suppose, made him our great uncle, but we still called him Uncle Henry anyway. He was Uncle Henry to a lot of people we knew. Even people his birth had nothing to do with. Seemed like the only person who called him Hank was my mother.
Uncle Henry pointed to Carry. âI see my little sugarplumâs not her regular sweet self this morning.â
âOh, never mind her,â my mother said, picking up a towel from the counter. âSheâs been in a mood goinâ on six months now. I think itâs boys.â She whispered the last part, but not near quiet enough for neither me nor Carry not to hear.
âYou donât know nothinâ about my life, Mother!â Carry snapped, her eyes still fixed halfway on the tabletop between us, her arms still tightly wrapped together.
My mother rolled her eyes at Uncle Henry. âApparently I know nothinâ âbout her life. I only grew her in my womb for nine months and spent the last fifteen years puttinâ bandages on her scrapes and makinâ sure she stayed clothed and fed.â She turned back to Carry. âCaroline, say hello to your Uncle Henry.â
There was a pause, and for a moment I thought Carry was going to be unconscionably rude, even for her new self. She loved Uncle Henry as much as I did. I knew this, and so she had no business making him the victim of whatever frustrations had recently crawled inside of her. I wasnât sure she had any business taking it out on me and my mother neither, but I suppose by virtue of simply living together, you automatically assume certain responsibilities. I was just about ready to give Carry a piece of my mind when she came to her senses. âHello, Uncle Henry,â she said, even turning to look at him. âItâs nice to see you.â She didnât say it with quite the proper emotion such a sentiment required, but at least she said it.
Uncle Henry nodded and winked back. âNice to see you too, sugarplum. Sorry youâre goinâ through whatever phase youâre goinâ through. Just try to remember that everyone who grows up pretty much grows up the same way, and every one of âem thinks theyâre different than all the others who came before them, but one day youâll see thatâs not the case. But you canât skip over anythinâ, cuz itâs all important and itâs all part of becoming who youâll eventually be.â He gave my mother a sideways smile. âSo your mama here, sheâs just gonna have to hang on and do her best to keep the train from runninâ off the tracks. But try to remember from time to time that weâre all on your side.â
Now, normally these days, if someone said something like this to Carry it would result in a blowup so extreme I would have been looking for cover. This new Carry, the one I really didnât care for so much, didnât like having anything explained to her that even slightly smelled like parental advice. I think I even flinched halfway through Uncle Henryâs little speech, waiting for the knife and fork in front of my sister to come flying across the room like poisoned arrows, but Carry surprised me this time. Her eyes did narrow when he finished talking, and she was obviously thinking something over, but it turned out to not have anything to do with throwing a fit. She just nodded back to him, the edges of her lips nearly even raising enough to qualify as a smile, and said, âThanks, Uncle Henry. Iâll try to remember that.â
Uncle Henry gave her a wink. âThanks, sugarplum.â He went around to where she was sitting and squatted down beside her. âYou got a kiss for your Uncle Henry under all that angst?â
Now she did smile and gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek the same way my mother had.
âHow about you, young soldier?â Uncle Henry asked, coming around to where I was sitting with a mouthful of potatoes while my mother set a
Alaska Angelini, A. A. Dark