by Yasmin Angoe
She got to her knees, tried to stand using the tree for support. She wanted that too. To be with them, with the family taken from her too soon. She, too, wanted to be fourteen again forever.
“Mereba!” she yelled, stretching her arm toward them. I’m coming. “Twɛn me.” Wait for me.
Papa broke away from the group, stepping toward her, the distance still too wide.
“Aninyeh.” His voice was as she remembered. “Yɛbɛhyia bio.” Until we meet again.
She wanted to cry out, Daabi. No. Not to leave her behind. But as they looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity, she understood. It was not her time. Yes, this place was her home, would always be her home. But she had a new home, another family, and a life to live. And her work was not yet done.
Papa raised his hand. Then, two by two, they all did, waving at her. Ofori was the last, moving to stand with their father, looking so much like him that Nena’s heart broke and swelled simultaneously.
Ofori said, “Medaase, me nua baa.” Thank you, my sister. His body began to flicker in and out. “Medaase sɛ wode me aba efie.” Thank you for bringing me home.
Nena raised her hand in farewell to her people. They began to fade out one by one. Papa and Ofori lingered last, taking one final look at their cherished daughter and sister, before they disappeared.
Once again, they were physically gone, but this time Nena was not alone, because she held them all in her heart. And she would keep each one of them there until she could finally join them.
Nena was making her way back to her truck, rucksack slung over her shoulder, when her satellite phone began to ring, sounding so weird when all she’d heard for hours were mountain noises. She paused to pull it from her sack and pressed the button to connect the call.
“So, funny thing.” Elin’s voice crackled through the line.
“What’s that?” Nena asked, wondering what couldn’t wait until her scheduled check-in once she’d made it back to the hotel.
“Turns out you’re going to be an auntie.”
Nena didn’t answer. Both her steps and her voice were frozen.
Elin continued, “I’m okay with it, to be quite frank. I hope you’ll be too.”
Nena knew without question she was okay with it. She only wished she was there to hug her sister and shower her with all the love she now knew she was capable of . . . for her niece or nephew too.
“I was thinking to name the baby with your family’s name. Asym. I’m still playing around with it all, and it’s mad early, but I wanted your okay.”
Nena had to stop and sit to catch her breath. What Elin was doing for her and her family had no words.
“Did the call drop? Damn sat phone. Hello?”
“I’m here. Still here.”
“Are you good with it, sis?”
Nena could hear the worry in Elin’s voice.
“Yeah,” she managed to get out. “Of course I am.”
The baby would be of her blood, a fusion of the lineage of Michael Asym and Noble Knight, the men who’d given Nena life two times over. Nena couldn’t see through the thick, hot tears blurring her vision. She was unbelievably happy, despite the hint of sadness at the knowledge that she’d taken the life of this child’s father, even if in self-defense. Her duty to the baby wouldn’t just be as an aunt but as stand-in for the parent Ofori would have been. The responsibility she gave herself would be her cross to bear and her recompense. And she’d make sure to root out whoever had helped Paul infiltrate the Tribe, whoever had sought to destroy them, so that she could ensure this baby’s legacy.
When N’nkakuwe had burned, her future had been unimaginable, bleak. But she’d fought for her life and survived. She’d suffered so much loss and gained more than she’d ever expected in Georgia and Cort—her breath caught. She couldn’t think of them at the moment, couldn’t think of them being lost to her, because they weren’t. She’d try to find a way to have what she deserved back in her life again.
Because she was Nena Knight. She had shaped her after. She had made it her now. And most of all, she had learned to cherish every memory she had.
Both the gifts and the curses.
End
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First, my thanks to God, who stood by me and opened up windows when so many doors had closed.
And now for my Tribe . . .
To my mom, Evelyn Codjoe, for her love and dedication. She is the one person who keeps me grounded whether I want to be or not.
To the two most precious people in my life, my kids, Ethan and Ahmari Hunt, for their support, their laughs, and letting me hug on them almost whenever I want. It is for them that I had to make this writing thing work. I was determined to show them that giving up on your dreams is never an option despite life’s adversities. I wanted to show them it is possible to pick yourself up after a fall (or many), start again, and do better than before. I hope they see all of that in me, and I know they will accomplish things in their lives that are beyond my imagination.
