Color Blind (10 page)

“Let's clear this stuff out, load up the Jeep and take it down to the dumpster before someone gets hurt,” said Miles, leaving the yard.

When Miles returned with the Jeep, he pulled work gloves from his pocket and handed a pair to me. “Sorry I broke your railing, ma'am. I can fix it for you,” he said, collecting the broken pieces.

“No matter, so much is broken. Just look around,” said Simone.

I helped Miles clear away the rotted wood. After loading the last of the porch railing into the Jeep, Miles tied a red rag around several pieces.

“What's that for?” asked Angel.

“So nobody gets too close,” said Miles.

“Are you gonna fix up our house?” asked Angel.

“I'll try,” said Miles.

Angel squirmed a bit, then blurted out, “Can you get a bike for me?”

Miles hesitated, “You want a new bike?”

“It doesn't have to be new, because it'll be new for me,” laughed Angel.

Miles grinned, crossed his arms, and asked, “Anything else?”

“A dress for my mama, a steak for Gumbo . . . and a job for my mama, that'd be good.”

Miles laughed. “Do you think I'm some kind of fairy godfather or something?”

“Maybe,” she giggled.

“What are you two up to?” I asked, approaching the Jeep, followed by Kate and Gumbo.

“Nothin',” said Angel.

“Nothin',” said Miles, winking at Angel.

“I've got to go get ready for work. You're staying to work with Miles, right?” asked Kate.

I looked at Miles, “Okay with you?”

“Heck, yeah! The morning's been so interesting, I can't wait to see what the afternoon brings!” Miles laughed and petted Gumbo, while I said goodbye to Angel.

“Thanks for comin' back to see me. Come again soon?” asked Angel.

“I'll try.” I gave Gumbo another ear snuggle and got in the Jeep with Miles.

“Are you sure you're okay? That was a spectacular fall, totally YouTube-worthy!”

“Nah, it was more classic, like an old episode of SNL with Chevy Chase. You know what I'm talking about, right?”

“I do.”

Miles backed the Jeep up the street and into the construction site driveway, stopping in front of the dumpster to unload.

“Can you rebuild their porch railing soon? Those steps were pretty rickety. Can you do those at the same time? We don't want Angel or her mother to get hurt, do we?” I asked.

“I'll check with the crew to see if we have any spare lumber. It shouldn't take much. My dad and I could probably knock out a new railing and new steps over a weekend. With your help and Kate's food, of course.”

“Can you get Angel's mom added to a list or something? Maybe you can get their whole house redone, or maybe a new home altogether?” I asked, rolling with the idea. “There's got to be something we can do to help!”

Miles turned his head and looked over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm checking to see if there's a sign on my back that says SUPERHERO or FAIRY GODFATHER!”

“Who said anything about a superhero? But, now that you mention it, you would look pretty amazing in tights!”

“Amazing? Me? You sweet talker, you!”

At the site, the workers were on lunch break.

“Miles, can we eat before we get started? I'm starving!”

Miles grabbed the insulated bag, I got the thermos, and we joined the others. After brief introductions, Miles and I found a spot in the shade and unpacked the bag, which, in addition to lunch, included a cold pack for the food and hand sanitizer wipes; Kate thought of everything. She had prepared another incredible meal—roasted chicken sandwiches on olive bread and a side of red-bean-and-rice salad for each of us. She also sent three dozen assorted cookies for the crew.

Impressed, Miles said, “Your aunt is beyond awesome. How long will you be staying with her?”

“Like I said the other day, my plans are a bit up in the air.”

“Well, however long you stay, you're going to eat well, that's for sure,” said Miles, finishing the last of his repast. “The guys will be way happy to see homemade cookies! Since we don't have much of a snack budget, our food supplies are always a bit slim. Your aunt is going to spoil us.” Miles looked at his watch. “We have a little time, are you up to a guided tour?”

“Bring it on!”

Miles led me out of the shade and off the site. We walked up the remains of what used to be a sidewalk. We made our way farther up the block, moving away from the most desolate part of the neighborhood where Angel lived and closer to a brand-new housing development.

