Lorraine yawned and reconsidered her options again. She could either return to the empty parking lot, where a fight between older - much older - guys was happening, or she could stay at the hot bench of the busy street where her mom chose to enter a bank and leave her waiting. She looked around but found nothing amusing - people hurrying about dressed according to no style in particular, cars moving slowly through the traffic, their exhaust filling the air. This was nothing like Paris, where they went on vacation the previous summer, or the European cities which they visited in the summers before that one. Why did Mom choose to waste her free days on visiting some Aunt Alice, really?
Another few minutes passed, and Lorraine decided to take a risk. She ran through the narrow space between two stores and started tiptoeing along the wall of some huge office building.
Suddenly, she froze. From behind the corner, a skinny boy in one flip-flop appeared, followed by a taller, more muscular guy at his heels. Lorraine recognized them - they seemed to be in the same group when fighting before, and even though she had watched it from afar, she realized how strong the tall one's fists were. Not that she feared that they would get after a nine-year-old girl like her, but some instinct warned her to press herself against the hot brick wall and stay silent. They never noticed her, however, soon disappearing in the direction opposite of from which Lorraine came.
Lorraine knew that they had one other companion, whom she perceived to be even older because he had a mustache, and theit opponents were a slender boy in flared jeans and a girl who, despite the heat, was wearing a sweater. Unable to hold her wondering of what happened to others, Lorraine came over to look.
The mustache-faced guy's shoulders were held by an adult man, who looked so similar to the fighter that Lorraine decided he was his father. His severe glance became warmer as he turned away from his son towards the the boy in flared jeans who could now also be identified by several cuts, bruises, and a bleeding nose, the girl in the sweater who managed to get many less injuries (these fighters must have been gentlemen, Lorraine concluded), and yet another boy in glasses of around Lorraine's age, who was on the verge of crying. The boy in flared jeans was panting and checking all his pockets, probably in search of a napkin. The girl in the sweater patted the head of the younger boy, saying, "It's all right, George. You were right to get help. We won't be mad. It's all right."
The adult man's eyes widened as he recognized the boy in flared jeans.
"Eugene Jameson? Alexander Allen's nephew?" he exclaimed, and the boy in flared jeans nodded, causing the adult to turn back to his son. "Not only were you fighting three against two, Bill, but you're fighting some of my acquaintances' relations! Do you even think of your father's reputation?" Then turning back to Eugene and pointing at the girl in the sweater, he asked, "And that is --?"
Eugene turned back to make sure he understood about whom Bill's father was asking, and, turning back to him, answered: "That's my sister."
Lorraine jumped.
Bill's father stared at Eugene in surprise.
Bill smirked, as if to say, "Not so reputable they are, huh?"
There was no way the girl in the sweater could be Eugene's sister. Okay, it was possible... maybe. But very slightly possible. Eugene had straight and dirty blond hair and a pointed chin, while the girl in the sweater had a more rounded face, and her hair was black and extremely curly. (1)
"Maybe he means his stepsister?" Lorraine thought. That was much more credible.
"Do you mean your stepsister?" Bill's father asked.
"No, my sworn sister," Eugene answered. The girl in the sweater straightened, and Eugene put his arm onto her shoulder. "Charlotte Rollings is my sister. We just don't have the same parents."
"And what in the world does that mean?" Lorraine thought. Bill's father, however, wasn't bold enough to ask his question.
In fact, Lorraine didn't know what he asked next because she suddenly realized that her mom might leave the bank any minute and become very concerned upon discovering her absense. She looked around, making sure that the other fighters weren't in sight, and ran back to the busy street. She got there just in time; in less than a few seconds, her mom, a woman in a formal skirt and square glasses, came out and waved.
"Can we go to a restaurant now?" Lorraine asked happily. Her mom shook her head slightly. "Maybe to a cafe?" Lorraine asked in a more pleading tone.
"There's no need, honey. Aunt Alice will be happy to feed us when we come over."
"Why did we come here in the first place?" Lorraine moaned. "We had all the money. Why not go to, uh..." she struggled to come up with a city they had never yet visited. "Moscow?"
Lorraine's mother tried to make her reply strict but was still uneasy about it.
"Sunshine Hills is my hometown, Lorraine. I wouldn't say I only have happy memories from it... but there's something I need to find out here, alright? I would've let you stay home, but you pleaded me to take you along. Plus, I haven't seen my cousin Alice in ages... Plus, Dad couldn't take a break from his job right now... It just had to be this place this time. So enjoy what you can here, alright? Honey?"
"Al-right," Lorraine sighed as dramatically as possible. What was there to enjoy? The dull buildings? The fights? More weird brotherhood confessions?
***
Aunt Alice lived in a two-floored, three-bedroom townhouse, and served the meal in the kitchen. As her plate was put in front of her, Lorraine gazed dreamily at the lavish mansions behind a wooden fence seen from the kitchen window. It Aunt Alice lived there, she would have something to brag about upon her return.
The soup distributed at the table hardly had any taste at all compared to what Lorraine usually got on vacations with her parents. It reminded her of some of Irma's culinary fantasies when Irma suddenly decided to cook meals as cheaply and as naturally as possible, without adding any spices or even salt. Irma was Lorraine's eighteen-year-old next-door neighbor and often served as Lorraine's underpaid babysitter. There were two reasons why she was underpaid, the first one being that Lorraine's parents had such long shifts that they wouldn't be able to afford so many hours of Irma's work, and the second being that Irma genuinely enjoyed spending time with Lorraine.
