by Cici Wickens
“Alright, alright.”
“Catch anything?” My mom asked. “You need to clean them and put them in the freezer if you did. I was thinking maybe I’d fry them this Sunday for dinner when your uncle comes over. If you caught any, that is.” She added.
I kick my shoes off and drop onto the couch before answering. Lola plopped down on my back, earning a tired gripe from me, and busied herself with kicking her feet. I mutter into the cushion, “Caught a couple of bass. They’re in the cooler sitting on ice right now. There’s a big one in there too. Had a hell of a time reeling him in.” I peer back at Lola and ask, “You gonna’ help me clean them?”
“Eeeewww Thomas, that’s so nasty!” Lola squealed.
“Hey, watch your language around Lola, Thomas.” My mom says ten seconds later. Such a delayed response—one of the side effects of having kids my dad told me once.
I nod my head in acknowledgement, so she continued, “So how was your day? Are the Hanes a nice family? They don’t have any little kids do they? I would hate for them to tear the house down.” I watch as some sauce dripped off the spoon she has in her hand and onto the carpet. I don’t say anything though, because she’d probably make me clean it up for her.
“It was pretty good. Yeah, they seem nice. And no, there aren’t any little kids. Just Iris. She’s around my age.” I say.
“Did you offer them our condolences for their loss?”
“Yeah.” I answer.
“Good. Well, dinner will be ready in a few.” She replied, heading back into the kitchen to cook what smells like casserole. It seems like that’s all we ever ate.
“I’ll be in my room. Just call when it’s ready.” I tell her. “Get off of my back Lola.” I order my little sister.
Lola did that childish laugh of hers. Instead of complying with my order, she stood up, struggling to balance herself on my back. I get a little irritated as her toes bite into my shoulders.
“Get off Lola.” I say sterner. “Right now. I don’t feel like playing anymore.”
Lola leaned forward, laughing louder and swinging her arms to stay up. “Wiggle Thomas! Wiggle! Try to knock me off!” She giggled.
I sigh, the sound of her laugh winning me over. It always does. I twist to the side and comically yell, “Going down!”
Lola’s eyes go wide as she’s forced to jump off.
Being the awesome big brother that I am, I roll over and catch her in midair. I wince when I realize how close her head was to smashing into our glass coffee table.
“Again Thomas! Again!” She pleaded, her big blue eyes enlarged from exhilaration, or perhaps that close call with death.
“I see that nothing fazes you.” I mutter as I stand up and heave her onto the couch. “I’m done playing.” I state with finality.
“Thomas, I’m not cleaning those fish tonight. You better do it, or else…” Mom threatened from the kitchen.
“I know, I know. Just give me a second to rest. It’s been a long day.”
I shut my bedroom door behind me and lay on my messy bed. I push my football and a few other things off of it to make myself more comfortable. Then, I stare at the ceiling for a while.
Lola barged into my room. I have grown so used to it that I don’t even react. She can be the most annoying thing sometimes.
“Thomas, will you read to me?” She asked.
I sit up and splay my hands out in front of me to show my exasperation. “Didn’t you hear me tell mom that I wanted a second to rest?”
“But it’s been like five whole minutes!” Lola said in a whiny voice.
I groan like a monster, which only makes her giggle. “Let me see the book.” I exhale in defeat.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Lola screeched.
I scoot over to make room for her beside me. We both sit against my headboard, and she rested her head on my shoulder. I reach forward and pinch her toes when I spot her wiggling them on purpose to grab my attention. She giggled some more.
After that, I dramatically clear my throat, “Ahem. Ahem. Attention please.” I pause for effect, listening to see if everything in the room had grown quiet. Lola held her breath. “I will now begin reading. So, listen closely…”
Chapter 8
The Charles Who’s Called Charley
Iris
We had to drive all the way to Georgia. It was still in the South, so not completely foreign to us. The trek took more than a few hours though. My dad was a super slow driver, and we got lost a few times. Mom was the one who usually directed us.