“These houses up here are part of the Make It Right project. Brad Pitt brought in twenty architects to design eco-friendly housing to replace the homes lost to Katrina. They have more than half of the hundred and fifty homes completed so far.”

I was impressed by the lovely new homes. They all had different designs, there was nothing cookie-cutter or rudimentary or cheap-looking about any of them. Most were built above ground, some with enough room underneath to park cars.

“Look up there,” said Miles, pointing to a roof. “See that square? That's an escape hatch. Most people in the Ninth Ward kept an ax in the attic, so they could chop their way out in case of a flood. Now, if it happens again, all they need to do is open the hatch, climb out and wait to be rescued.”

“What? It can't happen again, can it? The government repaired the levees, didn't they?”

“I know they've spent billions rebuilding and upgrading to guard against another failure. Only time and the kindness of Mother Nature will tell.”

“Why are there still so many uninhabitable homes?” I asked, eyeing the other side of the block, seeing nothing but weeds and more dilapidated structures.

“I think a lot of people couldn't afford to rebuild. Either they didn't have any insurance, or enough insurance, or they didn't qualify for government assistance because they couldn't provide proof of ownership. Whatever the reason for abandonment, I can't begin to imagine how hard it was for them.”

My resolve was absolute. “Let's get to work. Show me where to start.”

Even as hot as it was, my energy was unfailing. The afternoon passed quickly. I got tools, I stacked lumber, I brought water to the guys; wherever I could help, I did. At break, I brought out the cookies and iced coffee. Miles was right about Kate's homemade cookies—they were a huge hit with the guys and were perfect with the iced coffee. Miles might be right about Kate. I wouldn't say she's beyond awesome like he says, but she does know her way around a kitchen. That didn't mean I wanted her as my guardian, though.

I didn't need a guardian. I could take care of myself.

“You look done in,” said Miles as the Jeep rolled to a stop in front of Kate's house.

“How observant of you,” I said wiping the sweat from my face with a tissue. My shirt was filthy, I could only read
VOLUN
because dirt covered the balance of the word
TEER
. My arms and legs were streaked with more dirt and my hair was a fright wig after driving in the ragtop Jeep.

“I'm surprised you let me back in your car the way I look!”

“You look amazing,” said Miles, blushing.

I waited a beat. “I had a nice time with you today. You took me out of myself. Thank you. It felt good to do something worthwhile.”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime? Maybe a real date next time?” Miles asked.

“Maybe we could,” I replied, slowly getting out of the Jeep.

Miles honked, gave a backward wave, and pulled away from the curb.

I limped up the porch stairs, not sure which would be best, a hot bath to ease my aching muscles or a cold shower to relieve the heat. Maybe both. Definitely something cold to drink and some sort of anti-inflammatory were in order.

There was another note from Kate on the fridge.

I wondered what her game was.
Is she honestly nice? Or is she just being overly polite? Trying to make up for all the lost years, make up for her disinterest in me? Whatever. It doesn't matter to me either way.

I took my lemonade upstairs, undressed, and removed my watch and earrings. I placed them on the dresser next to the photo of the woman in the turban, which I'd forgotten to ask Kate about.
Note to self: ask her tonight when she gets home.
It's probably nothing mysterious, just the cook or the housekeeper, somebody like that. I stood under the cold, stinging shower and let my mind drift. Miles was something special: smart, handsome, kind, funny, and talented. Did I mention handsome? And, those muscles—what could a girl say about his biceps except
WOW!

I toweled off and reached for the container of lavender body powder. With the unrelenting heat and humidity, Kate must have to buy this stuff in bulk. I wondered briefly if I should thank her for leaving it for me, but decided against it. I wasn't ready for any sort of bonding.

Famished, I headed to the kitchen, bringing two of the Voodoo books with me for a little light reading during dinner. I refilled my glass with lemonade and loaded a plate with last night's roast chicken and potato salad. I sat at the kitchen table and dug in. Flipping through the first book, I stopped mid-chew. Taken aback by a portrait, I dropped my fork, ran to get the photograph out of my room. Racing back to the kitchen, my heart was pounding.

