The timid knock at the door startled Rachelle. She sat up in bed and tried to get her bearings.
It took her a few seconds to realize that she didn’t recognize her surroundings because they weren’t hers. Reuben’s bed was comfortable. She had been in a deep sleep.
The light tapping at the door continued.
“Good morning! Yes?” she said.
“Cousin Rachelle, I have a hair appointment but Mama doesn’t feel well this morning and she’s still in bed. Can you please take me to Aunt Melba’s salon?”
Indigo sounded desperate.
Rachelle glanced at the clock again. Of course she couldn’t tell the child no. She rose from the bed and pulled her robe from her suitcase.
She opened the door and smiled at the ninth grader, who had inherited her father’s lanky frame and broad smile. Indigo’s hair had been combed into a frizzy ponytail, the remnants of the water balloon fight she and her friends had at yesterday’s birthday barbecue.
“Sure. What time do you have to be there?” Rachelle asked.
They agreed to get dressed and meet in the kitchen in thirty minutes. Rachelle rummaged through her bag, still filled with her clothing from San Diego, and found the pair of jeans she had packed. She pulled out a gold camisole and the honey brown ballet flats she had worn for her trek through the airport.
After a quick shower, she strolled into the kitchen fully dressed and ready to go. Uncle Charles was flipping pancakes while Indigo and Yasmin sat at the table, waiting to be served. Indigo was listening to her purple iPod and reading a novel while Yasmin played with her pink handheld electronic game. Rachelle stifled a laugh. These could be her children, who also had traded in their Game Boys a couple of years ago for the next new gadgets.
Rachelle waved at them and Indigo set aside her distractions. “Good morning, family,” Rachelle said. She remembered waking up to Uncle Charles’s feasts during her days at Everson College, whenever she visited during the weekend. He always had breakfast duty and Aunt Irene prepared the rest of the meals.
“I see you’re still a pro in the kitchen,” Rachelle told him. She pulled out a chair and joined the girls at the rectangular oak table.
“He just does this to impress our guests,” Indigo said. “We don’t get this kind of service on a regular basis. So please, come more often.”
Uncle Charles placed dishes filled with warm scrambled eggs and slices of bacon in the center of the table. He slid plates stacked with pancakes in front of Rachelle and his daughters.
On his way back to the stove, he thumped the side of Indigo’s head with his thumb and forefinger.
“Hey!” she protested.
Rachelle laughed at their playful exchange. Sadness flickered in her heart for a second when she considered how Gabe never interacted like that with Taryn, and neither had her dad with her.
Uncle Charles flipped another set of pancakes. They were perfectly round and golden. He gave himself a thumbs-up.
“Thanks for taking Indigo to Melba’s,” he said as he moved about. “I took the day off from the car dealership since not too many people buy on Mondays during the summer. I’m going to remove those tents from yesterday’s barbecue and catch up on some projects around the house. Your Aunt Irene went to bed last night with a splitting headache. She’s still sleeping.”
Rachelle remembered the cup Aunt Irene had clutched most of yesterday, even while they sang “Happy Birthday” to Indigo. She wondered if Uncle Charles knew the likely cause of Aunt Irene’s ailment.
She was puzzled by the contrast between the thoughtful conversation she and Aunt Irene had just last night and what she was hearing now. Other than her sore hips, Aunt Irene had seemed coherent.
Uncle Charles placed the last pancake onto a clean plate and held it out to Indigo. “Take this to your Mama.”
Indigo focused her attention on the last bite of her eggs and bacon, without responding. Uncle Charles set the plate on the table, in front of her.
“Did you hear me?” he asked.
Rachelle couldn’t ever recall seeing him angry. If Indigo was like every other teenager Rachelle knew, the girl would be mortified that her father was yelling at her in front of company. Rachelle rose from the table and headed down the hall to give them some privacy.
“I’ll get my purse and meet you at the car, Indigo,” she said.
Rachelle entered Reuben’s bedroom and leaned against the back of the door. What was going on with the Burns family? Maybe having an adolescent girl was testing Uncle Charles’s mettle.
Rachelle grabbed her bag and trotted back down the hallway. She peered into the kitchen and saw Uncle Charles was standing near Indigo, whispering heatedly. The girl’s face was expressionless.
If she’s anything like I was at that age, she is furious, Rachelle thought.
She trusted Uncle Charles’s child rearing judgment, but she empathized with Indigo. Sometimes parents didn’t get it; they put you in a box with a label affixed and tried to keep you there forever.
Rather than interrupt them, Rachelle decided to leave through the front door. Her car was parked out front anyway. She had moved it to the street before yesterday’s cookout so that Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles’s older guests wouldn’t have to walk far.
The heat engulfed Rachelle when she stepped outside onto the porch. Yasmin sat on the stoop, waiting for her. She looked up and offered Rachelle a puppy dog smile.
“Cousin Rachelle, will you please take me over to my friend Carmen’s house to play? Daddy called her mama, and she said it was okay. There’s nothing going on around this boring house.”
Indigo, who had followed Rachelle outside, smirked. “You’re seven,” she told Yasmin. “Play with your dolls and be happy.”
Yasmin clearly was used to her older sister’s disdain. She waited for Rachelle’s response, and when Rachelle nodded, she trotted off to find a few treasures to take with her. “Gimme just a minute, okay?”
Yasmin returned with a pink backpack stuffed with who knows what. Rachelle recognized one of the lumps as a doll, but didn’t ask what else was enclosed.
Indigo rolled her eyes. “You spend more time over there with your little friend than you do at home.”
Rachelle glanced at Indigo to gauge if the girl was serious, but couldn’t decide. That didn’t sound like something Aunt Irene would approve of, but then again, quite a few things seemed out of sorts. Whether they were worthy of concern was up for debate. Rachelle hoped she was reading more into things than she should.