The house looks two-stories high. The building is constructed from stone and has beautiful green vines creeping up the walls. The sprinklers are on, giving a shine to the grass. As we pull up the driveway, I gaze at the vast front yard and the bright patches of wildflowers. I gasp in appreciation when we pass a gorgeous marble fountain that’s three tiers tall and spews soft trickles of water. I wish she were here with us to see this, I think to myself as I stare out the window. I get a warm feeling in my chest. She is with us.
My car sat in the drive. Whoever had driven it beat us here. “Dad, who’d you get to drive my car?” I inquire.
“Did you see the fountain?”
“Dad, who was it?” I repeat.
“Keisha. She’s…a friend of mine.”
“Is she still here?” I don’t know of any friend of his that went by that name.
“Yeah, she’s probably in the house, but don’t ask too many questions.”
“Okay…” I look at him questionably.
My dad and I make trips dragging our luggage and belongings through the front door and into a small, circular room. It’s very tedious.
Once finished, I turn to my dad and tell him I was going to meet the woman who drove my car here, as well as explore the house a little.
“Alright. We’ll unpack everything later. But remember not to ask her too many questions.” He reminded me again.
The house is spacious and smells of incense. The hallways have hardwood flooring and plenty of ancient looking mirrors hung on the walls. Every so often there’s a long CREAAAK as I walk. A little spooky. Mom would’ve definitely loved it.
The other day, dad had informed me that the house would have a couple of extra rooms so that I could invite friends over for sleepovers and such. I’ve counted two on the first floor so far. I smell something cooking, and I know that I must be about to reach the kitchen. I poke my head inside out of sheer curiosity.
A ladle is shoved in my face, and I jump back in complete surprise. “No people be allowed in my kitchen na’.” The man belonging to the deep and rumbly voice emerged wearing a food-covered apron. He’s was an old man with bushy gray eyebrows and a shaven head. His neatly trimmed beard is color of salt and pepper. His eyes were dark brown, but the white in them was so old that it had a yellow tint to it.
“Why hello!” He exclaimed.
“Hello.” I say with a slight laugh.
“You, lil’ gal, must be da new house resident!” He doesn’t stop talking as I shake his extended, flour-clad hand. “Now, I’m a tell ya’ dis one time.” He held up one wrinkly finger and shook it in my face. I take a step back so that I don’t get poked in the eye. “One time. Do not nobody…nobody in dey’ right damn mind…be in my kitchen. I be hired to do’s a job, so I’a do it. Ya’ hear?”
I just stare in shock at this old man, unable to answer.
“Don’t you be lookin’ at me like you don’t know what I be sayin’ now. Ya’ hear?”
“Y-yes.” I finally utter. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Good, lil’ gal. That real good.” He smiled at me, giving me a nice view of his gums. That’s why he spoke that way, I realize. “What y’name be?”
“Iris.” I answer.
He bowed, and I cross my fingers, praying that he doesn’t break his back in the process. I mean this man is ancient and looks easy to break. “At y’service, Princess. I be, Charles. Everybody call me, Charley. I be da’ top masta’ chef. But d
on’ nobody know that.” He said boastfully.
I find myself smiling at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Charley.”
Charley slapped his knee and laughed out loud. “The pleasure’s all mine. I gots to go check on m’food fo’ it burn. Be good now, lil’ gal.”
I stare after him for a few seconds. Why would we need a cook? I know that mom was usually the one who cooked, but dad wasn’t that bad. How can we even afford this?
I rub the flour residue from our handshake onto my jeans and continue my exploring. I’ll ask dad about it later.
I was about to go up the stairs, but I hear two women talking, faintly. I follow the sound further down the hall. The voices lead me to a large wooden door with a dark brass handle. If I remember correctly, dad said there would be a library in the house. He thought that I might like it. After opening the door and stepping inside, I realize that he’s right and that I’ll be spending a lot of time in here.
