Kevin remembered the mingled frustration and excitement of steering his old Schwinn bicycle over ruts and gritty gravel. He was sure he’d never make it, but there’d been something in the way that Vernon spoke that made him push and pedal with commendable force. Luckily, the man was negotiating the torturous track with care and not speed. He flew over a grassy hump and landed at the side of the Mercedes, making sure not to collide with the passenger side door.

The car had just reached the end of the dirt track and was ready to turn onto the main road. North, thunderclouds were building over the Hopi mesas, an always promising sign. The white lady rolled down her window to look at him. Kevin dug into the pocket of jeans and pulled out the earring, waving it at her. “You forgot this, ma’am!”

Her delight was manifest. Kevin found himself tortured now with a series of questions: what was his name, how old was he, did he play sports, was he looking forward to the holidays?

He answered as best he could, got his hair rumpled, and then the window went up, the lady blew him a kiss, and the Mercedes turned right, going south to the interstate.

Kevin would recall this event in December, when Vernon got him a new six-gear racing bicycle from Flagstaff; his stepfather said the money had come from Mr. and Mrs. Reese who lived in Chicago and bought Vernon’s work. Mrs. Reece had been so pleased to get her earring back that she wanted Kevin to have a holiday treat.

A white Chevrolet with California license plates pulled into the lot next to him, disgorging two tanned, raucously laughing couples. Their radio blared at top volume, before being cut off by one of the men. Kevin watched them saunter into the store, their arrival silencing the elderly Navajo men on the bench quite effectively. This intrusion from the outside world brought Kevin back to the present. Shash curled himself into a tighter ball on the passenger seat and gave a contented whuff.

He tore the envelope open and pulled out a neatly typed letter with several photocopied sheets attached. Placing the letter on the steering wheel, Kevin scanned it quickly, then returned to the beginning, reading and rereading. His shock was so acute, he was barely aware of noisy tourists returning to the car, and when it roared off in a plume of privileged gear shifts and exhaust. The elders started up an animated spate of remarks directed at this departure.

Kevin only came to when Shirl emerged from the building, stopping on the stoop to stretch her back. Spotting Kevin still in his pickup, she crunched over the gravel to his vehicle.

“Hey, what’s up? I thought you’d be long gone by now,” she teased.

Kevin lifted the letter off the steering wheel with one hand and gestured to it with his other. “Take a look at this, will you? You don’t think it’s a hoax?”

Ever curious, she grabbed the letter up and pored over it, one lip dropping down as she read. Slowly, her face changed and she shrieked, “Omygad! You should be dancing! This has to be from one of Vern’s collectors!”

Kevin shook his head as if in a dream. “We didn’t publicize his passing. Just a note in the Gallup Independent.”

“Honey, that doesn’t matter. Vernon was a big name in his field, so word gets around. You know you had people passing through here all the time on their way to see him. Why, some of them were Middle Eastern and Japanese!”

Kevin took the letter from her grasp and looked down at it. He knew he had to get home and tell his mother. The lawyer who wrote the letter informed him that the last will and testament of Mrs. Carine Reese, of Chicago and Estes Park, had included a bequest to Kevin Oliver Nakai of Nakai Ranch, Holbrook, Navajo County, Arizona in loving memory of his stepfather. This bequest had been processed within a week of Mrs. Reece’s death last month. No details were given as to the manner of her passing, but the lawyer said she acted with sound mind and the approval of her executors.

And the money! Enough to turn the ranch around, pay off every creditor, and even make some improvements. Enough extra to take his mother down to the Mayo Clinic in Fountain Hills right away. Kevin accepted Shirl’s enthusiastic hug, and climbed back into his cab still somewhat numbly. Shirl waved him off, her eyes bright and a knowing grin on her face.

Kevin remembered that the squaw dance was set to be held next weekend. He’d buy a new sports shirt down at Dillard’s before then, since he was back in the running now.