Page 2 of Beck & Coll

“And you’re sure this is the vacation you want to take?” My mother handled the pages I’d printed like they were contaminated.

“Why’re you holding them like they’re infected or something?” I took them from her hand.

“Was I holding them like that?” She reached up and scratched her scalp through the freshly laid sew-in on her head.

Even at fifty-six years old, Alisha Kingsley was a strikingly beautiful woman. And she had passed the good looks down to my sisters and me.

That was a thing with the Kingsley women.

We were all physically pretty. We didn’t have any problems attracting men, and our face cards never declined, but we damn sure had problems keeping a man.

The truth was that my mother was the fatherless daughter of a fatherless daughter of a fatherless daughter.

And for all intents and purposes, my sisters and I were fatherless daughters.

We were all Kingsleys—just like our mom, our grandmother, and our great-grandmother.

I often mused at the irony of us being a brood of women named Kingsley, who had no king.

“You were holding them like that,” I assured her. “So, this isn’t the kind of vacation you think I should take?”

“I wouldn’t.” She picked up the sheets of paper, detailing my vacation experiences from where I’d placed them on the table. “I wouldn’t say that. All of this… physical activity doesn’t give Black vacation , Coll. It gives… Caucasian adventure.”

I laughed.

“What happened to going to the D.R. and relaxing on the beach? What happened to cute little excursions to visit waterfalls and rock formations? What happened to cocktails poolside? Renting a cabana?”

“Nothing happened to it.” My shoulders hiked in a quick up and down motion as I shrugged. “I just want to do something different.”

“For your first vacation in twelve years? This sounds like work.” She shook the paper that talked about the opportunity for guided mountain hikes at me. “Who considers climbing a mountain relaxing?”

“Your second-born daughter.” I took the paper she was waving from her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Ma. I know you don’t get it.”

She caught my free hand in hers. “I get it, daughter. You’re mine. I get you. I know you’re my head-strong, do-it-yourself, baby. I know you like to prove to yourself that you can… do things. That you can complete tasks and achieve the goals you set for yourself. I just also want you to relax.”

“Being surrounded by nature will be relaxing for me. I’m not a beach person, Ma. Your other daughters are beach bums?—”

“Who are you calling a bum?” my older sister, Perkins, asked as she sashayed into the room.

Perkins was the first born—by default she was bossy and always thought she should know everybody’s business and have a say in how we lived our lives.

I was the second born, so I took Perkins’ ways in stride.

She and Bailey (the third born), on the other hand, constantly bumped heads.

The baby of the bunch, Church, was used to having four mothers, so she let all of us live and give her unsolicited advice and feedback.

She let us give it, but she rarely took it.

“Sand gets on my nerves,” I continued, ignoring Perkins’ interruption. “I prefer trees and mountains. I like lush greenery everywhere I look, not miles and miles of boring brown sand. I’m excited about this vacation.”

“You’re such a weirdo.” Perkins picked up the papers from where my mom had laid them on the table. “Fishing? Who the hell goes fishing on vacation?” She rolled her brown eyes. “Ugh, you’re such a damn boy.”

“Ya mama.”

“Hey, hey, now,” our mother protested.

“You see how your favorite daughter does you, Alisha?”

“I don’t have a favorite daughter, Perkins. Any one of you could be my favorite on any given day. As soon as I think I like one of y’all more than the others, you do something to piss me off. And I’m like, ‘nope, I’m not feeling that one today.’ Now what?”

Perkins waved her off with a gesture of her hand. “Whatever, lady. Collins and Church are your favorites.”

“Perkins, please shut up,” I told her. “If anybody is her favorite, it’s you, boo. She does more for you than she does for any of us, including Church.”

“She helps me with my kids,” Perkins insisted.

“And with your rent, your car note, your bills, and day care. She does more for you than she does for the rest of us. Just shut up and accept it.” I rolled my eyes before turning my attention back to our mother.

“Your oldest daughter is needy. She always has to be the center of attention. If you spend two seconds paying more attention to the rest of us, she accuses us of being the favorite.”

