“Hey, son,” he says to me. “Mind if I come in?”
I blink, taking in the fact that he’s really there. “For what?” I manage.
He breathes through his nose. “You said before that I never fill you in on anything. I think it’s time that I did.” His eyes shift past me. “Evening, Ms. Murphy.”
I turn and MiMi stands in the living room, holding on to a butter knife slathered with peanut butter. “What’s going on here?”
Hunter looks back at me, raises his eyebrows as a request to enter. I take a step back so he can come in, close the door behind him.
“We arrested your neighbor, Javon, tonight,” he says. He takes off his hat and holds it in his hands like an old-school gentleman.
Arrested Javon? I don’t get it. Javon was on the way to get me answers. He didn’t have time for any nonsense that could’ve gotten him pinched. “For what?” I ask.
“One of our patrolmen caught him speeding. When he pulled him over, Javon got mouthy, which led to him getting handsy with the officer. While restraining him, the officer found your sister’s phone on him. It was the missing link we needed to arrest him for Kenny’s murder.”
I shake my head. No. No, this isn’t right. Javon didn’t hurt Kenny. He told us himself.
“Wait, this is a huge misunderstanding.” Riley stands, speaking up for both of us. “Javon didn’t have Nic’s phone all this time. He found it tonight . . . on Pooch. Jay saw it all.”
“Wait—what?” MiMi frowns at me. “What were you doing hanging around Pooch or Javon? You were supposed to be working.”
“I’ll explain it all to you, MiMi. I promise.” I give her my best attempt at a reassuring nod before turning back to Hunter. “Riley’s right. I saw everything go down at Deer Park tonight.”
Hunter sighs and looks at me like he’s about to break the news that the Tooth Fairy isn’t real. “Did you actually see the phone on Clyde Thompson?”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about Pooch. I haven’t heard Pooch’s real name in a minute. No one around here ever felt the need to call him that. I think about the scuffle between Pooch and Javon. How Javon hovered over him with Nic’s phone already in his hand.
“I mean, no,” I say—then remember another piece of the puzzle. “But we saw him tracking Nic’s phone. That’s how we ended up at Deer Park. Javon couldn’t be in two places at one time.”
“Right, Deer Park,” Hunter repeats. “The place where you so conveniently found Mr. Thompson, a known frequent customer of Javon’s.” He shakes his head. “Mr. Thompson’s unemployed. No way he was able to pay for all that product he’s gotten from Javon’s boys. But pretend to hold on to Nic’s phone for him? That’ll be a way to clear up all debts.”
I scrub my forehead with the heel of my hand. Yeah, Pooch is pretty hard up. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that. He’d even run out behind cars pulling out of parking lots at the last minute just to embezzle a quick buck. Maybe taking a hardcore ass whooping from Javon to even the score wouldn’t be so out in left field for him. Then again, did I ever actually see Javon put his hands on Pooch? My back was turned—those sounds could’ve been anything. But still, something seems off.
“What about Sterling?” I try. “Javon was with her that night Kenny and Nic took off.”
“Of course, she’d say that. Those two have been secretly hooking up for months. One of her friends even told me she scored party favors off Javon for some of her get togethers. As long as she keeps Javon’s nose clean, hers will stay clean as well.”
I look over at Riley, wait to see if she has another rebuttal. But she stands there hugging herself with a slight crease in her forehead, looking like she’s solving a riddle in her mind.
“To make matters worse,” Officer Hunter continues, “word is that Kenny owed Javon money. He kept pocketing some after every deal. So, Kenny took off with Javon’s loot, as well as his girl. What do you think someone like Javon would do once he caught up with Kenny? I’m sorry, kid, but Javon played you.”
His words drop at my feet. I fight the urge to look down at them. I want Hunter to see me with my head held high—show him that I’m nobody’s fool. “Why would Javon care enough to play me?”
Hunter rubs his fingers across his eyebrow, almost massaging it. As if he’s trying to take his time before saying whatever it is he needs to say next. “Because . . . we have reason to believe that your sister is dead, and that Javon’s the one who killed her.”
