by Kim Johnson
Dean takes my hand, making his way to our front door. Everything tells me Dean and I should only be friends. That’s what I’ve convinced myself over the years, but what if I’ve been wrong?
Dean opens the door, and at first I think he’s leaving, but then he pushes toward me and I’m pinned between the door and him. This time Dean doesn’t move to kiss me first. I tug on his shirt, and that must be all that he needs before he kisses me again. This time he’s not as gentle. And I’m not as fragile. This time he holds nothing back, rushing to me in desperate kisses. My body shaking, grateful for the door holding me up.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like this,” Dean says in hot, stuttering breaths.
I kiss him deeper, knowing we should stop, but it’s not what I want. I want to feel better, without my brain in overdrive, thinking too hard about every situation, every reason I’ve told myself we can’t be a thing. We can’t happen. But each kiss tells me different.
When I’m confident he won’t disappear, I hold his face. His breathing heavy. Our lips slowing down and my mind catching up to my body that’s on fire. Aching not to stop and knowing I want to feel this good forever.
ONE DAY AT A TIME
I’m guessing I’m not the only one who doesn’t sleep. The house feels unsettled, creaking with each shift—toilet flushing, fridge opening, lights flicking on and off.
Finally, when I smell breakfast, I go downstairs. Corinne sips juice while Mama reads the paper. I scrunch up my nose, confused at Steve cooking.
“Morning, Mama.” I kiss her cheek, run my fingers over Corinne’s black coils.
“Steve’s making breakfast.” Corinne grins.
“I see that,” I say. “Don’t burn my bacon.”
Steve shakes his head.
I laugh because it’s the kind of thing I’d say to Jamal. It breaks the heaviness weighing in my chest.
No one outside our family has ever been caught cooking in our kitchen. I give Mama a puzzled look until I see the view out the window—a blackened char where the cross was set ablaze. The boarded-up window. Mama needs a break.
“Tracy, better hurry up,” Mama says. “We leaving soon. You coming with us? I can drop you off.”
“I’ll take Jamal’s car to school.” With everything going on, I need to be able to get around.
“You sure it’s safe to be alone? Steve’s riding with us, so we can all leave together.”
“It’s daylight; Beverly’s still here. I want to get the word out about the community meeting. I’ll meet you there after school.”
“I wanna go to the meeting,” Corinne says.
Mama’s face goes tight, like it’s not the time for this conversation. Downtown hasn’t been friendly, and if I was getting looks through town, being pushed around at school, Corinne must’ve been, too. Corinne’s been through a lot; the community meeting might scare her. Guilt sizzles through me because I didn’t think how things have been affecting Corinne.
“We’ll have a separate playroom for the kids. It’ll be fun,” Mama says.
“I guess it’ll be all right.” Corinne’s face droops.
“The meeting will be long. Lots of people talking,” I say. “I’ll fill you in, though. All the big highlights.”
“Yeah? That’d be nice.” Corinne gives a half smile, then takes a bite of food.
I know she’s trying to process all this. Just like when I was her age, eavesdropping on all the hushed conversations Mama had about Daddy. Corinne might be young, but she notices how when she enters a room it sucks our conversation dry about what’s happening. Jamal used to be the one to smooth things over.
Corinne was born after Daddy was sentenced, so she didn’t know what life was like with Daddy. But she did know with Jamal. He filled in in Daddy’s absence. A big brother to protect her. He made sure she could look up to him. At her school events, all her friends loved seeing Jamal. He’d race them at her playground. He never treated her dropoffs like a chore, not like me. Jamal was the string tying us all together. Making sure the hole wouldn’t be so empty that if Daddy came back it’d still be impossible for him to fill. Now I see that hole turn gaping. I hate that Corinne will have to carry that shadow behind her, those invisible chains that say who her daddy was. Who her brother was. I don’t want that to swallow her up, replacing her with somebody new. I just hope it’s someone with armor, not someone who can break. Not someone like Tasha or myself. But someone better.
I get up and grab paper to write a note to Corinne that I’ll slip in her lunch box, just like Jamal would if he was here and this went down.
Have a good day, Bighead. I love you.
I go back to the table to finish up breakfast. Mama sends Corinne upstairs to brush her teeth before they leave. Steve finally sits down.
“Have either of you heard from Jamal, since last night?” Steve asks.
There’s tension in the air. No one wanting to put the words out loud that we’ve been in touch with him at all. The trust that our house is sacred, gone. Mama’s eyes are wide, hopeful, but she lowers them when I don’t respond. Steve doesn’t know us well, but even he’s picked up that our family is tight. Jamal might be on the run, but he wouldn’t forget about us. He’d be worried if word got to him. I hope this means he’ll reach out.
I check my phone. Nothing.
“You think they’ll catch whoever did this last night?” I ask.
Steve takes a bite of food, then looks up. “Hopefully, when they question Richard Brighton, they’ll find out who he’s affiliated with. Could be more suspects to look into.”
“He’s family to them. You think much will come out of his arrest?”