I compared the two pictures side by side.
It's her! What on earth? Why is this picture of Angel's great, great, great, great grandmother in our house? Who put this picture with our family photographs? Does Angel know that her great granny was a Voodoo queen? Does Kate know anything? What is she hiding from me?

No longer hungry, I threw my meal in the trash. Hoping to find some answers, I scanned the chapter titled “The Voodoo Queen: Marie Laveau” in
The New Orleans Voodoo Handbook
. My brain processed only bits and pieces of information as I skimmed the pages:

Born in 1801. Grew up in the Treme suburb. First husband, Jacques Paris disappeared. Died? Returned to Haiti? Nobody knew. The two children she bore by Paris died from yellow fever. She called herself “Widow Paris.” She worked as a hairdresser. She captured the heart of an aristocrat, a white Frenchman named Christophe Glapion. She bore him between seven and fifteen mulatto children. Nobody could verify how many.

Summer, 1859, the local newspaper,
The Crescent
, referred to her as “the notorious hag who reigns over the ignorant and superstitious as the Queen of Voodoos.” A neighbor complained about “the hellish observance of mysterious rites of Voodou.”

The wind picked up again, branches raked the house, thunder rumbled in the distance; another storm was on the way. The house, dark except for the overhead light, began to creak and moan again. What was with all this creaking and moaning? This house, the hot, humid, unpredictable weather, everything was getting on my nerves.
I am so over New Orleans!
Restless, I got up, refilled my glass with lemonade, sat back down at the table, and continued to read, still only processing bits and pieces:

Officiating at public dances at Congo Square . . . Laveau's home was filled with candles, statues and images of various saints. St. John's Eve (June 23) ceremonies at Lake Pontchartrain. Once semisecret gatherings . . .

Lightning flashed, thunder shook the house. I screamed when something touched my shoulder.

“I guess you didn't hear me come in.”

“Shit! Don't ever sneak up on me again! You scared the crap out of me!” I shrugged her hand away.

“Watch your mouth!”

I stood and shoved the photograph in front of her face. “Who is this?”

Kate paled. “What are you doing with that?”

“You asked me to help you with the pictures, remember? Family history, good for me and all that. Remember? Who
is
this?” I demanded.

Kate pulled a chair away from the table and sat. “Sit down and be quiet! We need to talk.”

“No! I'm not sitting.”

“Get something straight, April. You live in
my
house, you don't get to demand anything. You've made it perfectly clear you don't want to be here. Fine. Guess what? None of this is easy for me, either. I
never
wanted to have children. Now I'm stuck. Stuck with you!”

I dragged a chair across the hardwood floor, as far away from Kate as I could get. I sat, crossed my arms tightly against my chest and glared at her.

“You are so much like your mother, feisty, full of fire. And, you
absolutely
inherited her ability to piss people off.”

Kate picked up the Voodoo books. She narrowed her eyes and stared directly into mine. “Where did you get these?”

“Not relevant.” I waved the photograph at her once more. “Tell me about her! Put an end to the secrets and the lies. Lay the
family skeletons
to rest!”

Kate sat vibrating with anger.

“Who is this woman?” I roared.

“She is your great, great, great, great grandmother.”

“What?”

Kate didn't answer.

“This woman is
family
?” I threw the photograph at her. “You didn't think that was something I should know? Are you kidding me?”

Kate's steely gaze chilled me; her voice was low, controlled. “What was I supposed to say when you arrived, April? Welcome to New Orleans! I'm your aunt Kate and oh, by the way, your great, great, great, great grandmother was a high priestess of Voodoo, a free woman of color? Seriously?”

“My life just keeps getting better and better. Every day is such a joy for me.” I paced, unable to be still. I stopped in
front of the ancient kitchen mirror. My skin was a startling shade of white in the glare from the overhead kitchen lights.