The Reckless Oath We Made(13)

“You can finish that conversation later,” Charlene said. “Right now, you have work to do.” She opened the fridge and handed Gentry an entire chicken wrapped in plastic.

He laid a couple of knives out next to the cutting board. Rearranged them. Nodded. Then he eviscerated that chicken. Took every bit of meat off the bones, and cubed it up. That went into a big skillet with oil to cook, while Gentry got out a clean cutting board and another set of knives. He started with onions and garlic, shucking them and dicing them to go in with the chicken.

Charlene stood at the sink washing vegetables: potatoes, carrots, peppers, zucchini, celery. Once she had a pile of potatoes accumulated, Gentry carried them to the counter. He peeled them with a paring knife, faster than my mother could with a peeler. Round and around, so that most of the peels came off in one piece. The carrots he stripped with the flat of the blade. He cored the peppers, took the ends off the zucchini and the celery.

“Go ahead, show off,” Charlene said.

Gentry lifted his head and smiled. He took the first potato and halved it, halved it again lengthwise, then cubed it. All in about five seconds. He went through the rest of the stuff like he was a goddamn Cuisinart, until there was an avalanche of vegetables on the counter. By then the chicken was cooked, and everything went into a big Crock-Pot with seasonings. If I was supposed to be impressed, I was. And convinced that Charlene was his real family. Miranda and her monsters may have been his biological mother and siblings, but they were strictly Taco Bell people.

“What did you think of that?” I asked Marcus, but he was sitting there like an owl.

“I see somebody who needs a nap,” Charlene said. “Actually, I see three somebodies who need naps. Gentry, get some sheets and help your lady make up the guest room.”

The phrase your lady made me uneasy, like I was there under false pretenses, but I was too tired to deal with any of it. I got Marcus by the hand and followed Gentry down the hallway to the guest room. He opened the closet and said, “Which thee liketh best? Blue or green?”

It struck me as a really funny thing to ask, but I said, “Green.”

While Marcus stood in the middle of the bedroom, Gentry and I made the two twin beds with green sheets. All those years of sleeping on people’s couches and floors had done a number on my bed-making skills. Mine ended up looking slept in from the start, but the one Gentry made for Marcus had hospital corners.

“If thou needest aught, I am in the chamber next,” Gentry said as he bowed. Then he went out and shut the door.

Sometimes you had to talk Marcus down to a nap, but he was so tired all I had to do was take off his shoes. I was out almost as fast.

I woke up to a sound I couldn’t identify. Whacking and grunting, and every once in a while a thud and a shout. The light in the room had changed, from bright to soft yellow. I almost didn’t understand what that meant, because I never got to take naps in the afternoon. It felt more like waking up in a different universe than like time had passed. I reached for my phone, but I’d forgotten to plug it in, and it was dead.

The whacking and grunting had stopped, so that I wondered if I’d dreamt it. Marcus was still sleeping, and even me kissing his forehead didn’t wake him up, so I left him there. There was nobody out in the great room or in the kitchen, but I could smell dinner cooking. I was about to go look in the dining room when the patio door opened and Gentry walked in. His hair was dripping wet and he was wearing something that looked like quilted pajamas.

“Is it raining out?” I said. It didn’t make sense to me, because I hadn’t heard rain, but I couldn’t come up with any other reason that he would be soaking wet.

“Nay.” Before he could say anything else, a kid walked through the door behind him.

“Oh, wow! You’re Lady Zhorzha,” the kid said. He was maybe fifteen, Asian, a little taller than Gentry. Also damp and wearing quilted pajamas.

“My brother Trang,” Gentry said.

We were about to shake hands when Charlene called from the dining room, “You boys take those nasty, sweaty clothes off!”

Not rain. Sweat. I pulled my hand back and Trang grinned at me.

“Sorry, we were jousting,” he said, which I remembered was how Gentry had injured his shoulder.

Charlene came in carrying a laundry hamper, and the two of them stripped down to T-shirts and running shorts that were plastered to them with sweat.

“Dinner’s almost ready, so you two need to get cleaned up,” she said.

“Can I do anything to help?” I said.

“No, come and meet my husband.”

I followed her into the dining room and shook hands with her husband, Bill, who was a big bald white guy with a gray beard.

“Well, we are honored to have you here, Lady Zhorzha,” he said. I couldn’t tell whether they were being serious with that.

“Thank you for having me.” How many times had I said that to how many people? How many friends’ parents’ houses where I tried to be as polite and invisible as I could?

“Bill.” Charlene tilted her head toward the table. He reached out and folded over the newspaper in front of him. Today’s paper. With LaReigne’s face now hidden. That jolted me back to reality. I took a step backward and almost fell over on top of a little girl in a wheelchair who’d come up behind me. She was so tiny I couldn’t guess how old she was—maybe four or five—but she wore great big glasses and her hair in a pair of afro puffs.