Olivia spins and spins around the living room and knocks over Frank’s cherry Kool-Aid. On my knees, I press paper towels into the red spot on the beige carpet.

“Hurry, hurry, Isabel,” Olivia cries, tearing more paper from the roll. My heart pounds fast as I try to make the stain disappear before Auntie Minerva returns from church. Frank is stretched out on the couch, staring at the spot.

“Frank, don’t just sit there,” I yell. He picks up the glass and takes it into the kitchen.

I’m on my seventh paper towel when Auntie Minerva opens the front door ten minutes early.

She sees the red stain and doesn’t even ask who. Olivia’s whimper gives her away. Auntie Minerva grabs her and shakes her like a rag doll.

“Stop!” I yell, pulling my sister from her. Auntie Minerva falls off balance and slides against the back of her plastic-covered couch until she reaches the floor. She lands with her legs spread wide, her hair loose from her tight bun. On the floor, rosary beads peek out from her purse.

Frank starts out of the kitchen, but when he sees Auntie, he freezes in the doorway.

“You children are ungrateful and ill-mannered,” Auntie Minerva says. “Wait until your father sees what you’ve done. Wait until he hears.” She narrows her eyes at me.

That night I don’t need to ask Tata when we will go home. Olivia asks instead.

“This Friday, after school,” he says. Then he pats her on the head and whispers, “Don’t cry over spilled milk.”

If I’d known all it would have taken was to spill cherry Kool-Aid on Auntie Minerva’s carpet, I’d have done it months ago. I’d have made a red trail from the front door of her living room through the back door of her kitchen.

“You must apologize to your auntie,” Tata tells me. My father is old-fashioned, with old-fashioned ways. That’s why I call him Tata while my friends call their fathers Dad. He’s from the old world. The world where young people tell their elders they’re sorry even when their elders are wrong.

So before bed, I say, “I’m sorry, Auntie Minerva, for being disrespectful.” My lips and tongue say the words while I decide if I’ll pack my underwear or my dresses first.

Return to Malesso

Today we leave Tamuning and return to our home in Malesso. Auntie Minerva kisses our cheeks before we hop into Tata’s truck.

“Remember your prayers,” she says. “Count your blessings each night.”

Tata offers her a fifty-dollar bill. She shakes her head and pushes his hand away. Tata holds the money out in front of her, but Auntie Minerva keeps protesting. Then as he starts to return it to his wallet, she snatches it. “I’ll give the money to the church and I’ll light a candle for you.”

Auntie Minerva’s hands grip my shoulders. “Isabel, you are the woman of the house now, the only mother Frank and Olivia will probably remember. Shameful to say.”