The library is huge, reaching all the way to the second story of the house and filled with novels. A beautiful skylight is built into the domed ceiling, lighting the room just right. There is a staircase on the right that leads to the second floor of the room, where even more tomes were located. Who in the world do these books belong to?
I walk deeper into the spacious chamber, looking around.
A woman in a baby blue dress waved at me from the second floor. This must be Keisha.
I trudge up the stairs on the far right to reach her.
The woman was speaking to a maid with greying hair. Once again, I wonder how my dad is able to afford all of this—the house, the cook, and the maid. Having an in-home cook and a maid seems a bit excessive. We didn’t need this large of a house either. It’s just the two of us.
The maid was dismissed as I got closer to them. She gave me a friendly smile as she walked past me and back down the stairs. The beautiful woman I approach has dark skin and two thick cornrows that reach down to her breasts. Her perfectly coated red lips formed a big smile. I had never seen someone ooze beauty like this before.
“I’m Keisha.” She held out a manicured hand for me to take. “You must be Iris. A lovely name if I might say so myself. I can’t believe I’ve finally gotten to meet you after all these years. Mike’s told me so much about you.”
My hackles raise a little. I shake her petite hand and say suspiciously, “How do you know my dad?”
“Oh, we go way back. I’ve known him since…well, forever.”
And my dad never introduced her? Something’s up, and I’m not sure that I want to find out what it might be. I shouldn’t assume anything. It’s too soon. He wouldn’t. Surely, they couldn’t be—
“I see you’ve met Charles!” Keisha said happily.
“What gave it away?” I can’t find any enthusiasm to lace my voice with, so I sound rather dull.
“The flour all over your jeans.” She answered with a light laugh. “Charles is certainly something, isn’t he?”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah. But I don’t know what my dad is thinking. We don’t need a cook or a maid. We don’t even need a house of this size. I don’t know how we’re going to afford this.” I tell her.
“Mike hasn’t told you?” She asked in confusion.
“Told me what?” I inquire.
The door to the library opened. My dad poked his head through and looked around until he spotted us. “Keisha, there you are! I’ll give you a ride to the airport.”
“Ah, well…it seems that I’ll take my leave now.” She said instead of answering me. Keisha frowned before she left. “I’m sorry about what happened with Jasmine, by the way. And it was nice meeting you.”
“Likewise.” I say faintly, still baffled by this entire situation.
“Oh! Almost forgot.” Keisha fished around in her purse. “Here are your keys.”
“Thanks.” I shove them into my pocket. A thought comes to me then. “Wait. Where’s your vehicle? Did you leave it back in Florida at the house? Why would you go out of your way like that to help us?” It doesn’t make any sense.
Keisha laughed. “I have a driver who chauffeurs me around. I was in Florida for the weekend, so I had him drop me off at your house this morning. I told him that I’d catch a ride to the airport with your father and drove your car here for you. It was the least I could do after everything that’s happened. I’ve got another business meeting, so I won’t be seeing you for a while.”
“Oh…well, thank you once again.”
She abruptly pulled me into a tight hug. I’m taken aback, and my eyes widen as she squeezes me. She let go, wringing her hands. “Sorry.” She murmured and quickly walked away.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours Iris. Start unpacking your stuff.” My dad called up.
“Alright.” My voice is unsure.
Instead of unpacking, I absently wander around the library, inhaling the much-loved scent of the old books. I try not to let myself think about my father and Keisha. Eventually, my wandering halts when my eyes spot a book containing a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories and poems. He was one of my favorite authors. My mom and I used to memorize his poems down to every last word and then take turns reciting them. I take the book off of the shelf and hold it to my chest as I remember.
Later, I had finally made it into my bedroom. It’s very airy, and in the middle sits a tall bed with a silky pink bedspread and heaps of pillows. There’s a ginormous circular window, with some kind of flower stained onto it, built into the east wall to let in natural light during mornings. I’m impressed by the window’s size and lightly run my fingers over the flower stain.