“Did you need something, Perkins?” our mom questioned.

“Nah.” Perkins took a seat at the table with us. “The kids are at school, so I’m just hangin’ out.” She turned her gaze on me. “When are you going on this… fishing vacation?”

“It’s not a fishing vacation. It’s an outdoor adventure vacation.”

“And you can’t have outdoor adventures in Jamaica or Cancun like the rest of us?”

I giggled. “I could… if that was my thing, but it’s not.”

“And fishing is your thing?”

I considered her question. “I don’t know if it is or not. That’s why I’m making arrangements to do it. My dad used to take me, but that was a long time ago.”

“Oh. Thank God my daddy ain’t into all that outdoorsy stuff.” Perkins took out her phone and started swiping.

“Anyway,” I said. “Fishing is the thing I’m least looking forward to. I’m more so looking forward to?—”

“You have all that money from your insurance payout, and you’re spending it on a trip only white folks see as fun?” Perkins tapped back into the conversation.

I ignored my sister.

Apparently, our mother peeped the expression on my face because both her eyes and her tone softened when she spoke.

“But the resort is fabulous, right? I mean, you have to do all of those… back-breaking activities, but at least when you get done hiking and biking and building campfires by rubbing two sticks together, you get to relax at a luxury resort, right?”

“Right. The resort is fabulous.”

I had not lied to my mother. The minute I picked up my rental from the airport and hit the expressway, I knew the resort would be fabulous.

Oregon in general was fabulous. It was fabulous with a beauty that was crafted by God Himself.

I could totally see why the white settlers who had wrestled the land from the hands of Indigenous people had quickly qualified it as “God’s country. ”

Based on my research before booking the trip, I was well aware that Oregon had a very problematic history as well as a serious lack of racial diversity.

I’d been simultaneously very surprised, delighted, and relieved to find a resort owned by African Americans.

I could hardly believe that I was not only able to find a resort owned and operated by Black people, but also that when they had suggested an adventure guide to accompany me on my excursions, it was their son, a Black man.

I grinned at the thought that I wouldn’t be made to feel like a fly floating in a glass of milk for ten days.

I exited the expressway in a city called Chinook Woods and followed a one-lane road deep into rural Oregon.

With the time difference between the Midwest and the Pacific Northwest, it was still early.

Though I’d left my hometown at eight in the morning, it wasn’t even noon in Oregon.

I read that the weather in the Pacific Northwest could be rainy and overcast, but the day was beautiful, and the sun was shining in its full glory.

Hip Hop from the ’90s played through the rented Subaru's speakers, and I sang loudly along with it, feeling any and all stress leave my body.

“I’m going to have a good time.” I counted those words as a promise I was making to myself.

“Even if it’s hard, even if I struggle, even if I want to give up—I’m going to count it a blessing that I get to be here and experience these things.

” A thought crossed my mind. “Lord, please don’t let me die on these white people’s mountain, in their forest, or in their water. Amen.”

After driving about another twenty minutes, I came into the small town of Jackson Falls, Oregon. I was greeted by a cheery sign that welcomed me to town and let me know that Jackson Falls was the home of the famous Manor at Sienna Sunset Resort .

I drove down the main street of town, taking in the little shops while oohing and ahhing over the town’s cuteness and quaintness.

Soon enough, I approached an impressive lawn that was dotted with trees that had been trimmed and pruned to be so round that they looked like they were out of a storybook.

The benches, flower gardens, and topiaries that lined each side of the roadway leading up to the main lodge helped build the illusion that you were driving into someplace magical that would transport you to a land of luxury and adventure.

After pulling up to the main lodge, which looked like a high-end log cabin on steroids, and having one attendant valet park my rental while a bellman tended to all of my bags, I was ushered into the lobby.

I chided myself for standing in the middle of the lobby with my mouth wide-open like I had never been anywhere nice.

I hadn’t ever been anywhere as nice as Manor at Sienna Sunset Resort , but I didn’t have to act brand new, so I snapped my mouth closed.