There’s a shriek behind me—something primal and full of pain. I turn and MiMi’s crumpled on the floor, sobbing and slapping her palms against the carpet. I want to go to her. I want to peel my grandmother off the floor and hold her up while she cries. Rub her back and tell her we’ll get through this together. But my feet are cinder blocks. I couldn’t move them if I used every muscle in my body. I clutch my chest, try to feel for a heartbeat. And it’s there, pumping so hard it feels like it’s in a boxing match with my fist. It would stop, right? My heart wouldn’t be working this hard if my sister were dead.
Riley’s on the floor next to MiMi, rubbing her hair and shushing her. Officer Hunter crosses the living room to them.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Murphy. I really wish I had better news for you.” He bends over and rests a hand on her shoulder.
At that, my chest sets on fire. “Don’t touch her,” I shout to him.
Hunter blinks, looks up at me. “Jay, I’m just trying to comfort her.”
Comfort her? By coming to our house and telling her that her granddaughter is dead? He can’t be for real. “Get out,” I say.
“Jay, I know you’re—”
“Get. The fuck. Out!” The words explode out of me, finally jarring my feet from staying planted to the floor.
Officer Hunter takes a step back from MiMi. Takes two steps back from me. He looks across the living room, surveying all the damage he caused. Finally, he nods and leaves the apartment without saying another word.
I rub my chest again, hope the burning relieves itself now that Hunter’s gone. But it doesn’t matter. His words are still there: Your sister is dead. Your sister is dead. Yeah, I know that people have already thought that. I see the way heads tilt when they ask me about Nicole. When they give me tiny smiles at my latest updates. Now, though, someone’s said it aloud. And hearing the words aloud is the same as someone reaching through my ribs and squeezing my heart until it turns to mush. I close my eyes—imagine that I’m in my bed. When I open them, it’ll be morning and Nic will be in the kitchen burning waffles and all of this’ll be some anxiety-riddled nightmare about us going off to college. Has to be.
“Jay?”
I open my eyes and Riley’s in front of me, her eyes wide with concern. I look around and MiMi’s nowhere to be found.
“I got her into her bed,” Riley explains. “Gave her some Benadryl so she could wind down.”
“I . . . I have to go check on her.” I shake out my legs. Make sure they’re still working.
Riley grabs my arm. “I think you need to check on yourself first.”
I pull away. “It doesn’t matter how I am right now.”
“Yes, it does, Jay. I get it. You’re hurt.” Riley sighs. “And I’ll give you the time to be hurt, but then we need to get back to action.”
I frown at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you hear Officer Hunter? He never said that Nicole was dead. He said they believed she’s dead—which means they don’t have full proof. Which means that there’s still a chance to—”
“Stop!” The word comes out much louder than expected. Good, though. Maybe the louder I am, the more she’ll listen. “Enough with the games, Riley. I have to take care of my grandma.”
Riley blinks at me. “What games? What are you talking about?”
“This!” I point back and forth between me and her. “We’re not playing Clue, okay? We’re not acting out the plot of your favorite mystery novel. This is my actual life. With
a locked-up mom and dead dad and now a dead fickin’ sister to top it all!”
Riley shakes her head. “I never said this was a game, Jay. I told you, I care about Nicole, too.”
“Why? Because she wiped away your tears when a boy was being mean to you? Big deal! Nic was never your friend, Riley. She never even mentioned you. So, while you’re chasing after this imaginary buddy, I have to go talk to my grandma about funeral arrangements.” I walk over to her. “That part of your game, too? How many points do you get for picking out the casket? What kind do you get when you don’t even have the body?”
“Stop,” Riley says, blinking back tears. But I can’t. For some reason, I want her to hurt as much as I do.
“What about burial plots? Do you get bonus points if you find a spot right next to my dad?”
“Jay, stop it! Why are you being this mean?” One of the tears spills from her eyes but she doesn’t wipe it away.
I look down—even in my rage, I can’t watch her cry. “Why don’t you go home and tell your parents how much of an asshole I am. I’m sure you’ll hear a couple of told you so’s.”
