Kammi comes running. “Mrs. Bindas is at the door. I’ll go let her in.” She disappears again before Mother can say anything. Did Saco or Mayur come with Mrs. Bindas?
“Why is she here?” Mother mutters to herself.
“Maybe for your saltwater taffy recipe. I told her how everyone brings back saltwater taffy from their beach vacations. But homemade is best.” I’m lying, but Mother can’t tell for sure. After all, Mrs. Bindas did say she wanted the party to be like an American Fourth of July, though it was only June, still June.
Kammi escorts Mrs. Bindas to the deck.
“Please don’t disturb,” Mrs. Bindas says, waving Mother back into her chair. Mother had hardly moved. “I am early, but I couldn’t wait.”
“I’ll bring you some tea,” Kammi says.
Mrs. Bindas watches Kammi dash away again. “Such a lovely girl. It is happiness, such a girl.” Her eyes linger on the doorway.
A stiff smile settles itself on Mother’s face. So practiced.
“Thank you again for the cookout,” Mother says. “The girls—and I—had a wonderful time.”
“Especially at the end. Kammi loved the night swim,” I say. Mother’s smile falters.
Mrs. Bindas doesn’t stop beaming. “We are being so happy. Very sorry, though, for Mayur about the swimming. There was no cause to worry us all. Boys, you know.” I try to imagine Mayur being sorry for anything.
Kammi eases the French door open with her foot. She’s chosen to serve tea in the Dutch owner’s expensive china, the set that’s stored behind glass-door cabinets. It’s nicer than the everyday set Mother’s using. The bright cup, the color of yellow-winged parrots, reminds me of Mrs. Bindas herself, the way the folds of her sari drape like layered bird feathers.
Mrs. Bindas claps her hands together, then presses them to her cheeks, as if to cool them, as if Kammi has overwhelmed her. “What beautiful china. Truly Dutch, antique. I’ve seen the pattern in collectors’ catalogs. Thank you, my dear.”
Kammi grins and settles herself on the deck chair, turning it to be part of the circle.
With miniature silver tongs, Mrs. Bindas grasps sugar cubes one at a time, dropping a total of three into her cup, and adds a splash of cream. She stirs with the tiny spoon Kammi tucked on the saucer. The art of arrangement: Kammi has the gift, too, like Mother. But Kammi’s seems real. Not practiced.
How can Kammi be so open when she is the stranger here?
“You must be very tired, from hosting the cookout.” Mother hints that Mrs. Bindas shouldn’t stay long.
“The servants, they do most of the work. Having friends and family visit, it is no chore.” Mrs. Bindas sips tea, her bejeweled fingers glimmering in the morning sun that’s crept onto the deck, chasing the shade away. Soon, the only shadows will be underneath the deck.
Mother slips her sunglasses from atop her head onto her nose. Shields in place, like some force field in a science fiction movie. Waiting to hear why Mrs. Bindas has come.
I squint at the sea again, watching the sparkling water, the play of light over color.
“Last night, after the girls left, Mayur and his cousins, they had the best idea.” Mrs. Bindas sips more tea. So here comes the reason for her visit.
Mother presses her sunglasses against the bridge of her nose. Maybe she’s getting another headache.
Kammi nudges my foot. She grins when I look her way.
I betray nothing. No reaction for Mother to study. But I am curious. Maybe there is a way to find out more from Mayur.
“The boys are going to hike Mount Christoffel. Next Saturday morning, very early. While the air is still cool. They suggested inviting Cyan and Kammi. Dr. Bindas and I think this is a splendid idea.”
“A hike?” On the surface, Mother’s voice gives nothing away, but I hear her undertone of disapproval.
“Oh, the girls, they will be very safe.” Mrs. Bindas places her cup and saucer on the table delicately. “Dr. Bindas, he will go along. They’ll take a, how do you say? A picnic lunch.”
“A picnic? Oh, that’s sounds fun,” Kammi says, looking at Mother, probably trying to read her behind her glasses.
“Not too rigorous?” Mother asks.
Mrs. Bindas titters. “No, of course not. They will park at the closest place to hike up. Only two hours. Mayur would not ask the girls on a too-hard hike.” Mrs. Bindas doesn’t say anything more about the beach party, about the boys going into the surf at night and Kammi following them in. Or about the adults’ reaction.
“Who’s going?”
“Mayur, of course. His cousins Saco and Roberto. And his friend Loco. They were all at the cookout.”