Free Color Blind by Sheila; Sobel Page B

stairs.
    “Kate?”
    “Yes?”
    “Nothing.”
    I followed her up the stairs. We said our good nights in the hallway and closed our doors.
    No longer ready to call it a night, I settled into my comfy chair, booted up my laptop and got to work. I typed in
Voodoo
and came up with 13,200,000 results. Even Wikipedia had a gazillion different categories to choose from. I needed to narrow my search parameters.
Where should I begin?
Scrolling down through the first page of choices, I came across “Louisiana Voodoo.” I opened the link and found that it, too, had subcategories, but not as many.
    Okay, let’s see what we have here. Basically, it’s a religion with West African roots brought to America by slaves; it is distinguished from other practices by the use of gris-gris bags and Voodoo dolls. I totally get that!
    What exactly is a gris-gris bag? I typed in
gris-gris bag
and found over sixty-five thousand results; one of the first links led to a book in my swag bag. Holy cow! Instructions for making a gris-gris bag! All I’d need was some red cloth or leather, herbs, charms, and maybe some bones.
Bones? What kind of bones? Where would I get bones and, hang on a minute, why am I even thinking about how to make one anyway? Okay, this is getting a little too weird.
    On overload, I closed the browser, shut down the computer, and got into a steaming hot shower to relax the knots in my neck. I generously sprinkled the lavender powder over my damp skin, slipped into an oversized tee shirt, and climbed into bed. My phone vibrated from an incoming text:
looking forward to tomorrow. M.
    I turned out the light and, with a smile on my face, fell into a deep and, thankfully, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Fourteen
    Startled awake by the phone’s alarm, I was groggy and grumpy and my tee shirt was wringing wet. I was nearing the end of my clean clothes and needed to do laundry, especially the sheets, which still smelled like Gumbo. I checked my phone for e-mails. Along with the usual junk mail, there was one from Sam letting me know it would take longer to settle my dad’s estate than he originally thought. He asked if I needed anything.
How touching.
I wanted to send him a howler screaming,
“Yes, I need something! I need my life to go back to normal!”
But normal was never going to happen. I opted for polite:
Please send money and the rest of my clothes. Thanks for checking. A.
    I needed to get ready or I’d be late for Miles. I raced through my morning routine, which now included a generous sprinkling of lavender-scented dusting powder, and headed to the kitchen. Kate wasn’t there, but she’d left another note on the fridge:
    Needed to run out, help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast. Wasn’t sure what you & Miles had planned for lunch. I packed some food and a thermos of iced coffee for you, just in case. Have fun. K.
    Armed with juice and a muffin, I went outside to have breakfast. Kate was working at making me feel welcome, even though my arrival in her life was an unwelcome surprise. I was grateful to have some time alone this morning.
Alone.
That’s what I was now. Raising my eyes to the sky, I wanted to scream,
“How could you do this to me, Dad? Leave me like this? You were my rock. You were always there for me. What am I supposed to do now? Get on with my life? How’s that supposed to work? YOU never had a ‘what if’ plan in case of emergency. YOU had to go and have not only an emergency, but a FATAL emergency. It’s no longer ‘what if’ but ‘what now?’”
    I refused to cry, I was too pissed. I sat in the courtyard, agitated to the max. When the doorbell punctured my unhappy reverie, I realized I’d been wallowing in self-pity for so long, I’d lost track of time. Miles was here.
    I ducked into the powder room for a quick once over in the mirror. I didn’t look nearly as damaged as I felt. I plastered on a happy face and got ready for the day ahead.
    “Mornin’!” said Miles.
    “Good morning.