“Oh, fuck,” I said, because I was the worst aunt in the world. He started crying.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Zee.”

“No. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” I got down on my knees and hugged him, wet pants and all. Then I backtracked to the hallway and grabbed his book bag. We got him cleaned up and into dry pants.

When we came out of the bathroom, Charlene was waiting in the hall.

“Is everything okay?” she said.

“Just a little accident. Could I get a plastic bag?”

Before I knew what she was going to do, she reached out and took Marcus’ wet pants from me. In her bare hand, like a woman who has raised boys.

“Let’s just run these through the washer.” I followed her down the hallway, with Marcus coming after me all hangdog. We passed Gentry at the kitchen counter with a whole row of knives laid out in front of him. Marcus stopped to look.

“Don’t you sharpen my knives down to nothing. If you’re feeling anxious, you sharpen your own knives,” Charlene said. “Gentry, are you hearing me?”

“I hear thee, my lady,” was his answer.

“If it’s too much trouble, we can go,” I said, once I was alone with her in the laundry room. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Do you have somewhere else to go?” She started the washer and pitched Marcus’ clothes in.

I had money for a motel room, but for how long? And what if I needed that money for something else?

“Not really,” I said.

“Well, I’d say that answers that.”

“I’m sorry.” I may not have peed my pants in her house, but I kind of felt that way.

“The words you’re looking for are thank you.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you.” I thought she’d said it to scold me, but she laughed and patted my shoulder.

“That was close. And you’re very welcome.”

In the kitchen, Gentry was sharpening knives while Marcus watched.

“Now that you’ve sharpened my knives, shall we cook dinner?” Charlene said.

“Gladly,” Gentry said.

“Can I help with something?” I said.

“Oh, no. He’ll have these knives so sharp you’d likely lose a finger. Besides, I cannot imagine he would permit the lady Zhorzha to dirty her hands with scullery work.”

“You can call me Zee. Everybody does.”

“Well, I have it from the lady’s mouth then.” Charlene leaned in close to me and fake whispered, “Most people actually call me Charlene, not Lady Charlene.”

Gentry made a few more swipes across the whetstone, until Charlene reached out and tapped her nail on the counter. He immediately laid the knife down and started scratching the back of his neck.

“We’re going to make some chicken stew. Do you like herbes de Provence, Marcus?”

“What is that?” I was glad he seemed interested in Gentry and his knives, because up til then he’d just looked sad and confused.

“Well, we cheat and put in some spices the people in Provence don’t use, but it’s a nice stew with chicken and potatoes. Do you like chicken and potatoes?”

Marcus nodded.

“Good. Why don’t you sit up here and have a snack while I wash vegetables?”

“What can I do to help?” I said, after I got Marcus seated on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

“Not a thing, hon. Do you want a Capri Sun?”

“Yes!” Marcus said.

“What about you, Zee?”

“Water’s fine for me.”

Charlene set three pouches on the countertop anyway. I put a straw in one for Marcus, one for Gentry, and then one for myself.

“I thought so,” she said. “You sit here and have a snack while Gentry tries to impress you.”

I took the stool next to Marcus, where Charlene had laid out a plate of cheese, lunch meat, and crackers.

Marcus and Gentry took a sip out of their straws, so I took one, too, trying not to smile like a dope. It was my favorite thing, that first night staying with a friend, when everything was new, and everyone was being polite, and I could sit there drinking my Capri Sun and wait for someone to feed me and give me a place to sleep. It was pathetic, but those were some of my happiest memories.

“Thou needst not tell me again. ’Twas of no matter the first time and groweth less so with each telling,” Gentry said, and he sounded pissed off.

“You can finish that conversation later,” Charlene said. “Right now, you have work to do.” She opened the fridge and handed Gentry an entire chicken wrapped in plastic.

He laid a couple of knives out next to the cutting board. Rearranged them. Nodded. Then he eviscerated that chicken. Took every bit of meat off the bones, and cubed it up. That went into a big skillet with oil to cook, while Gentry got out a clean cutting board and another set of knives. He started with onions and garlic, shucking them and dicing them to go in with the chicken.

Charlene stood at the sink washing vegetables: potatoes, carrots, peppers, zucchini, celery. Once she had a pile of potatoes accumulated, Gentry carried them to the counter. He peeled them with a paring knife, faster than my mother could with a peeler. Round and around, so that most of the peels came off in one piece. The carrots he stripped with the flat of the blade. He cored the peppers, took the ends off the zucchini and the celery.

“Go ahead, show off,” Charlene said.

Gentry lifted his head and smiled. He took the first potato and halved it, halved it again lengthwise, then cubed it. All in about five seconds. He went through the rest of the stuff like he was a goddamn Cuisinart, until there was an avalanche of vegetables on the counter. By then the chicken was cooked, and everything went into a big Crock-Pot with seasonings. If I was supposed to be impressed, I was. And convinced that Charlene was his real family. Miranda and her monsters may have been his biological mother and siblings, but they were strictly Taco Bell people.

“What did you think of that?” I asked Marcus, but he was sitting there like an owl.

“I see somebody who needs a nap,” Charlene said. “Actually, I see three somebodies who need naps. Gentry, get some sheets and help your lady make up the guest room.”

The phrase your lady made me uneasy, like I was there under false pretenses, but I was too tired to deal with any of it. I got Marcus by the hand and followed Gentry down the hallway to the guest room. He opened the closet and said, “Which thee liketh best? Blue or green?”