After a much-needed shower to wash away the burden of travel, Enola slipped on a flowing halter dress, praying that a cool breeze would slip under the skirt. It could get very hot in Chicago, but in the south, it felt as if a heat blanket was placed over her. Her choice of dresses had absolutely nothing to do with fashion. It was all about comfort. The canary yellow halter was tied around her neck, eliminating the need for a bra. As if that wasn't enough, Enola was seriously debating whether or not to wear panties. But the thought of a hot, sweaty vag convinced her to slip on pair. Not to mention, Nola was about to see her grandmother, and she wasn’t going to go in commando.

Fuck! It’s hot in Louisiana!

Enola slip her feet into some golden flip flops and pulled her thick, wavy hair into a bun on the top of her head. She used a brush to sculpt her sideburns, and applied clear lip gloss. Enola wasn't much for makeup. She’d watched a few YouTube videos, trying to learn how to shape her eyebrows, but she was just no good at it. So, she stuck with eyeliner and lip gloss, telling herself that if anyone had to rely on a lot of makeup, they were just ugly.

Enola tossed the lip gloss on the vanity and walked out on the balcony. She inhaled the southern air, and stared out at the plantation.

So much history.

Not just her childhood, but the childhood of who knows how many enslaved children. She took solace in the fact that no other child would be exploited on those lands. She was proud that her ancestors were able to take a place that had been filled with such pain and sorrow, and fill it with hope, pride, and prosperity. And to top off that warm feeling of peace and security, there was a nice breeze that breached her flowing skirt.

Eager to see her beloved grandmother, Enola abandoned the balcony and headed out of her bedroom. She walked the hall until she reached another set of stairs, ascended the staircase, and headed to her grandmother’s room. Once outside the door, Enola stalled. She didn't know whether to knock or just walk in, but the sound of Marie’s voice made the choice for her.

“Come in, Cheri.”

Without questioning how her grandmother knew that she was there, Enola entered the room. Marie’s intuition was something she’d become accustomed to. Her grandmother’s bedroom was grand, larger than her living room back in Chicago, and painted with the most vivid red, with accents of gold. She had a massive poster bed with a beautifully golden canopy.

As Enola approached her grandmother, it was like seeing her mother again. She knew that the woman was old, but her appearance was no indication. Grand-mere Marie was beautiful. She had long hair that was still dark with no signs of graying. Her caramel skin had paled a bit, but seemed to still glow. The family trait of hazel, almost golden eyes were staring at her.

“Nola, mon amour, you are a vision. The spitting image of my belle fille.”

Her voice was smooth like silk, soothing Enola as it had when she was a child. Tears escaped before Enola could stop them. The thought of losing her beloved grandmother was too much to bear.

Enola sat on the side of the bed and placed her hand on her grandmother’s soft, warm cheek. “Hey, Gran. How are you feeling?”

“I can't complain, and it wouldn't matter if I did, cuz ain’t nobody listenin’.”

Enola chucked. “I hear you.”

Marie’s expression turned sorrowful. “I don't have long, Nola. I’m glad you were able to get here in time.”

“Gran, please don't say things like that.”

“Listen to me, Nola. There is so much that you need to learn, and so little time. The time has come for you to take your rightful place.”

Enola knitted her eyebrows and studied her grandmother, attempting to gauge her mental state, praying that she hadn't gone senile.

“Gran, what are you talking about? My rightful place? What does that mean?”

Marie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Enola admired her grandmother’s flawless complexion. Not one wrinkle marred her smooth skin.

Marie opened her eyes and focused them on Enola with renewed determination. “Not now, child. We’ll talk tomorrow. Go. Marguerite is waiting for you. Tonight, you’ll enjoy the quarter.”

Enola blinked, more confused than ever. “Marguerite?”

“She’s waiting for you, chérie.”

Enola was not surprised by her grandmother’s prediction. She had always been remarkably intuitive. There was no doubt in Enola’s mind that Margo was, indeed, waiting for her. She was relieved that her grandmother’s mind was still intact.

Enola kissed her grandmother’s soft cheek and stood. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Gran.”

“Breakfast,” Marie confirmed with a nod. “Have fun, and don’t let that girl get you in trouble.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Enola chuckled as she turned to leave the room.

“Nola,” Marie called out.

Enola turned to find her grandmother smiling mischievously. “Yes?”

“On second thought, I think you could use a little trouble in your life.”

Enola laughed as she left the bedroom. If there was trouble to be had, Margo could definitely find it.

Enola walked down the long hall and down the staircase. Sure enough, Margo was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Heyyyy, cousin!” she screeched excitedly.

“Margo!”

Enola hurried down the stairs and pulled her cousin into her arms. As children, Margo was her partner in crime. She was only one year older, and they looked so much alike that people often asked if they were sisters.

Enola stepped back and surveyed her pretty cousin. She, of course, had the family trait; those hazel, almost amber, eyes. Her skin was golden and her body was bombshell voluptuous. Her long, auburn African locks were secured in a high bun, and her pink romper was cute and feminine.

“Margo, you look amazing.”

“Girl, I know. It’s soooo hard sometimes,” Margo joked, batting her lashes.

Enola rolled her eyes and chuckled.

“Seriously though, Nola, you looking pretty damn amazing yourself. You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Come on. Gran told you we were going to the quarter.”

Enola tilted her head and squinted at her cousin. “How the hell do you know what Gran told me?”

Margo smiled. “I’m gifted,” she responded, pulling Enola to the door.

“Wait, heffa! I ain’t got my purse.”

“Damn!” Margo huffed. “Hurry up!”