Page 111 of Black Castle

“Grand—ma?” The word sounds weird on her tongue. Maybe it would have come out naturally if she had come to visit after the wedding…or called a few times.

“Grand-daughter?” The woman mimics, not very impressed by Vivienne’s poor hospitality.

Vivienne glances behind Carla, then to her left and her right, expecting another woman with curly chestnut hair, hard brown eyes, and a pressed black suit to suddenly show up.

“I’ve been knocking for hours.” Carla’s Puerto Rican accent is evident and raw, unlike Isadora’s, which has faded over the years. “I was almost afraid there was no one at home.”

Carla seems to be struggling with a smile. And it looks like she would have probably smiled really warmly if her eyes didn’t fall on Vivienne’s plaid skirt which definitely, to her dislike, stops a good inch above her knees.

Carla is a deaconess back in Cape Verde. She hates things that don’t glorify God. A woman’s body is the temple of God, and they are told to not expose it too much. And Carla is a woman who takes that law very seriously.

“I uh, I didn’t know you were coming—”

“I didn’t think I would still be standing outside being interrogated after traveling hours across the ocean to come here.” She gently touches her permed hair, then drags her hand down her peach, blazer gown to smoothen out invisible wrinkles. “But here we are.”

Her calmer brown eyes, unlike Isadora’s vindictive ones, cut back to Vivienne, and she offers her the fakest of all smiles. But it’s still more welcoming and real than Isadora’s evil ones.

“Sorry,” Vivienne says softly, opening the door wide and stepping aside to usher her in. Rolling her eyes which appear rather cute to Vivienne, Carla sighs and takes a step in.

For some reason, Vivienne still expects to see Isadora hanging around somewhere, so she takes a step onto the porch and looks around. Maybe, very unrealistically, she is afraid to see her after almost killing her and running away. Maybe she feels guilty so she’s hiding.

“Will you please, bring in my bag, child?” Carla’s command echoes from the living room, sarcasm layered in the request.

Vivienne quickly discards her mission and hurries back to the threshold, grabbing Carla’s bag which turns out to weigh more than she presumes as it nearly drags her down.

“Have you thought of using the stroller, perhaps, child?” Vivienne doesn’t even have to look at Carla. From her condescending tone, she knows the woman is looking at her like she’s the most stupid girl she has ever met.

“Yeah, that. Thanks.” An embarrassing smile creeps up her lips as she pulls out the handle and drags the bag inside to her.

“Tea or coffee?” Vivienne asks after placing the bag next to where Carla sits daintily on the two-seater couch, glancing around cautiously as though she may very well be sitting on a pile of garbage.

Carla takes a deep breath. “Anyway, I don’t drink coffee.” Her judgemental eyes return to scanning Vivienne from head to toe, sharp gaze zeroing particularly on her plaid skirt. “You would know that if it ever crossed your mind that I existed.”

Vivienne’s mouth opens and snaps shut again. She has what she thinks would have been a great comeback. But if Carla is anything like Isadora, she knows she will go to school after a long holiday with busted lips and swollen eyes.

But seriously, is this woman sharing the same mental problem as her daughter? The first time she and Vivienne met was at the wedding. Carla stayed behind for a week after that. Yes, she did drag Vivienne to church and forced a Bible into her tiny hands, but they still weren’t that close. After Carla left, that was the last time Vivienne spoke to her. She never saw a missed call with Cape Verdean country code beside it to assume it could be Carla. So what the hell is she on?

“I apologize,” Vivienne says with the kindest smile. “I’ll um…I’ll get the tea.”

Carla murmurs something in Puerto Rican under her breath. Something that sounds really snarky and judgemental.

As she tries to make the tea, she wonders if she should ask her what exactly she is doing here.

She just needs closure. Nothing is making sense or adding up. Where is Isadora if her mother is here? Why is her mother here after how many years?

“Sugar?” she asks over the kitchen counter, a last-minute thought before she almost dumps a spoonful of sugar in the tea.

“No sugar, child,” Carla replies, rummaging through her handbag and fishing out a small, red and round object. “I have my sweetener.”

“Oh, okay.” Vivienne feels the need to slap a permanent smile on her face as she takes the tea to Carla. And to be honest, her cheeks are starting to hurt.

“May I know—”

“So, where is your mother?”

The strange word Carla uses to refer to Isadora takes Vivienne off-guard and she dramatically halts, her brows furrowed.

Mother?

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