A half hour later, my uncle arrived. His clothes were rumpled, his curly, salt-and-pepper hair grown over his eyes. He shook his keys dramatically. Come on, he said to my aunt. She could leave her car and pick it up tomorrow. Just come on, and no, he didn’t want to stay and eat. This had gone on long enough. But my aunt overruled him. It was Sunday, and my mother was cooking an early dinner. Wouldn’t it be lovely to sit down as a family, all of us together? My uncle called his wife’s name, but she kept sitting on the couch.
“You can leave if you want,” Aunt Diane said. “But I’m hungry, and so are my children.” She gestured to my cousin, who was standing, holding his sister. She told Malcolm sit down. They weren’t going anywhere, not yet.
An hour later, my father came home and called out from the foyer. One of his colleagues was covering for him at the emergency room, but he had to be back by midnight. When he saw my sister sitting on the steps, he opened his arms. Hug his neck, he ordered. She stood up slowly. Walked hesitantly into my father’s arms. He hugged her close, then pushed her away.
“Don’t you scare your daddy anymore. Don’t you scare him like that again.”
“I promise.”
“All right, now. You know us middle-aged Black men got bad nerves.”
Lydia giggled, and he pulled her back in. Kissed the top of her head, until my mother came from the kitchen. Then he trotted to my mother, his round stomach bouncing. He picked her up, and her feet dangled for seconds.
“I feel a poem coming on!” Daddy shouted.
“Oh Lord. Somebody come get this Negro.” But Mama couldn’t stop smiling. She laid her head against his chest and raised a hand to rub his belly.
There was plenty heavy food for dinner. My mother’s meat loaf, macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, corn bread, and the mandatory collard greens. My sister hunched her thin shoulders, concentrating on her plate. She’d been so quiet since her arrival. I’d followed her up to our room, pushing my dirty laundry off the twin bed that used to be hers. Wait just a few minutes, I’d told her. I’d get some fresh sheets and change the bed, while she’d murmured that was all right. Don’t make any trouble.
I didn’t worry about her silence at dinner. I was just happy to see the faces of my mother and sister, and to eat real, seasoned food. At the table, I smacked my lips gratefully at the taste of garlic and onions and paprika, as Mama urged my sister to eat. She reached over with a knife and fork, cutting the meat loaf into pieces.
My sister ate a very small bite. “Mmm, this is good.”
“I know it’s your favorite, darling. There’s banana pudding for later.”
Lydia ate another small bite, then put her fork down. She apologized for her lack of appetite, but Mama told her it was just exhaustion from that long drive.
After another half hour, my uncle began making loud hints that it was time to take his family home. Mama told him stay awhile. There wasn’t any hurry, and plenty of food and sweet tea. When he insisted it was time, she made him sit down for a couple more minutes. Let her pack up some plates before they left. She’d made an extra pan of corn bread. She knew how he loved some corn bread.
After the rest had left, my sister excused herself. I followed her, leaving our parents cuddled up on the couch. Their whispers broken only by soft laughter. The sound of their many kisses. Up in our room, I tried to talk to my sister, but she was still quiet as she hung up clothes from her suitcases and slipped into flowered pajamas. When I asked her where had she gone, and what about Dante? She slipped beneath the covers of her bed.
“I’m tired, Ailey. I don’t feel like chatting.”
She turned her face to the wall. Her breath deepened into sleep, but I lay in my own bed, unable to rest. The air conditioner came on roaring. When I slipped into the fog of a dream, the long-haired lady was there.
*
That June was strange. No farewell sleepover at Nana’s the night before she and Miss Delores traveled to Nana’s cottage on Martha’s Vineyard for the summer. And no rising with my mother to pack the station wagon for our own trip to Chicasetta. No sticking my head out the window to watch as we drove away from our house with my mother scolding I better put that head back in the window before I had an accident. Mama informed me there would be no summer in Chicasetta. She’d been gone from her husband too long after spending so long down south with Lydia, and she didn’t want to leave my father again, not so soon. Besides, I needed to get back to a routine anyway.
“What about Miss Rose? What about Uncle Root?” I asked. “They’ll miss us!”