Riley sniffles and pushes past me. She opens my front door but doesn’t slam it behind her. Even if she hates me, she respects my home. Goddamn her.
I look down the hall toward MiMi’s bedroom door. Hear her muffled cries behind it.
Goddamn us all.
Twenty-Four
I’M ALREADY AT THE DOORS WHEN THE CITY BUS PULLS UP across the street from Taco Bell. As soon as they open, I spill out onto the curb. I’m almost a half hour late. I try to go right into a jog, but my whole body aches. Not sure why. The only amount of exertion I’ve done all day was roll over from one side of the bed to the other. I couldn’t make it to school, and MiMi couldn’t make it out of her own bed to tell me to go to school. I think both of us knew it would be too soon to go into our usual routine. It would be tough to eat fried eggs and discuss our To-Do Lists for the day while staring at Nic’s empty spot at the kitchen table. Yeah, it’s been empty for over two weeks, but now that we know she’s never going to fill it, breakfast would be hard to swallow.
I thought twice about not showing up for work. Okay, I thought more than twice about not coming here. But with Nic gone and MiMi still recuperating from her stroke, I have to step up. Bring home some cash until we catch our breath—though I don’t see that happening any time soon.
I push my way through the doors of the restaurant and get smacked in the face by the smells of shredded chicken and chili powder. One of my coworkers at the cash register gives me a slight nod before getting back to work. I can hear some of the others cracking jokes in the kitchen. It’s business as usual here. Not sure why I thought that time would freeze because my world turned inside out.
I make my way toward the breakroom to clock in, when Joshua Kim appears out of thin air and steps in the middle of the hall. “You’re late,” he says. Crosses his arms across his chest like a big shot.
“I know,” I say. I’d like to not be even later, but he’s standing in my way. “I have a lot going on right now, but it won’t happen again.” I shrug my shoulders at him, ask for permission to pass.
“We all have a lot going on, Jayson,” Joshua says, not budging a muscle. “Cars that won’t start, babysitters canceling at the last minute. Heck, even Carmen had to recently put her ferret to sleep. But guess what? We all still make it here on time.”
I blink at him. A ferret. A fickin’ ferret? He’s going to compare my shitty-ass life to having to part ways with a weasel? I cough out a laugh and shake my head. “I win,” I say.
Joshua frowns at me in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“I win the woe is me card,” I say. “Your Honda Accord needs work? Try riding your bike or catching public transportation just to pick up a carton of milk. No babysitter? I don’t even know what a babysitter is. I’ve had to warm up dinner plates after school since I was nine years old if my grandma ever ran late. And a dead . . . ferret?” I bark out another laugh. “You think I give a damn about a stretched-out rat? I buried my dad in elementary school. Gonna bury my sister in the next few days. My grandma is barely hanging on, and I might end up in the fickin’ system because my mom’s serving a fifteen-year bid. So yeah, I win!”
There are more eyes on me than just Joshua Kim’s. My coworkers stop cracking jokes. Customers in the dining area stop ordering. Hell, the flies buzzing around probably stop being annoying. But I don’t care if I’m disturbing anyone because Joshua Kim’s complaining about scuffing his diamond shoes while I take thirty minutes out of my shift to mourn my goddamn sister.
Joshua finally clears his throat and shifts his weight to his other foot. “Okay, I understand now that you’re going through it, but I can’t have you causing a scene at work.”
“Causing a scene?” I repeat. “All I was doing was trying to clock in. I haven’t even started to cause a scene. But this is causing a scene . . .” I swipe at a stack of trays at the end of the counter, send them plummeting to the floor. Joshua jumps but I’m not done. “This is causing a scene.” I yank out as many napkins from a nearby dispenser that I can. Ball them up in my fists, then make it rain in the dining area. “THIS is causing a fickin’ scene!” I intercept an order of tacos from an unsuspecting customer and pitch them to the floor. I step on them for good measure just to make sure the tacos are dead. The crunch underneath my feet is oddly satisfying, so I keep stomping and stomping until I turn those tacos into powder.
Soon, I’m out of breath. The eyes that stared at me with amusement now look at me with concern. I even see fear from some people—including Joshua Kim. Good.
