Another Kind Of Hurricane Part 6

And where was everyone else?

- Zavion walked through the door that separated the living room from the kitchen. Ms. Cyn was in blue jeans and a t-s.h.i.+rt, her long gray dreadlocks tied back in a scarf, standing in front of a big cutting board.

"Do you need some help?" Zavion asked.

She whipped around so fast her hair slapped her in the face.

"Lordy, child!" she said. "You scared the living pee out of me!"

One of her dreadlocks had stuck to a piece of dough that was on her face, just hanging there, like it was glued on.

The skin around her eyes folded into wrinkle marks and she laughed.

"Did you have a good nap? No one had the heart to wake you."

No, thought Zavion. He didnt think hed ever sleep well again.

"What time is it?" he said.

"A little after two. You wanna take over making this bread?" Ms. Cyn asked. "Heres a secret." She leaned in toward Zavion. "I despise cooking." She said the word despise like it was two words. Deeee Spies. "And if Im going to let you be witness to the whole truth, Zavion, honey, I despise the very kitchen itself. There, I said it. Amen."

Zavion stood staring at the bread dough.

"It doesnt like me, but it wont bite you," she said. "Go on."

He wrapped his hands on either side of the dough. It was warm. He squeezed so it rose up.

"Push on it," said Ms. Cyn.

It was stiff. Zavion got up onto his knees on the stool in front of him so he could put his whole body into it.

"Thats right," said Ms. Cyn. She stood behind him and put her hands on his hands. "Now turn it, fold it, and push again. Its called kneading," she said. "And look at that. Youre hired."

Push the dough, then turn it, fold it, and then push again.

He grabbed the rhythm like it was a life preserver.

"How many times do I knead it?" said Zavion.

"Youll feel it get more elastic," said Ms. Cyn.

"How many times?" he asked again.

"Maybe forty or fifty times."

"Forty-five?"

"Yes, child. Forty-five." Ms. Cyn took Zavions shoulder and gently turned him toward her. "Do you know what youre doing right there?" she said. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ny. Zavion shook his head. "Youre making gluten."

"Whats gluten?"

"Its a protein that keeps the bread from falling apart." She looked like she was about to cry. "It also helps create little air pockets that let the dough rise on up."

Zavion liked the sound of that.

Ms. Cyn shook her head and clapped her hands. "Hows that gash on your leg healing?" she said. "May I?" She knelt down and pulled up his pant leg. "Nicely. Good."

The kitchen door opened.

Osprey walked in wearing high-heeled sandals, a scarf, and large, round sungla.s.ses. She was holding on to a leash attached to a watering can.

"Good morning to you! Good morning to you!" she sang. "Good morning, dear-" She paused and pulled her sungla.s.ses up onto her head. "Good morning, dear new boy who I forget the name of! Good morning to you!"

"Uh-its not morning," Zavion said.

"But thats how the song goes." Osprey pulled her sungla.s.ses to the edge of her nose and stared at Zavion. "Whats your name again?"

"Zavion."

"Well, Zavion, this is Flower." She pointed to the watering can. "You have a pet?" said Osprey. She did a somersault on the kitchen floor. "A dog?"

"No," said Zavion.

"I had a dog," said Osprey. She spun in circles around Zavions stool. "Im still teaching Flower how to do tricks, but my dog, Crow, he knew how to do all of them. He could roll over. He could sit with a piece of food on his nose and then flip it up in the air and eat it. He could play dead." Osprey was making Zavion dizzy. "Now hes dead all the time." She stopped spinning and flopped on the floor.

Ms. Cyn grabbed up Osprey and hugged her tight. "You hungry, little glamour girl?" She kissed each of the lenses on Ospreys sungla.s.ses. Osprey giggled.

The kitchen door opened again.

"Dinner would be ready sooner if your Grand-Auntie Cyn had done her job," said Enzo, leaning into the kitchen.

"h.e.l.lo to you too," said Ms. Cyn.

"Youd think the floor was made of snakes the way youre afraid to step foot in this kitchen here," said Enzo.

Zavion flinched. Water moccasins. In his kitchen.

