The Chaos by Nalo Hopkinson Read Free Book Online Page B

at him and Mom, I found myself shooting him a sympathetic look. He scowled and looked away.
    I took the stairs two at a time, until Dad ordered me to act more ladylike.
    Mom stood at the top of the stairs between her big red suitcase and Dad’s smaller navy one. She was going over something printed on a couple sheets of paper in her hand. She frowned at the list and shook her head. “I forgot to put down your aunt Maryssa’s number in case of any trouble.”
    “It’s in my cell phone, Mom. Don’t fret.”
    “Oh. Is it in Rich’s?” Mom had her hair done in that way I liked. She’d pulled it away from her forehead with a snug head wrap, leaving the soft mass of her nappy cloud of hair to poof out the back like a static explosion of pretty.
    “I don’t know.” My hair was a mixture of Mom’s and Dad’s; it was medium brown and fell in natural ringlets. Lotsof girls envied it. “Hey, isn’t Auntie Mryss really our cousin?”
    “Your dad’s cousin. So, your second cousin once removed, or something.” She hadn’t even looked up from double-checking her blessed list. She was wearing a sensible beige skirt, a plain, sensible cream blouse, with a sensible beige jacket. The wishy-washy beige did exactly that; washed the color from her deeper brown face.
    “Wouldn’t Dad’s cousin just be our second cousin?”
    “Whatever she is, just call her ‘Auntie,’ dear.”
    “Cecily,” Dad called from downstairs. “You wanted to get on the road before the worst of the traffic.”
    “I’m coming, I’m coming. Rich!”
    Almost all her clothes made her look gray. Like I did, when I dressed in the colors she picked out for me.
    Rich opened his bedroom door. He didn’t make eye contact with her, just came and lifted the bigger suitcase. I got the other one, and he and I thumped them down the stairs with Mom following behind, nattering at us. “I’ve made three copies of this list. You each get one, and I’ll put one on the fridge door.”
    “Yes, Mom,” Rich and I sang in unison.
    “Keep your list with you at all times. In your handbag, Scotch. Rich can put his in his wallet.”
    “Yes, Mom.”
    Dad was waiting in the hallway, leaning on his cane. He’d barely seen Rich before he snapped, “Richard, how you could make your little sister carry that heavy suitcase down the stairs all by herself?”
    Rich boggled at him. “But she can—”
    I cut in with, “Mom told me to—”
    Mom overruled us all. “Cutty, she’s a strapping young woman. Let her do some fetching and carrying. She’ll need to be strong in this life.” She sighed and plucked a coupleof envelopes from the letter slot on the hallway wall. Using the top of her big red suitcase as a table, she folded two of her precious lists into precise thirds and put each one in an envelope. She tucked the flaps inside and handed one to me and one to Rich. “Are you two sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
    Rich’s face hardened. “I was on my own in jail for three months.”
    Mom drew back a little, like he’d pushed her. “Rich, darling, I—”
    I gave him a play slap to the shoulder. “Hey! I came to see you!”
    He sighed. “Yeah, you did. You and Tafari.”
    Dad grunted, a bitter, one-note laugh. “You make your bed, you haffe lie in it. Bring those things out to the car.” He turned and limped toward the door.
    Mom said sadly, “I’ll just put this list on the fridge door.” She was darting her eyes everywhere, except in our direction. She bustled into the kitchen.
    Rich and I followed Dad outside to the car. Dad yanked on the lid of the trunk. It was locked. Mom had the key. “Chuh,” said Dad, frustrated. He used to like driving. Now, his leg wouldn’t let him. He leaned against the car, watching our front door for when Mum would come out. He didn’t say anything to us. He just stood there, a broad, medium-height white Jamaican man, grimly handsome with short, light brown hair going to gray. That old brown plaid jacket of his