My bedroom had an adjoining bathroom. There was a beautiful walk-in shower inside, along with a shiny toilet. A full-length mirror adorned the door, and there were more flowers carved upon its brass frame.
I walk out onto my small terrace and lean against the rails for a little while. The sun was beginning to set, the sky darkening. Up here, I can see that there’s a maze of hedges in our backyard, as well as a small garden beneath my terrace. She would’ve loved this place, I think to myself as I rest my chin on my knuckles.
I sigh and push myself back from the railing. Time to begin the hazardous and meticulous excursion of unpacking my clothes.
✽ ✽ ✽
Charley called my father and I to the dining room for a late supper. My stomach growls in response. Just in time, it seems.
I stand up from my position on the floor where I had been folding my night-clothes and dust off my jeans. My bum hurts from sitting so long, but it’s worth it. Everything has been arranged by color and type. It felt good to organize my clothes. Familiar.
I make my way to the dining room, take a seat, and wait for my father. I busy myself with taking in the décor. It’s a regal looking room, colored with brown and red, and splashes of gold—a candle lamp here, a stool in the corner, intricate stitching on the chairs.
From what I can tell, I am having grilled shrimp wrapped in seaweed for dinner. There is also a plate of steamed water chestnuts on the side for me. Charley must’ve been informed of my allergies. My dad gets steak and potatoes. He entered a few minutes later and took the seat in front of me.
I stare at my dinner, my appetite ebbing away. The quietness in the room spoke volumes, and the empty seat next to my father is a resounding reminder of the loss that haunted us both. We haven’t sat down and eaten a meal together since she passed. I’m overwhelmed with a feeling of nausea.
“What do you think about Keisha?” My father asked abruptly.
I look up at him, trying to read his eyes. “She’s alright, I guess. Beautiful.” I glance up with the last word, searching for any hint of emotion on his face. Nothing.
“And…what did the two of you talk about?” His inquiry seemed innocent enough. But I know my dad. He was just a bit too focused on cutting into that steak right now. So focused that he couldn’t look me in the eyes.
I bite the inside of my cheek. What is going on? “What
do you think we talked about? And what did the two of you talk about while you were driving her to the airport?” I retort instead of answering.
My dad gave me a long look, and then shrugged.
Time for a different approach. “Now that you mention it…” I begin, watching his reaction closely. He had been bringing a potato to his mouth, but his fork stopped mid-air. “How did we afford this house? And the cook? And the maid? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
My father sat down his fork and took a long sip of his tea. “Well, actually Keisha bought the house and she’s letting us stay here for as long as we need to. She hired the maid and the cook. She’s always out of town on business trips, so she’ll hardly ever be here. Plus, she figured that us staying here would be a good way for the two of you to bond.”
“What? I don’t understand, dad. Why are we staying in this woman’s house? Who is she to you? Why does she want to bond with me? Tell me!” I demand. My cheeks flush in anger.
“It’s complicated Iris. And it’s not something that I want to discuss with you right now. Especially while you’re still upset and recovering from...”
I stare at my folded hands, trying to calm down. “Aren’t you still upset?” I bite out.
My father sat down his glass harder than necessary. “Of course I am! How could you ask me something like that?”
I slide down in my seat a little and don’t answer.
He let out a loud sigh after a lengthy period of silence. “You should try to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”
I pick up my fork and push the shrimp around my plate. “I’m not hungry. Can I be excused?” I ask.
My dad worriedly rubbed his jaw. “Iris—”
“Please, dad. I’m really tired.”
He sighed. “Alright. Don’t forget that you have school in the morning though.”
✽ ✽ ✽
That night, after taking a very long and steamy shower to help put me to sleep, I am plagued with unpleasant thoughts. What exactly is my father hiding from me? Who is Keisha? Why does she want us to bond? I try my hardest not to think about what this situation is implying, especially since they’ve known each other for so long. It’s too soon.