by L B Anne
We walked in, laughing after Nana saying something about it starting to get chilly enough to see chill bumps on a gnat.
But Nana didn’t follow us in. She stood at the door for a minute, looking out over the field across the street before closing the door.
“Mama, is everything okay?” my mom asked Nana.
“A storm is coming,” she mumbled.
I looked out the window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
As Nana and my mom talked in the living room, I did what I’d done for as long as I could remember, walked straight to the back of the house to the kitchen to see if— Yes! I exclaimed in my head. There was a three-layer cake with tan frosting sitting in the center of the kitchen table, covered with a glass top.
“Sheena? Don’t you touch that caramel cake!” Nana yelled.
“Omkay,” is how my response sounded. My mouth was already full.
Nana and my mom walked into the kitchen laughing a few minutes later, talking about me, knowing what I would do when I saw the cake.
“Why don’t we all have a slice, and I’ll make tea. It seems that we have some things to discuss.”
“Mom, you told her?” I whispered.
Nana put the kettle on the stove. “You focus on the wrong things, sweetie. The question is why she told me, and why she brought you here after you told her.”
I looked down at my cake. I hadn’t thought about that. I wondered if Nana had superhuman hearing, or if I was that bad of a whisperer.
My mom sat at my left under a wall of old copper pans Nana collected. She stood to help Nana with the tea infuser and cups.
I imagined myself as a kid running through the kitchen while Nana cooked and being scolded for it. A huge pot of mixed greens boiled on the stove and Nana stood over the counter seasoning meat. I remember being horrified because I thought she was cooking a puppy. I was ready to run away because of it and live on Sesame Street. Not the actual street, but the television show.
Coon is what she called it. Coon? My eyes widened in alarm. I just realized she meant racoon. My stomach turned a flip. Did I eat any of it? I couldn’t have. I didn’t like the texture of meat back then.
Why were all of these memories just coming back to me?
Everything in the room was the same as back then, except for the addition of some new kitchen gadgets on the counter. I remember my mom having to intervene last year regarding Nana’s shopping channel obsession.
I finished up my cake just as Nana and my mom were beginning to eat theirs.
“Now, tell Nana what you saw.”
She looked at me over her glasses, and I realized I’d never been able to keep anything from her. Nana asked with that penetrating gaze of hers, and I told her whatever she wanted to know.
“I don’t know where to start. I feel overwhelmed.”
“I’m sure. Maybe this will help.”
Nana placed another slice of cake on my plate. She laughed. “It’s always helped in the past to calm you down when you were upset.
“Chew slowly this time,” Nana instructed.
There was some connection between chewing slowly, and the creamy frosting, I think, that soothes. I took a huge bite and talked with my mouth full. “Eyef baw some ak hospit.” I added another fork full of cake to my already stuffed mouth. “Aww hink was angem.”
Milk. I need milk. I grabbed my glass and drank in huge gulps. BURP! “Excuse me.”
Nana nodded. “Slow down. Take a deep breath, sweetie.”
I did as I was told.
“I think I caught a little of what you were saying. Ha! Glory be, I have no idea how.”
I loved Nana’s laugh. It was high-pitched and bouncy. The kind of laugh that if you heard it you could do nothing but laugh also. Just hearing it comforted me.
“I have no idea what that was,” my mom said. “Let’s try that again.”
“She said she thinks she saw an angel at the hospital.” Nana turned to me. “Is that right, sweetie?”
“I nodded.”
“Tell us about Mr. Tobias,” my mom instructed.
I took a deep breath and told them everything. Everything except about sneaking out of the house. I mean, I’m not crazy or anything.
Nana didn’t seem surprised by anything I said. It was like she heard this kind of stuff every day. It made it easier to talk to her, but still, I wondered why she didn’t react in some way.
Instead, Nana said, “Belinda, you were supposed to pay close attention to her.”
“I have been, Mama,” my mom replied.
I looked back and forth between them. Wait, what? What’s going on? It was like they knew something was going to happen to me. Like they expected it…
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L. B. Anne is best known for her Lolo and Winkle book series in which she tells humorous stories of middle-school siblings, Lolo and Winkle, based on her youth, growing up in Queens, New York. She lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida with her husband and is a full-time author and speaker. When she’s not inventing new obstacles for her diverse characters to overcome, you can find her reading, playing bass guitar, running on the beach, or downing a mocha iced coffee at a local cafe while dreaming of being your favorite author.
Visit L. B. at www.lbanne.com
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