“If you haven’t caught on by now,” I say in between breaths, “I’m not cleaning any of this shit up. I quit.” I snatch the apron over my head and toss it to the floor. Step on it just to prove an extra point before pushing out of the doors. I never want to eat a burrito again.
I get home with one thing on my mind: crawling back into bed. But as I trudge down the hall, I pause outside of Nic’s bedroom door. I think about all the times I popped my head in to see if she made it home. I think about all the times before then, when she’d let me pile my blankets at the foot of her bed after a night of watching too many Saw movies. I think about Father’s Day five years ago, when I caught Nic crying into her pillow, so I sat on her floor. Resting my head on her legs until she was ready to speak. Willing to still sit there even if she didn’t want to speak at all.
My hand reacts before my brain does. It turns her doorknob, pushes her door open. Everything’s still slightly askew from me and Riley’s snooping, but Nic’s bones are still there. All her scents are still there. I walk over to her bed and plop down. I wonder when’s the last time Nic actually slept in here. Maybe a little over two weeks ago. Did she fall right asleep, or did she fart around on her phone to pass time? And when she did fall asleep, what did she dream about? I hope it was something nice. I hope it was something about Mom and Dad and me before all the storms came. I hope we were piled up in Dad’s car, listening to Mom and Dad sing along to their oldies. Groaning every time they kissed or held hands, but passing secret smiles to each other because our parents still wanted to kiss and hold hands. Our parents loved each other. Our parents loved us.
The first cry comes out like a hiccup. I touch the pit of my throat to make it stop but the levees have already broken. The tears come out in steady streams now, like they’ve been backed up for far too long. Nothing I think or do can make them stop from overflowing. I fall back onto Nic’s bed, bury my face in her pillow like I saw her do all those years ago. I let out a rumble that doesn’t even sound like me. It’s deep and hoarse and sounds like it came from a man who lived through years of pain. Who doesn’t know how he’ll ever pull himself out because the sorrow feels too deep. So deep it’s swallowing him whole.
There’s a hand on my back. I peek up and MiMi stands over me, blinking back tears. I choke up again and MiMi sits down, rubbing my back so hard to help me
get all of them out.
“I . . . I quit . . . my job,” I barely get out.
“It’s okay, baby.” She shushes me, keeps rubbing.
“I quit my job . . . because I think she’s really dead.” My voice breaks even more and I slap once at my face. Pissed at the tears that won’t stop leaking. “She’s gone, MiMi. She’s gone.”
MiMi’s hand moves up to the back of my head and she strokes my scalp. “I felt that way at first, too, baby. Up here.” She taps her forehead. “But I still don’t feel it here yet.” She taps at her chest. “I’m putting all my hope into Him. Until He tells me your sister is gone, I’m going to believe she’s still out there.”
I want to shake my head but it’s already spinning. One more move and I’ll forget where I am.
“The church is going to have a prayer vigil for your sister tomorrow night,” MiMi continues. “Everyone in the congregation believes she’ll come back home. And with all those prayers happening at once, I know she’ll hear them. They have hope, baby. We just have to have it, too.”
Hope? She’s talking as crazy as Riley did last night. If the last two weeks have told me anything, it’s that hope can be snatched away from you as quickly and unexpectedly as a loved one. Hope is just a four-letter word. But I let MiMi continue to rub my head and tell me fairy tales like she did when I was a kid.
Twenty-Five
I DON’T KNOW WHICH IS WORSE: PICKING OUT AN OUTFIT for a funeral or finding something to wear for a prayer vigil. Right now, standing in front of my bed, choosing between two identical black shirts, I’d have to say the latter. At least with a funeral, you get finality. A period after the universe’s longest run-on sentence. But with a vigil, you’re just dishing more lies to yourself and adding semicolons. What’s the point of praying for someone you already know is long gone?
I sigh through my nose, snatch up the shirt with the least amount of lint on it, just as my phone rings. I stare at the screen. Definitely a number I don’t recognize. I wait for the person on the other line to realize their mistake, but they’re persistent as all hell. Finally, I answer.
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