Lousiana Hotshot

you.”
    “Come on in, then.” Reluctantly, she opened the door and Talba entered. It was obvious Aunt Carrie felt the visit boded poorly.
    Talba didn’t know how to put her at ease, realized she didn’t know her aunt well anymore; since she was nine or ten she had seen her mostly as an extension of her mother. In truth, once La Jeanne and Talba were out of the toddler stage, the sisters hadn’t had much use for their offspring when they were together, preferring to chatter like squirrels with each other. What they talked about Talba hadn’t really noticed, except that one time when she was sure it was about her father.
    “Hey, Marcellus,” Talba said, thinking it polite to talk to the kid. “How ya doing, boy?”
    Marcellus took off as if chased by bears. She laughed. “Looks like he likes his grandma all to himself.”
    “You want a glass of tea, girl?”
    “Sure.” She followed her aunt into the kitchen, hoping they could sit at the small table there. For Talba’s money, the kitchen was the least oppressive room in the house. In addition to being full of junk— and dusty, greasy junk at that— Aunt Carrie’s house was dark, the curtains always drawn in an effort to keep the place as cool as possible, save money on air-conditioning.
    But the kitchen wasn’t bad. It was cluttered, two or three meals worth of dishes always piled on the counters, jars of strawberry preserves and peanut butter open with knives left in them; but at least dishes, by their nature, had to be washed now and then. Talba couldn’t understand how her mother, who ran such a tight ship, and her Aunt Carrie could possibly have come from the same family. They could both cook, though; she’d say that. You couldn’t tell one of them’s gumbo from the other’s; either could win prizes. Aunt Carrie had a pot of it on the stove now. She nodded at it. “La Jeanne coming for supper.”
    Without waiting to be asked, Talba sat down at the little plastic-covered table. Her aunt gave her the tea but didn’t sit, letting her know she wasn’t to settle in. She’d obviously made up her mind to get this over with as soon as possible. It was the worst atmosphere possible for Talba’s mission.
    “Well?” Aunt Carrie had her hands on her hips. “What is it, girl?”
    Suddenly, Talba’s feelings were mightily hurt. She felt her eyes start to water. Damn! This just wasn’t like her. She swallowed a few times. “I’m your niece. I thought it would be okay to visit.”
    The older woman softened and sat down. “It’s okay to visit.” She spoke a little more kindly. “It’s just fine. What ya got on ya mind?”
    “I just wanted to ask you something.”
    Her aunt nodded. “Well, go ahead, then.”
    Talba couldn’t think where to start. In the end, she blurted, “Why won’t anyone tell me anything about my father?”
    “What?” Her aunt’s face clouded. She stood up, furious. “That what you come for, girl?”
    Talba nodded and opened her mouth to speak again, explain, maybe, but Aunt Carrie wasn’t about to relinquish the floor.
    “You come in here, no call, no nothing, scaring me out of my wits, thinking something’s happened to my sister, then maybe Corey, even La Jeanne. Couldn’t figure out what kind of ugly thing you bringin’.” She stopped and shook her head. “Umm umm umm. And then you bring up ya
father.
That what you come here for?”
    “I don’t even know his name.” She heard herself whining like a three-year-old.
    “Girl, you be glad ya don’t know his name. Last thing ya want to know’s that man’s name!” Marcellus, alarmed by the excitement, came in crying, and grabbed his grandma’s leg. She picked him up and cooed at him. “It’s all right, baby. It’s all right now.”
    Talba thought,
Why isn’t she like that with me?
and remembered that once she had been. She felt herself going utterly out of control, letting go of the last thread of adulthood, regressing to about Marcellus’s age. “I don’t even know if my parents were married.”
    “That’s what’s eatin’ at you? Whether you a bastard or not? They was married, all right. Umm umm.” She shook her head, as if she wished she could change history. “Rue the day.”
    “No! That’s not it at all…”
    “What is it, then?”
    “It’s… I can’t put it into words. I just need to know, that’s all.” Suddenly she got righteous about it. “Don’t I have a right? What if I wanted to have a baby? Was he bipolar or