Thank you to my husband, Vincent McClinton I, who made it easy to dive into my imaginary world and write. Now, about getting a puppy . . .
My sister, Laura Bush (no, not the former first lady, but she’s cool too), who is always the biggest supporter of my writing and my very first reader. Her insights and thoughtfulness were the calm in my storm. Derrick Angoe, my little brother bug, and Cecilia Angoe, the babe of our family: their sibbie group-chat messages keep me in much-needed stitches and in tears.
My found family, the Moores. Rhonda and Riccardo accepted me and my children into their family when we moved to South Carolina to begin a new life and knew not one single soul.
Melissa Edwards of Stonesong Literary, my literary agent extraordinaire, for helping to make my writing dreams come true and being a champion of my work. She answers my multitude of questions as if I’ve only asked one and is such a phenomenal agent that I’m always in awe of her agenting prowess. I am so excited for the many successful collaborations with her that will be coming up.
Megha Parekh, my editor at Thomas & Mercer, another great champion. Megha really understood Nena’s story and her purpose. She recognized the importance of Nena’s unapologetic voice and her rich culture and wanted to broadcast it to the world. I don’t know how Megha keeps me all together, but she does. Caitlin Alexander, my developmental editor, for her grace, patience, and extraordinary ability to get more out of me than I knew was there. Laura Barrett, my production editor. I am missing more people from the team at Thomas & Mercer . . . but thank you!
To my writing friends—and now friends for life—Del Sandeen and Jane Igharo, who both read my book in its entirety and in its first draft. To read a writer’s work is one of the best gifts you can give them, and these ladies did that for me. I cherish their invaluable feedback, our brainstorm sessions, and them just being some bomb-ass ladies. To Tina Ehsanipour and Stephanie Jones: Our text group chats are always filled with encouragement about writing and mothering. We saw each other through some dark days. To Kellye Garrett, who is talented, hilarious, and generous with her time and expertise. Kellye also connected me with Shawn S. A. Crosby (who Kellye warned was tough). He read Nena’s earlier version and gave it his stamp of approval, confirming what I knew: Nena could keep up with the fellas. To Gia de Cadenet, who mentored me when I’d first landed on social media. She and her husband made sure the French in the book was as it should be. Whew!
To Sisters in Crime, for membership into their organization and for bestowing on me the honor of the Eleanor Taylor Bland Award for emerging authors of color. Winning that award sparked the lightning strike that is Nena, setting all of this in motion. To Crime Writers of Color, the best and most talented online group of crime writers one could surround oneself with.
And finally, to all those who have been a part of my getting here: Mom Maxine, a phenomenal mother-in-law, and my lovable stepsons, Vincent (Deuce) and Wilson; Christa Desir, who mentored me and taught me the editorial si
de of publishing, thus making me a better writer; members of the Twitter, Facebook, and Slack writing and author communities, who shared all things writing and gave an encouraging word or two—there are too many of you to name, but please know how much I truly appreciate you; my friends Catayah Clark and Jessica Ogburn, two of the best ladies I know both at the nine-to-five and after. They have been my biggest cheerleaders, provided the best words of wisdom, and pushed me to enjoy my accomplishments.
Lastly, many thanks and love to my fellow Ghanaians for allowing me grace to tell Nena’s story, which celebrates our culture, and for forgiving any mistakes I may have made in my imagining of Nena’s world. Good things are coming for Nena, and I can’t wait to share more of her with all of you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2020 Tamika Williams of Creative Images Photography
Hailing from Northern Virginia, Yasmin Angoe is a first-generation Ghanaian American who grew up in two cultural worlds. She taught English in middle and high schools for years, served as an instructional coach for virtual teachers, and spent time as a freelance copy editor.
Angoe recently received the Eleanor Taylor Bland Award for emerging writers of color from Sisters of Crime, of which she’s a proud member. When she’s not writing, she’s in South Carolina with her beautiful blended family, trying new recipes and absorbed in an audiobook. Her Name Is Knight is Yasmin’s debut novel.