The girl surveyed those at the table. To her right was her mom, chatting energetically with Aunt Alice who sat across from her. Aunt Alice could be considered beautiful with all the curls falling onto her shoulders, but Lorraine noticed that despite her smile, her glance was attentive and strict. Aunt Alice's husband Uncle Alex sat at the shorter side of the table, proudly showing off his tie and pretending to be bored, even though at times, he couldn't help showing eager interest in the conversation. Across from Lorraine sat Aunt Alice's sixteen-year-old son Dylan who, probably despite his formally dressed parents' request, sat down for dinner while wearing a T-shirt, shorts, and athletic socks. He was the first one to finish his meal and now leaned back drowsily, likely waiting for an offer of seconds.
Lorraine sighed and threw another glance at the mansions, when suddenly, she saw something appear over the fence: first, a hand with multiple band-aids, then a pointed face, all followed by a leg in flared jeans. Climbing over the fence was Eugene Jameson whom Lorraine saw earlier at the parking lot. He then helped three girls over the obstacle. One of the girls was his said sister Charlotte Rollings.
"Maybe Bill's gang was right about beating them up," Lorraine thought, "if they trespass as if it's nothing."
She decided to keep an eye on them, reflecting that it was almost like watching a movie. To her surprise, this real-life movie decided to help her stay entertained by coming closer to her. More specifically, Eugene ran over to the kitchen door and turned the handle. All eyes fixed on him as he entered, followed by his companions, and stopped abruptly at noticing some unfamiliar faces.
"Joanne," Aunt Alice hurried to introduce the newcomer to Lorraine's mom, "this is my nephew Eugene. He lives with us, as I told you. Eugene, this is your aunt Joanne and her daughter Lorraine." Lorraine turned away, trying to seem uninterested, but it was impossible because Aunt Alice asked Eugene to introduce his friends and Lorraine wondered whether he would present Charlotte as his sister again. And sure enough --
"This is Margaret," Eugene pointed to a new girl with braids and a smartphone sparkling from her blouse's pocket. "Her friend Martha," the new girl pointed at had a hairband and stayed behind everyone else uneasily. Lorraine held her breath. "And that's Charlotte. She's my sister. Sworn sister," he added quickly before anyone could ask a question.
"We just stopped by for a glass of water and to get something for Margaret," Charlotte explained, smiling widely. Eugene tried to catch Aunt Alice's eye for a couple of seconds, but she restarted the conversation with Lorraine's mom. Eugene's face paled, but he tried to not show his anxiety and, upon crossing the kitchen, went upstairs. Charlotte chatted merrily with Margaret and Martha in a whisper while pouring them some water from a jug, but by the concerned look she exchanged with Eugene as he was about to leave the room, Lorraine understood that the "sister" was faking her mood.
Aunt Alice's phone rang. She excused herself and answered it.
Her son Dylan, tired of waiting, put some salad on his plate and resumed eating.
"Yes, hello, Mr. Brown," she said. Then a couple of okays followed, and with each one, Aunt Alice became more anxious. She finally hung up and returned to the table, forcing a smile and restarting the conversation.
Eugene returned, shaking slightly and trying to avoid Aunt Alice's drilling glance. He brought a sweatshirt with him.
"Here you go. Stay warm," he said, giving it to Margaret with a wink. Aunt Alice, Uncle Alex, Dylan, Lorraine, and even Lorraine's mom turned to them for a second, startled. "Kinda cold out, no?" Eugene said, shrugging and ignoring Margaret wiping the sweat from her forehead and Martha fanning herself with her hand.
"So what were you saying, Joanne?," said Aunt Alice, trying to pretend nothing happened. "Did you mention you had a husband in this area, and that things didn't turn out well? Is that why you left so suddenly?"
"Yes, Alice, that's the reason," Lorraine's mother sighed. "We had a daughter, but then he divorced me and legally stole her away. I never figured out what became of her."
"How terrible!" Aunt Alice exclaimed perhaps with a little less feeling than she would under normal circumstances - that is, if the phone call didn't trouble her to the point where the stories from a distant past didn't matter anymore.
"Yes, he was a wicked man. A typical guy from first sight, though. A usual name, too - John Rollings..."
Everyone stared at Lorraine's mom now. In the complete silence, Dylan's fork hitting the floor sounded like an explosion, especially accompanied by Charlotte Rollings's "Seriously?".
Lorraine looked at Eugene, whose paleness could now compete with that of the whitewashed kitchen walls. He swayed for a couple of seconds and then fell just as Charlotte's amused face turned to him and she said, "Wow, right?"
In another couple of seconds, Lorraine's mom, who worked as a nurse, rushed towards the unconscious Eugene as Margaret grabbed Martha's hand and ran out the door with her.
"Wow. Right," Lorraine thought. This was now way more exciting than a movie and could pass as a good adult TV show (Lorraine had never seen one, but she imagined adult TV shows to be just as thrilling).
Little did she know that she would soon become one of this show's characters.
(1)A note about Charlotte: the fact that she's African American according to the description and on the illustrations has **no point whatsoever** besides the confusion it causes when she and Eugene introduce each other as siblings. It could be the reverse, with Eugene being African American and her being white. They could simply look way too different to be presumed to be siblings. This novel is NOT going to talk about race/ racial conflicts, partly because I don't know enough on the topic and mostly because I'm focusing on other issues here.
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