AUGUST 27, 2005
“Ladies and gentlemen, the designer of the year, Teresa Arielle Boone!”
The crowd went wild. Reesie was on the runway, and it was her own fashion show. Her shiny black hair was bone-straight and swinging, just like the short red skirt of her glittery spaghetti-strap dress. News cameras were flashing and digital cams were clicking. She was surrounded by models wearing the clothes she’d designed; Ayanna and Orlando were going crazy in the front row; and all the folks in the house were chanting her name.
“Reeee-see! Reee-see!” She was grinning and loving the excitement. The audience got louder. She blew them kisses.
“Reesie!” She looked out and saw her parents. She waved but then felt a funny sensation around her ankles. Water was lapping over her toes. She looked out at the people, and they were all gone. She was alone, and she was surrounded by water.
* * *
Reesie woke up shaking. It was always water in her dreams. She tossed and turned but couldn’t fall back to sleep. The sun hadn’t even started to glow behind the vertical blinds, but she was now wide-awake. She heard her parents’ voices.
Usually, when both of her parents left for work so early, they drank coffee and whispered while Reesie peacefully slept. Not this time. They were arguing, something that almost never happened. She pulled her knees up in the dark and sat against her pillows.
“And in every storm scare,” her mother said, “you get called in to work overtime, triple time.… What if we need you?”
In just four days the tropical storm that Junior had been so obsessed with had turned into a bona fide hurricane. Already Katrina had hit Florida like a monster, and the weather reports were screaming that she was headed right for the Gulf Coast, possibly New Orleans.
“Jeannie, be fair. I’m a police officer. It’s my job!”
“It doesn’t have to be.” Her mother lowered her voice.
Reesie leaned forward, straining to hear more. The kitchen cabinet doors and fridge slammed open and closed.
“You could retire right now. You and Reesie and I could go together, just for a few days, to get out of harm’s way.”
“It’s Reesie that I’m doing this for, Jeannie. You know that!”
“Shhh!” Mama hushed him.
There was a long pause. All Reesie could hear was the hum of the central air-conditioning unit outside her window. How was she in the middle of the drama? She wanted to know, but at the same time she didn’t.
This was supposed to be the perfect birthday weekend. She’d had it all planned: later this morning was her hair appointment, then Ayanna was coming over for a preview of the birthday outfit. Sunday would be her special dinner. And there would be her neighbor Miss Martine’s lip-smacking coconut cake. But now it seemed like the universe just wasn’t going to cooperate.
She heard chair legs scrape against the kitchen floor.
“Jeannie, baby, I know you worry over me and the job. I promise, soon as I bank a little bit more for Reesie’s college—”
“Lloyd, we’re okay with that!” her mother said.
So that was it. Reesie felt a little guilty, as if she were making trouble for her folks. Her mother went on, sounding calmer. “I’m just anxious. It’s everything they’re predicting about this storm.”
“Listen,” Daddy said, “if it eases your mind, I’ll call Pete on my way to the station and have him take Reesie back to Baton Rouge with them tomorrow. She can stay over with them a few days. Missin’ some school in the first weeks won’t set her back at all.”
“I guess…” Her mother’s voice trailed off.
Reesie settled back onto her sheets. Uncle Pete was her father’s brother. He was also her parraine—her godfather. He was really cool and really laid-back. So was his wife, Tee Charmaine. Staying with them would make it feel like her birthday lasted extra long.
“I’m just not convinced it’s gonna be that kind of dangerous, Jeannie. But I promise I’ll call Pete … and next week we’ll seriously talk retirement.” The front door clicked open. “Everything will be all right.”
“If you say so, Superman. Be safe out there,” Mama said.
“Yeah, I will. See ya, baby.” Daddy left.
Reesie pulled the covers up around her neck. “No more drama! No more drama!” she whispered to her pillow. Soon she was snoring.
When she woke up again, she blinked at the green numbers on her alarm clock. It was noon already, and she had a one-o’clock appointment at Bernice’s Beauty Nest and Nail Salon! There was no time to eat. No time for TV. She jumped out of bed and tossed on a white T and denim shorts.
A trip to Bernice’s could mean a couple of hours under the hair dryer, so she grabbed the backpack with her sketch pad and pencils in it and hurried out.
On the way, she thought about calling to tell Ayanna about her parents’ fight. Ayanna would say that parents never agreed on anything—relax. And it would take Ayanna an hour to say all that. Instead Reesie texted, HAIR@1. TALK L8R.
The street was calm and quiet, and the air was already muggy and uncomfortable. She walked faster, looking up. The sun was out, no clouds in sight. No sign of any storm of doom. It seemed like a perfectly normal summer day. But then she remembered the crazy dream she’d had—that scene had started out perfectly normal too.
“Don’t try and kick up on my birthday, Katrina!” she shouted out loud to the sky, not noticing until too late that Miss M, the same Miss Martine who was baking her birthday cake, was half hidden between the leaves of her giant tomato plants three houses away. She was frowning.
“Child, you better watch what you say!” Miss Martine bellowed, raising her bushy white eyebrows over her gold cat-eye glasses. She was wearing pink eye shadow and black eyeliner, and her ruby red lips were puckered with disapproval.
Reesie had nowhere to hide, so she waved.
Miss Martine had on her afternoon wig, a short and curly silver ’do with streaks of black. She wore store-bought hair and makeup like she was performing on a stage every night, but it was her desserts that were practically world famous. Peach cobblers, banana puddings, pies … and her cakes! Anybody in the Ninth Ward would tell you that Miss Martine Simon could just look at food and it would taste good. Her coconut cakes made it to every birthday, wedding, or picnic in the neighborhood.
Miss Martine shook a gardening spade as Reesie came closer to the edge of her yard.
“I know you think you’re grown, with your birthday coming up, becoming a teenager and all.”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am!”
“And I know Lloyd and Jeannie Boone didn’t raise you to play with the Lord like that!”
Reesie slowed down. “Miss Martine, I wasn’t—”
“Teresa Boone!”
Reesie halted completely to show respect. The glaring sun was beating down onto her head, making her scalp sweat. Her hair situation was getting desperate, and Miss Martine was winding up for a sermon!
Miss Martine snatched her glasses off for extra effect. “Child, don’t you know you’re blessed?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Reesie blinked at the bright reflection of the glittery beaded eyeglass chain.
“Tell your mother the cake will be ready around eight in the morning. And you better remember one more thing.… Don’t you go trying to give orders to the man upstairs!” Miss Martine turned away, carefully tying her tall tomato plants to sturdy wood stakes.
“I won’t!” Reesie answered automatically, and started walking again. Old people always took things totally the wrong way, she thought. Miss Martine must just be worried that her garden might be demolished by any strong winds. Reesie decided that maybe when she came home, she would offer to help.
Her cell phone buzzed to announce a text. She looked down quickly to read Orlando’s message: GT TXS L8R. CU.
Reesie wrinkled her nose. Going to Texas later. See you. What was he talking about? Uncle Jimmy’s Blue Moon Café was one of the hottest places in town. He never closed his business, not even on Christmas Day.
She quickly texted back: WHEN? But there was no immediate buzz with his answer. She didn’t have much time, but she needed to stop by Blue Moon to check this out. With any luck, Bernice was running late as usual. Kicking high and forgetting the heat, she sprinted three blocks and rounded a corner, bursting into the swinging door of Blue Moon. There was no bustling lunch crowd lined up at the register or elbowing up to the counter. Blue Moon, featured on Channel Three last month as the hottest neighborhood food joint, had exactly four customers.