“Have a seat. I’ll get you both some sweet tea,” Mrs. Boyce continues and disappears into the kitchen, not waiting to see if Riley or I even wanted sweet tea.
Mr. Boyce takes a newspaper off the coffee table and uses it to knock off imaginary crumbs from his couch. He points to it and Riley and I take a seat. Mr. Boyce hobbles to the recliner across from us and grunts as he follows suit.
Me and Riley’s knees bump against each other as we sit in silence. I clear my throat and scoot farther to my end of the couch, my foot banging against the leg of the coffee table. A framed picture of a snaggle-toothed Kenny at about nine or ten vibrates from my clumsiness.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter.
“No apologies necessary,” Mr. Boyce says. “It gets a bit cramped in here.”
“I think you have a lovely home,” Riley says, and points to a framed picture of footsteps in sand on the beach. “And I love that painting. My mom keeps it and the poem that goes with it in our guest bathroom.”
“You guys keep poems in your bathroom?” I ask.
“It’s a poem about the Lord,” Mrs. Boyce says, returning from the kitchen with two plastic cups filled with sweet tea, I presume. “The Lord is always with you, Jay. Even when you’re doing your business.”
“Good to know,” I say, taking a cup from Mrs. Boyce. “And thank you.”
“And he’s especially with you now.” Mrs. Boyce hands Riley her cup, and then sits on the arm of the recliner, right next to her husband. “I heard about Ms. Murphy. I’ve been meaning to send flowers. How’s she doing anyway?”
“Much better, ma’am. The doctors said she might be able to come home in the next few days as long as she promises to take it easy. I might have to handcuff her to her nightstand, though.”
Mrs. Boyce cackles. “I know that’s right. Ms. Murphy’s been a busybody for as long as I remember. I always told her that when the day of reckoning comes, she’d be right next to God, giving directions to people on which way they’re supposed to go.” Mr. Boyce and Riley join in with her laughter. I guess that’s my cue as well. I force out a laugh, though it’s such a foreign feeling that my ribs strain from it.
“You said that Kenny borrowed something from you?” Mr. Boyce asks.
“Yes, that’s right.” Riley takes a sip from her tea and peeks over at me. Right, that’s my cue again. Step up your game, Jay.
“Yeah,” I say finally.
Mr. and Mrs. Boyce both look at me, waiting for the next part of the story.
“My shirt,” I say, and immediately try not to frown. How many guys borrow shirts from each other? “Dress,” I add. “Shirt comma dress. My dress shirt.” Riley takes a huge gulp from her tea. I’m alone on this one. “He needed to borrow mine for a job interview, but now I need it back. For a job interview.”
“Kenny? Job interview?” Mr. Boyce asks. “Must’ve been a cold day in hell.”
“Now stop that.” Mrs. Boyce swats at his arm. “That’s good. He’s showing he can be responsible. Kenny’s not here, but it might be in his room. What color is it?”
“White?” I try.
“I could help you look,” Riley says. “I mean, if you need me to.”
“I think I can manage. I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Boyce shuffles toward the back and Riley glances at me, somewhat defeated. I know she wanted to lay eyes on Kenny’s room to find another dot to connect. But maybe we could find one some other way.
“Kenny’s not home?” I ask Mr. Boyce. “I haven’t seen him around lately. What’s he been up to?”
Mr. Boyce huffs. “Your guess is as good as mine. That boy’s been dizzy ever since he got kicked off the basketball team.”
“Kicked off?” I repeat. “I thought he got injured.”
Mr. Boyce shakes his head. “Only thing he probably injured is his mind. That would explain why he took up with that punk Javon.”
“Not a fan, huh?” Riley asks.
Mr. Boyce leans forward in his seat. “Ha! Is a cat a fan of baths?” He starts stabbing at the air with his finger. Now we really got him going. “As soon as Javon entered the picture, Kenny’s been up under his thumb. Stopped caring about school as much. His grades started slipping—and his coach wasn’t having that. So as soon as Kenny lost basketball, guess he figured he didn’t need school anymore. Just stopped showing up.”
I stare down at my tea. It’s like he’s singing the opening chords to Nic’s song. If I can find her, maybe she can have a different outro.
“But I can’t blame Kenny entirely. Doug probably has something to do with it, too.”
“Doug, sir?” I ask.
Mr. Boyce rolls his eyes. “My knuckleheaded nephew. Out there pushing things he shouldn’t be pushing. He even got busted a few times, but Kenny doesn’t care. All he sees is his cousin living in some fancy condo in Richmond. Driving around in a Bentley or whatever’s popular these days.” He reaches out and adjusts the framed picture of Kenny on the coffee table. His hand lingers on the top before pulling it away.
“If only we could all stay that size, right?” Riley says.
Mr. Boyce gives her a soft smile. “He’s a good boy. He really is. I know that he thinks he’s doing the family good, especially with me being laid off and all. But I keep trying to tell him there’s a better way.” There’s a thud in the back of the apartment. Like Mrs. Boyce closes a drawer or a closet door. Mr. Boyce leans over to me and Riley. “Could y’all do me a favor?” he asks in a hushed voice. “Can you tell the missus something good about Kenny’s job interview? She just worries so much about that boy. I’d like to put her mind at ease some kind of way.”
My heart sinks for them. They really had no clue that Kenny’s been gone for a week. Apparently, he does the disappearing act even more than Nic. Mr. Boyce still has hope, even when he erased any lingering bits of mine.
Riley smiles and nods at him just as Mrs. Boyce returns to the living room, empty-handed. “I couldn’t find it anywhere,” Mrs. Boyce says, somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You need us to reimburse you?”
I shake my head. “That’s not a big deal. I could pick up another one. I think Roses has a sale.”
“Besides,” Riley adds, “Kenny probably needs to keep that shirt anyway.” She turns to me. “Didn’t you say he nailed that job interview?”
I look over at Mr. Boyce who raises his eyebrows, hopeful. “Yeah,” I say. “He did. I’ll let him hold on to it until he gets his first paycheck or whatever.”
Mrs. Boyce clasps her hands and rests them against her chin. She gives a silent prayer before beaming at me and Riley. “God is good,” she says.
Her words follow me as Riley and I thank the Boyces for their hospitality and head out the front door. God is good? Not sure if I can agree after this week. Hell, after the past few years. I’m still waiting for the silver lining after all the challenges He’s thrown at me.
But the Boyces still have hope. Faith that Kenny can be that little boy in the frame on their coffee table again. I saw it in the way Mr. Boyce’s hand lingered on Kenny’s picture. Saw it in the way Mrs. Boyce’s eyes lit up when I dished her the possibility of Kenny having a legit gig. If I told them Kenny’s been missing, that hope might wither and send them to the hospital just like MiMi. And what would going to the cops do for them? We have nothing to go on that something’s even wrong with Kenny, so they’d just hit a roadblock in the form of another Officer Rick Ross. Best I keep them in the dark until something else sheds more light on all of this.