"Now, you hush-" said Ms. Cyn.

"Come on outside and play with me, little angel girl," said Enzo.

Osprey wiggled her way out of Ms. Cyns arms. "I gotta go take Flower out to pee and then we can play," she said as she skipped out of the kitchen, dragging the watering can behind her.

- Push the dough, then turn it, fold it, and then push again.

Twenty-nine.

Thirty.

Thirty-one- - And then rain.

Pouring down hard.

Zavion jumped off his stool.

All of a sudden, when his heart beat, it hurt.

The pain was unbearable.

- Ms. Cyn rushed to his side.

She made a soft, clicking sound with her tongue against her teeth.

"It was just the sprayer on the kitchen sink," she whispered.

"Foolish of me."

This time she was crying.

- Papa came in as Zavion began to knead again.

"This is a regular diner, all these people coming and going," said Ms. Cyn. "h.e.l.lo, Ben."

"Any chance for some coffee?" Papa asked in his gravelly voice.

Ms. Cyn held up a mug. "Yah, Ben. Right here." She poured coffee from the metal carafe and handed it to him.

"Bless you," he said. "Move over, Zavion." Papa sat on the stool as Zavion pushed the cutting board and bread dough out of the way and hopped up onto the counter.

"We have to figure out where were going," said Papa.

Zavion sat the bread dough in his lap and squeezed it again. It rose up between his fingers like a mountain. He thought of Grandmother Mountain. Thats where they needed to be.

"We should go to a mountain."

Papa reached up to tousle Zavions hair.

"Hey, are you getting paint in my hair?" Zavion asked, ducking out of the way. Papa had a slash of green paint across his hand. Leave it to Papa to somehow find a canvas when everything else was lost. "So what about a mountain, Papa?" said Zavion. He wiggled his legs. He was going to have flour all over the seat of his pants.

"What about it?"

"Can we go there?" Zavion asked.

"What do you mean, there? Just find some mountain? And what-live in a cave?"

"Can we go to Grandmother Mountain? Like Mama promised?"

Zavion saw Papa flinch. It was a tiny movement, a small ripple under his eyes. "Im thinking well go move near Gabe."

"I dont know Gabe," Zavion said, his heart sinking. He had only ever met his uncle once.

"Well, its high time you did know him, then, dont you think?" Papa said.

"You almost done with the breads, honey?" Ms. Cyn winked at Zavion.

"Almost," he said.

"Youre making bread?" said Papa, raising his head.

"Hes good at it," said Ms. Cyn.

"He cooks at home too-or, uh-cooked." Papa paused. "Ill bet hes good at it. Let me get out of here so you can finish."

"But, Papa-"

"Zavions a responsible boy," said Ms. Cyn. She put a hand on Zavions shoulder as she said boy, like she was reminding Papa of something.

"Hes a good boy." Papa walked to the door. Then he turned back. "Well figure this out, Zav."

Zavion brushed flour off his pants and got back down onto the stool. He already had it figured out. They were going to Grandmother Mountain. That was the plan.

He kneaded the dough fourteen more times. There was that funny feeling again-like some creature crawling under his s.h.i.+rt. He pulled his hands out of the dough and scratched the base of his neck. "I think Im done," he said.

Ms. Cyn stretched a corner of the dough into a thin rectangle. "Perfect," she said. "See that? The thin sheet? See how it doesnt break? That means its ready to rise. Youre a natural. Now break the dough into two sections and shape them into rounds," said Ms. Cyn, handing Zavion a wooden paddle with a long handle. "Put them on this, okay? Then all you do is wait and let them rise."

Let them rise.

Zavion liked the sound of that.

chapter 16.

HENRY.

Henry sat at the base of the big pine tree behind his house. School was only just out, he figured, and he didnt want to go inside until Mom was back fom her errand.

Hed never cut before. Wayne had, and hed tried to get Henry to do it with him, but Henry had been too scared. Hed felt a funny feeling in his belly like he did on Valentines Day, the one holiday his dad sent him anything, a crazy-ton of candy that he always ate before breakfast. Just thinking about cutting made him feel that way, so he couldnt imagine what it would feel like to actually do it.