For a few minutes, neither of us said a word. We just worked. Straightening and sweeping and dumping the tiny wooden wastebaskets that were remarkably full of empty pop cans, sample-sized potato chip bags, and, yikes! I hoped that wasn’t a used condom.

Next up was dusting and disinfecting the surfaces. She took the former and I took the latter.

Then I attempted to grease the conversational wheels.

“The parade was really good.”

She nodded. Kept dusting.

“Kinda weird how they added all those new parts, huh?” I tried again, as I used a rag to wipe down the desktop.

Nothing.

Well, this is fun. Okay, I’d switch gears. Move into the family angle. “I saw your sisters in the band.” That earned at least a glance up. I took this to be encouraging. “They’re really good.”

She laughed, but it was devoid of humor as she returned her dust cloth to the cart, grabbing the fresh bedding.

I was confused. “What? You don’t agree?”

Ayisha’s lips curled. “Oh, they’re awesome.” She tossed the top sheet and pillowcases onto the chair. “Always have been. Mom likes to say that she knew they’d be great musicians even before they were born. Though she thought they’d be singers. That’s why she named them Billie and Linda.”

I nodded along because I got the Billie Holiday reference. Though the Linda—

“Linda Martell,” she supplied, as she shook out the fitted sheet. “First Black woman to sing solo in front of the Grand Ole Opry. I don’t expect you to know. Most folks don’t. But Mom loved her.”

“I guess it’s kinda like destiny, huh? Them being into music.”

“Yep.” She started tucking the fitted sheet into place. “They’re gonna be little band superstars. As long as I’m around to stay after school and make them study while Mom’s at the office. And I get to tutor them until dinnertime because they’d rather play their stupid instruments than study and they’d probably fail otherwise. But that doesn’t matter to some people.”

She swiped the flat of her hand down the fitted sheet to smooth out the wrinkles with considerably more force than necessary. Her red-and-green nails were a blur.

“It doesn’t?” I placed the disinfectant bottle and old rag into the used bag that hung off the side of the cart.

“Nope.”

I crossed to help her get the fresh fitted sheet in place.

“Like who, for instance?” I asked casually. She stopped to stare at me and I felt the heat of discomfort creep up my neck. “Never mind,” I muttered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Another handful of moments passed before she clarified, “Like the admissions people at Oakengates.” The irritation in her voice was no longer an undertone. It was the tone.

“Oakengates?”

“That’s what I said. They just got accepted this morning.”