“He was taken into custody for questioning. If he’s released after a break-in, we’ll know exactly what side the police are on.” Steve takes a sip of coffee.
“Why do you think they did this last night?” I ask.
Steve pauses, then looks at Mama. “Was James harassed when news came out he was going into business with Mark Davidson?”
“A bit,” Mama says. “It wasn’t easy fitting in a few months after we moved here and it became clear we were staying.”
“What kind of things were happening before the Davidsons were killed?”
I sit up straight. I don’t remember much about before, just everything that fell out after.
“Phone calls. Then hang-ups. Cold shoulders out in town. But nothing we weren’t used to,” Mama says.
“Was he worried about going into business with Mark Davidson?”
“James never worried about nothing.” Mama laughs. “He said the land was there to be built on, but people were too scared to buy it up. If he didn’t do it, someone else would eventually. When he explained it like that, what could I say?”
“James should have told me about this,” Steve says.
“Told you what?” Mama says. “If the murders had anything to do with the Klan, then they would have killed James, not Mark and his wife.”
All those visits, talking about the case, Daddy never mentioned any of this. I wonder what else he might be hiding. Steve stares at the boarded-up window, looking like he’s having the same thought.
Mama takes another bite and doesn’t say more. Then she grabs her plate to clean up.
“Come on now, Corinne, I got to get to work,” Mama yells up the stairs.
“Are you going to ask my daddy about this?” I ask Steve.
“I am.” His mouth is a thin line.
“Good,” I say.
“He might have kept things to himself to protect you all. You ever seen any harassment?”
“Just about the case,” I say. “People driving by, name-calling. But all things that were related to the trial.”
“There might not have been a need to bother you all once your dad was convicted.”
“But now…”
“Now your dad is represented by an organization known to help those wrongfully convicted. And there could be something bigger going on with your dad’s case.”
“Connected to my brother?”
“I don’t know about that. But you all weren’t visible, or a threat. Until—”
“The interview Jamal did. Then Angela being killed and you coming to town to work on my daddy’s case.”
Steve doesn’t respond. It only makes me worry more about Jamal. Steve clears his dishes, then meets Mama and Corinne by the door.
I stand up, pull out my phone, and log on to the community meeting invite. Refreshing the page for an update on attendance to the meeting, I hope that folks show. It’s one thing for people to say they’re planning on showing up, a whole other thing when the day comes. A piece of me wants to pray for Jamal to be there, hanging in the back of the room. But he can’t. With each day he’s farther and farther away—never more so than last night, when our sense of safety was stripped away by the sound of shattering glass, the flash of bright orange, and the flames waving among the shadows of a cross.
EAGLE HAS LANDED
I step out of the shower and get ready for school. As I do, I note a sound downstairs. I’m supposed to be alone, but the bones of the house scream: intruder.
At first, I wave it off to the house adjusting to the heat, but the creak repeats. I peek outside. Beverly’s patrol car is long gone.
The back door slams. I jump up, race outside. There’s movement by some bushes before the trail reaches the trees. My eyes skitter around cautiously so I don’t run blindly through the woods. I know my way around, but also how easy it is for someone to lie low in the shadows to catch me by surprise. Someone from the Brotherhood. Never mind that, hope that it’s Jamal propels me toward what might be an ambush.
On the run, the dry grass scratches at my ankles. I reach the trees; shadows and dark patches block my ability to see far. I enter, and ten steps in, I’m instantly engulfed, struggling to keep up with a person zigzagging through the woods.
A flash of a white shirt catches my attention. My throat tightens with fear, but I don’t slow down, moving so fast my feet barely touch the rough and cracked debris on the ground. My arms pump hard like Jamal taught me.
The crack of a branch breaking in the distance steers my movement. I follow the sound, pushing my fears aside. Allow nostalgia to fill me instead. We pounded across this grass so much as kids it stopped growing and created this trail. I’m at home out here.
Memories of hot summer days flood me. Times we knew our parents were out working and we could spend the day here. We’d break away through the trees, dipping and diving, running to an overgrown section. Make our way through the woods and eventually crash at an old shack with busted-out windows. It was high up on the trail and became our lookout spot to everything below.
I should’ve thought of it sooner.
Jamal.
Of course. The way this person is snaking through the woods, they’re running with precision.
Quincy said Jamal wouldn’t go far, but he never knew about this old place. It’s Jamal’s and my secret.
At the thought of finding Jamal, I run faster until I reach a break in the trees. The shack still stands. Neglected, with paint chipped away from years of rain, sun, and storms. The windows shaded by old, tattered pillowcases and bedsheets.
My breath goes heavy. Feet hollering, hot and burning, but not in as much pain as my aching heart for Jamal.
I look behind me, confirm I didn’t bring trouble for Jamal. All clear, I touch the shack. My fingers crumble the paint, wood splinters digging into my skin.
When I’m certain that I’m completely alone, I go around the back and peek through a side window.
The door handle is kicked in, so I enter.
I’m overwhelmed with stale, dusty air, years of the shack dying inside with no one there. I want to scream out Jamal’s name in victory, like we would as kids playing hide-and-go-seek with Corinne. I wish she were with me now.
