table where six women were still registering dancers. “Welcome to the second day of the Arapaho powwow. We want to extend a special welcome to our tribal friends from all over Indian country.” A loud whoop went up among the crowd; people clapped and shouted
Hou!
“We wish all the dancers luck and hope you have a fine day. We’re going to start with the intertribal dances and move on to the contests. Morning Star drum group will accompany the dancers.”
    The drums started pounding. Vicky could feel the tiny vibrations running through the ground. People lumbered out of the lawn chairs, the old women standing crookedly and uncertain, holding on to the backs of chairs, craning their necks to see the first dancers dance into the arena. She was sorry she had missed the Grand Entry March last night. It was always a thrill to see the men standing tall and straight, saluting the flags as the honor guard marched in: Long rows of men and women in uniform—army, navy, air force, marines. Warriors who had served in every war in the last seventy-five years. Europe. Japan. Vietnam. Kuwait. Iraq. Afghanistan. Dressed in old uniforms, carrying the flags of the United States, Wyoming, and the Arapaho Nation—citizens of all three, her people.
    The announcer led the pledge of allegiance, his voice booming across the grounds, nearly drowning out the low voices of the crowd. The sound of the drums burst through the air.
    Now she watched the dancers from different tribes, akaleidoscope of colors whirling about the arena, the drums as steady as the beating of her own heart. This was home, where she belonged.
    The drumming and the dancers stopped at the same instant, and the dancers started to file out. It was then that Vicky saw the movie cameras pointed toward the arena. Other cameras scanned the crowd. Still