The back of my head hits the seat. “How’d you know about that?”
“I have my ways,” she says with a one-shoulder shrug.
“Apparently.” I shift in my seat. This big-ass car suddenly seems very cramped. “And she wasn’t really my girlfriend. I mean, she was but she wasn’t.”
Riley gives me a skeptical twist of her mouth and my foot hits her dashboard as I shift again. I take a breath, try to find the right words.
“I think we were together because we both needed something. And sometimes it feels good to be needed.” Okay, that sounded so much better in my head. Still, Riley gives me not one but two nods.
“I get it,” she says. “Still . . . it must feel pretty weird, huh?”
I glance over at Riley. Her tan Converses perfectly offset her caramel complexion, and her ponytail shows just how high her cheekbones are. How long her neck really is.
I finally shrug. “Could be weirder,” I say.
Mr. Boyce wasn’t lying—Kenny’s cousin’s condo is fly as hell. It’s in downtown Richmond, but artsy downtown Richmond. So instead of bumping into blissheads and crinkle clowns, you might be walking side by side with a theater professor with leather elbow patches on his blazer. Only residents of the condo complex get to park in the garage; everyone else has to find parallel parking out on the street. It’s walking distance from a shopping center that has one of those movie theaters with a bar and a bowling alley. Nic wanted to take MiMi to one like that back in Newport News for her birthday, but once we caught wind of how much the food would cost us, we Netflixed and Pizza Hutted instead.
I knock on the door to Kenny’s cousin’s unit, then crack my knuckles while I wait. Riley glances over at me and rests her hand on top of mine.
“It’s okay,” she says. “We’re bringing her home.”
I nod. She’s right. This is it. Over a week with roadblocks and, finally, I get a green light. I look down at Riley’s hand on top of mine still and can’t remember if we’ve touched like this before. Yeah, our hands grazed each other’s when we had to pass out something to the kids at Sunday school, but I always whipped mine away like Riley’s had just come out of the oven. Now, though, her hand doesn’t feel too hot. Just warm and soft.
“Who the hell is it?” a voice booms through the door.
I swallow. This doesn’t sound too inviting. “Jay,” I say. “Jay Murphy,” I add, like that makes any kind of difference.
The door opens and a young dude stands in the doorway. Lighter complexion than Kenny, but close to the same height. He wears a tank top with khaki shorts and socks pulled up to his knees, like one of them wannabe gangstas in some hood movie made in the nineties. But his thick biceps and the grimace on his face make him a little less wannabe and a lot more dangerous.
He glares at me, then at Riley, then back at me. “I ain’t buying shit,” he says.
“Are you Doug?” Riley asks, not even flinching at his menacing appearance.
His glare returns to Riley and my feet move, stand slightly in front of her. Just in case. “Who wants to know?” he asks.
“We’re friends of Kenny,” I say before Riley can get another word out. I really should’ve made her wait in the car. Right next to that swanky shopping center where I’d know she’d be safe.
“Friends of Kenny?” The guy I’m assuming is Doug raises his eyebrows at us. I hear people chuckle in the background. Two separate voices. Could one of them be Nic? “Not sure if Kenny has friends that look like you two.”
“Could you ask him?” I try. “I mean, he’s here, right?”
“I mean, he’s here, right?” This Doug dude tries to imitate me but speaks in a high nasal voice. The hell? Is that how I sound? He turns his head toward the people behind him. The people out of sight. “Yo, y’all should hear this clown out here!” More laughter. If Nic were in there, she’d run to the door if she heard my voice. Then again, she’s been avoiding me all week. She probably wants Doug to get rid of me so she could continue doing whatever she’s been doing these last eight days. I’m not letting her off that easy.
“We’re friends of the family—we know Mr. and Mrs. Boyce,” I say. “They’re worried about Kenny. They knew we were going to be in town so asked if we could stop by and check on him.” I try to peek around him, catch a glimpse of whoever’s tee-hee-hee-ing back there.
Doug shifts his weight to block my view and looks at me through the slits of his eyes, but the cynicism still slips out. We have a stare off. I try not to plead with my eyes too much—all it’s up to you if we come in. No big deal. Doug’s grip on his doorknob gets tighter and tighter. I expect it to close right in my face in about two seconds.
“That was a long ride, though,” Riley adds. “Mind if I come in to pee?”
I wince at Riley’s bluntness. Riley’s eyebrows shrug at me. She’s thinking on her toes to give me an in, even if it means embarrassing herself. Doug gives a half smile—partially amused, partially confused. Whoever’s behind him speak in hushed voices now and my heart skips a beat. One of those voices seems high-pitched enough to be a girl’s. I strain my ear to make out whether or not it’s Nic.
“Make it quick,” Doug finally says, stepping aside. I push past him and make a beeline for his living room, Riley hot on my heels. I stop in my tracks when I see two black dudes around Doug’s age passing a joint between each other. The one with dreads past his shoulders looks up at me and frowns.
“Damn, nigga. Can I help you?” he asks.
His friend across from him breaks out into snickers, teetering like a bird. The same high-pitched voice I heard outside the front door. The one I had thought—no, hoped—was Nic’s. But once again, my hope crashed to the floor. It was just two clowns smoking bliss with a fit of the giggles.
“Uh . . . bathroom?” Riley asks Doug, who closes the front door and locks it behind him. Not just once—he makes sure to use the deadbolt. The click of it sends shock waves throughout my limbs. Something tells me this wasn’t a good idea.
Doug hitches his head toward the back of his condo. “First door to the left.”
Riley nods then gives me a look. Should I search for clues? No. Definitely not a good idea. I scratch the back of my neck. Give a slight shake of my head: No. But Riley must just think I’m itchy because she takes tentative steps toward the back.
“Now what’s this you said about Kenny?” Doug asks me as I try to follow her. He sits on the barstool in front of his kitchen island. His kitchen bleeds right into his living, all open concept like those fancy homes on HGTV. Homeboy even has a curio cabinet across from his stainless-steel fridge, showcasing all types of shot glasses and crystal bottles of brown liquors.
I glance at his countertops, his couches, his shiny wooden floors. Try to spot anything that might hint that a female’s been up in here. That Nic’s been hiding out. But aside from all his bougie fixtures, I only find bongs and rolling papers and a pair of nunchucks. Random. “He split town over a week ago,” I say. “His parents thought maybe he’s been crashing here with you.”
Doug scratches at the stubble on his chin. “If they thought that, why didn’t they just call and ask me?”