My fingers touch along the yellowed, lined walls as I walk across the half-rotten floors that were damaged by a leak from the roof. I pass a kerosene lamp hanging on a rusty hook. The dust swept away, recently used. I notice a small table with newspapers, the dates as recent as a week ago. I steady my breath, heart beating fast, then go to the second door that’s ajar. You can tell the foundation’s cracked and the door can’t stay put. A Texas wind rushing under doors and through windows would be strong enough to open it. But I hope that was Jamal and not some storm.
With the light touch of a hand, I push the door and see the broad shoulders of someone sitting on the floor in a makeshift bed. His back is turned against me. Hands over his head, rubbing it, with his black-and-red headphones he’s taped the cord to stay in place.
Typical Jamal, in his own head—when the whole world is looking for him.
“Jamal.” I muster a whisper. The ache builds in the back of my throat.
I found him.
Since he’s been gone, it’s like he’s been a ghost. Swept up away from us, almost worse than Daddy being gone. Because at least we could see Daddy weekly.
Jamal tips one headphone off his ear and stays real still before he gets up to look out the window.
“Jamal.”
Jamal jumps and whirls, then studies me, and it’s like he sees a ghost, too. He flips his headphones all the way off, the cord dangling around his neck. I wait for his response. Anger. Happiness.
He leans in a bit like he’s had the music on so loud he doesn’t know if he’s missed something I said.
“Anyone follow you?” He looks past me, worried I’m not alone. I grip my fingers on the door handle, tense.
“No,” I say. “I don’t think so. You were so far ahead. I checked. No one else was in sight.”
“Well?” Jamal opens his arms wide, then lets a big old smile out. He looks like Daddy.
I run to his arms, and they wrap around me. The rush from finding him settles inside me. Survival. Always in survival mode, keeping on the move, so the impact of real life doesn’t leave me paralyzed. All so a moment like this can crash into me. It practically knocks me over.
“You been here this whole time?”
“Only this week, since the house detail stopped, and I knew they’d stop checking the woods. I couldn’t stay at Quincy’s, so I kept out in the fields by the highway, got supplies at the convenience store that’s busy off the 55. I got the paper there to see what the cops were saying and see what I needed to do to prove my innocence. When my photo kept hitting the front page, I knew I needed to lay low.”
I study him, his eyes sunken in. He’s been gone fifteen days now, but it feels like so much longer.
“How’d you find me? I was in the woods before you even left the gate.”
Jamal’s shoulders relax as he lets go of me and goes to the window, moving the makeshift curtain slightly open to peek out again.
“I wanted to catch a closer sight of who ran from the house. You scared the hell out of me.”
He gives me a look but must know better than to give me a hard time. He left us.
“You ran in the woods like you were born out there. All I could think about was us racing up here. I knew it had to be you.”
Jamal closes the curtains and takes a seat on an old blanket I recognize from our attic. I move a book out of the way and sit beside him.
“I heard the fire truck last night, then saw the flames. I almost came home until I saw the patrol car.”
“It was Beverly,” I say. “She was watching out for us last night. Why’d you come this morning?”
“Thought you were long gone to school, left with Mama. I had to see for myself what happened. Charge my phone so I could reach you.” He lifts up his burner.
“I’ve been blowing up your phone,” I say.
“Battery drained. After your texts about the photos and the march, I started searching for motives. How it connects to Angela going to the Pike.”
“Thought you were hurt or ignoring me. You could’ve come home. I wouldn’t’ve ratted.”
“I couldn’t risk it. And Mama’s been staying up lately. I can see her light on every night.”
I nod. I’ve heard her pacing.
“How’s Ma? Corinne? I saw a lot of people outside, but not Corinne.”
“I took Corinne to her room so she wouldn’t have to see it.” I go over with Jamal what happened last night.
“Pops will be upset when he hears about this. You seen him lately? He ain’t mad, is he?”
Jamal’s eyes well. Leaving Mama, us, was a big deal for Jamal, and he would’ve never wanted to disappoint Daddy.
“Mama’s going to visit him before a community meeting I’m holding at the center.” I touch Jamal’s hand. “He’s not mad, Jamal. None of us are. We’re scared.”
Jamal looks away, wiping under his eyes.
“We got a lawyer. Innocence X, they answered my letters.”
“You serious?” Jamal grabs on to my arms. His face is pure joy. “I thought you were playing so I’d answer your texts and turn myself in.”
I feel that excitement inside me like I did in the beginning, before the cross burning.
“They’re filing paperwork for appeals. There’s so much to tell you.” I bite my lip, not sure where to begin.
“How close are they?” Jamal nervously rubs his fist.
“Closer than we’ve ever been.”
“That’s good, T. That’s real good. Daddy can be out, take care of Mama now.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. He’s drifting off away from us. Like he can let go now. It makes me angry.
“They could help you, too,” I whisper, because I don’t know how Steve can help without knowing the truth yet.
“Nah. They can’t help me. Not right now anyway. Pops’s time’s running out.”