“What?” Amara asked.
“I . . . I know you said you were coming, but I didn’t think you were really going to show up.”
“Why can’t you take me at my word?” Amara smiled.
“Well, it’s because you made it a point years ago that you didn’t want to spend too much time ’round here. Come on inside. Hurry up.” Denise placed her hand on Amara’s shoulder and moved her into the foyer.
“I wish you would’ve given me a heads-up of a specific date and time for when you were coming, because then I would’ve put something on the stove.”
“Don’t bother. I’m not that hungry. My stomach hurts, actually.”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“No.”
“That might be why. Let me go the store. Wanna come with me?”
“No, I’ll stay here, that’s fine.”
“Oh. Well, okay. I’ll be right back, then.”
Denise’s errand run was perfect timing. Amara didn’t have the heart to break it to her mother that her visit had nothing to do with her and all to do with Laila. The apartment seemed quiet. Today must have been one of those days when she was at peace. Amara placed a hand on the bannister but delayed in going up the steps when she recognized just how afraid she was of her aunt. There was a reason Denise never talked about Laila or put Laila on the phone with Amara to speak to her. She was as protective as she was embarrassed of her sister. Sometimes when Amara would call her mother, she would hear thrashing or wailing in the background. Maybe Laila was totally medicated or still asleep. Amara said a silent prayer and went up the stairs. Everything was uncomfortably still and cold, and the light breaking through the ceiling windows was the only evidence of any kind of vitality.
“Aunt Laila?” Amara stammered as she stood outside her aunt’s bedroom door.
“Yes?” Laila called out, her voice strong and direct.
“It’s Amara. Your niece?”
Silence.
A door opened, and there was Laila in a wrinkled sweater and jeans that were many sizes too large and sliding off her body. Her collarbones and ribs protruded, and her skin was pallid. She asked, “Amara? Is that really you?” Amara ran over to Laila and took her in her arms and was immediately repulsed by how many bones she could feel in Laila’s back, and how the strength of her embrace was enough to lift Laila off the ground. She was troubled by how Laila sank in her arms, becoming like dead weight from the touch. When Amara let her go and stared at Laila’s face, there was still some beauty left. The light hadn’t completely dimmed from her eyes, and her cheeks were round and blessed with a soft pink blush. Anyone who looked at her now could have guessed that she had once been resplendent. But if anyone knew of her story, they, like Amara, would behold Laila’s beauty with mournfulness.
“I wish I would’ve known you were coming. I have company right now, but you might as well join us.”
Join? Amara thought. She hadn’t heard anyone shuffling inside of Laila’s bedroom or sensed another presence anywhere upstairs, for that matter. But when Laila pushed her bedroom door open, Amara saw a bed, stripped of its sheets and linens, pushed all the way to the side opposite her closet. A group of life-sized dolls encircled a sheet and pillow on the ground.
“Er, on second thought, Aunt Laila, why don’t we go downstairs? Let’s sit in the kitchen like we used to do.”
“You sure? My guests don’t mind. They’re very cordial.”
Amara nodded fervently. “I’m sure.”
“Hmm.” Laila shrugged her shoulders and held a finger up to her closed lips at the dolls, and bade them goodbye. Laila grabbed ahold of Amara’s hand and the bannister to make her way down the stairs. When she reached the ground floor, her body wobbled to reacclimate itself to a lack of an incline. She waited a few moments to steady herself then proceeded toward the kitchen, where they sat opposite each other. With the abundance of natural light coming from the window behind Laila, Amara could accurately see just how much loss her aunt had experienced. Decades ago, despite her miscarriages, she’d still looked fresh, vibrant, and expectant. Now she was gray and discolored in some areas around her body, and her chest barely rose and fell with her breaths. It looked like the womb that once imperiled her child now endangered her, turning her life inside out, into one of false reality and unquenchable sadness.
“Aunt Laila, I—”
“I know it’s been a long time. I know. I haven’t been able to keep up with the years as much as I’d like, but I know. I mean, look at you. You don’t walk up in here a grown woman without some time passing. I know you’re making both me and your mother proud.”
“Yes, a lot of time has passed. I went to—”
“Yale, I know. Graduated at the top of your class, I know. My memory isn’t entirely gone. I could never forget about you, sweet.”
Tears clouded Amara’s vision, and she wiped them with the back of the sleeves of her blouse.
“Aww.” Laila leaned forward and massaged Amara’s hands. “So, what’s got you up here?”
“Well, you, actually.”
“Me? What about me?”
“I need to ask you some questions. About something that happened years ago.”
“I can try and answer. I’ll try my best.”
“Do you remember the Melancon family?”
Laila blinked spasmodically and clasped her mouth with her right hand. Her body tensed, and she tapped her foot to pull herself together.
She exhaled deeply and replied, “What about them?”
“Do you remember how you went to their home to confront them and you cried and screamed but they wouldn’t face you? How did you connect with them? I mean— How did the first conversation between you and that family happen? Did you just go to their place unannounced?”
“No.”
“Then who connected you? I mean—They went to St. Philip’s, right? Did you talk to them there?”
“No,” Laila said.
“Then maybe you have a mutual
