Reclaim My Heart by Donna Fasano Read Free Book Online

crazy for football. How many arguments had she had with him during his pre-teen years over staying up late to watch the game? The conversation became more two-sided when the subject switched to the Phillies. If only Zach could remember algebraic equations as easily as he spouted off batting stats. He became almost animated. Well, as animated as a sullen fifteen-year-old will allow himself to become, anyway, when the conversation turned to ice hockey. All that talk of power play percentages and shot on goals and shutouts became as mind-numbing as a hefty shot of Novocain to Tyne.
    The fact that father and son were talking was a good thing—she exhaled loudly, cheeks puffing, bangs blowing— wasn’t it? Brooding like a four-year-old was stupider than Lucas’s stupid plan. She realized that, but she couldn’t do a damned thing about the irritation chewing her insides.
    They’d passed Lancaster not long ago, so she knew they weren’t far from their destination. Wikweko, a tiny hamlet located due west of Philadelphia, was nestled in a beautiful valley between the Susquehanna River and the City of Lancaster. The Native Americans who had come together to settle Wikweko shared the fertile basin with the people of nearby Oak Mills. Tyne’s hometown.
    The silence that had settled over Lucas and Zach tugged at Tyne’s attention. She glanced toward them, then saw her son dart two quick looks at his father. An odd, kinetic tension simmered inside the car.
    Finally, he said, “So, um, I’m, ah, Lenape, huh?”
    Her gaze clashed with Lucas’s in the rearview mirror.
    “Honey,” she said to her son, leaning forward and placing her hand on his shoulder. Shifting in the seat gave her a chance to support her son, but it had also allowed her to avoid Lucas’s hard stare. “You knew your father was Native American. We talked about it.”
    Zach went still. He didn’t turn around to look at her. “Yeah. We talked about it. Once. For that family genealogy project I did back in fourth grade .”
    She slid back into the seat, mindful of Lucas’s gaze boring into hers in that small mirror. Tyne glanced out the window and saw the Wikweko welcome sign.
    “We’re here.” Tension and anger and sheer frustration strangled her pronouncement.
    “What’s it mean?” Zach asked. “Wikweko. Is this place named after someone?”
    Lucas shook his head as he turned onto the community’s main street. “No, it’s from our people’s native tongue. Algonquian. It means ‘place where something ends.’ My great-grandparents and a slew of other Lenape families pooled their money and bought this land.” He made another turn. “They’d been tossed out of their homes, their land confiscated by the government, or they’d been swindled by fast-talking reps of big businesses. Things were harsh for our ancestors. I’m sure you’ve learned about that in your US history classes. A lot of people spent generations feeling lost, like drifters without a real home. They named the community Wikweko, thinking this would be the place where their wandering would end.”
    “Algonquian, huh? Saa-weet.” Zach twisted in his seat to face Lucas. “You know any other words?”
    Lucas lifted one shoulder. “I used to. When I was about your age, my uncle taught me some. Hello. Good-bye. Sky. Sun. Moon. The names of a few plants and animals. That kind of thing.” He looked at Zach and grinned. “Just enough to impress the girls.”
    Zach snickered. Tyne forced her gaze away from Lucas’s striking profile, focusing instead on the passing scenery. She’d certainly been impressed by him all those years ago. He’d been so different from the boys she’d grown up with in Oak Mills. His swarthy skin and sharp bone structure. Those dark, penetrating eyes. His bad-boy manner. His self-assurance. His q
    Amëwë is what he’d called her, the soft syllables tickling across her skin when he’d whispered them close to her ear. Little bumblebee fit, he’d told her,