Bowie slinks back in his seat, finally catching my drift. “Well, I want to help out. Maybe we can put something up on The Gram. People do it all the time. I saw one up there the other day about this old dude that wandered off. He had dementia or something. Anyways, I think they found him like twelve hours after posting his pic. He was chilling in a Hardee’s. What’s up with old people and Hardee’s?”
Bowie laughs but it sounds like static to me. He wants to put Nic’s business all up on social media? Like anybody’s going to pay attention to some missing black girl in between posts of someone’s dog napping on their lap and a sepia-toned pic of a homemade cheeseburger.
“I don’t know, man,” I say. “We got enough going on as it is. Last thing I need is hundreds of fake comments on every black chick with braids. You know how some people can’t tell us apart.” I wince as soon as I say it. Bowie’s in my grill so much that it’s hard not to group him with “us”—even when I try to keep him at a safe distance.
But Bowie shrugs like he’s helping water roll off his back. “A false lead is more than you got now, though, right?”
I sigh. Bowie’s the type of guy who needs to feel needed. Always the first to volunteer to pass out papers for teachers. Always the last to get back to class after a fire drill for helping out the students with special needs. It’s like he dyes his hair all these crazy-ass colors to remind us he isn’t a saint. So yeah, he won’t let this social media thing go. And maybe he has a point. Even though he doesn’t have the most followers, there’ll still be more eyeballs on Nic than what the cops currently have.
“Okay. Sure,” I mumble. Don’t want to be too enthusiastic because I’m not a thousand percent in.
That’s good enough for Bowie, though. He claps his hands together like he finally killed a gnat that’s been bugging him. “Awesome. I’ll get right on it. Oh, and I know you have a lot going on right now, so take this.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out an envelope. I peek inside and find a couple of folded up twenties. “It’s our take over the week. I took care of all the transactions—even was able to knock out a paper on Napoleon. I never want to do that again.” He laughs again. “But yeah, I didn’t take my cut this week. It’s all yours.”
He taps me on the arm and I immediately flinch. I know Bowie means well. He always means well. But the last thing I need right now is to be his damn charity case. “Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth. If I open my mouth farther, something might slip out that I’ll regret later. “But now I really have to get back to this.” I nod to the computer.
Bowie glances over at the screen and spots breaking news about some Hollywood A-list couple breaking up. He and I both know I could give a damn, but he catches my drift with both hands. “I’ll post something before the next bell.” He gives me one last look before leaving me with my celebrities. I think about dumping the money somewhere in the media center, but MiMi’s coming home today. And she needs to retire.
I barely get an hour home with MiMi before the Old Lady Gang from Providence Baptist steals her away. It’s for a good cause, though. They want to make her a home-cooked meal to celebrate her return. But while everyone’s stuffing their faces, the Old Lady Gang puts folks to work. Making more flyers for Nic, making phone calls for Nic. Anything they can do to find Nic. Plus, me and MiMi’s news clip is premiering tonight, so the gathering also triples as a viewing party. Since the congregation was rallying for the family this much, MiMi said I needed to tag along. Pay my respect. So here I am. Sitting on Sister Gladys’s plaid living room couch, poking at a plate of baked ham and mac and cheese. Any other time I would tear this plate up, but now? With Kenny lying on a slab and Nic still floating in the wind, this food looks about as appetizing as roasted roadkill.
My phone pokes at me inside my jeans pocket, begging me to go on and pull it out. Text Riley. I haven’t spotted her yet at Sister Gladys’s—not like I can blame her. I told her we needed to put whatever we were doing on ice, so I couldn’t just ask her to thaw and save me from the prying eyes of our congregation. Still, having her sit right next to me would make this whole meal—hell, this whole scene—way more appealing.
“Scoot on over.” MiMi taps my leg. I snap to my feet, hold MiMi’s arm to help her take a seat. “I got it, baby.” She adjusts the pillows behind her, sits all the way back. After catching her breath, she looks over at my plate. “I know Sister Kathy goes a little light on the pepper, but her mac and cheese isn’t that bad.”
I laugh. “It’s not that, it’s just . . . it’s a lot . . .” I don’t even know how to finish. It’s a lot of everything and nothing all at the same time. But all of it together is so much that it turns my stomach into a fist.
MiMi pats my knee like she gets it. “It certainly was nice for everyone to make us all this food. There’s too much of it. I think I might stop by the Boyce’s. Bring them a plate. Lord knows the last thing they need to worry about is cooking right now.”
I swallow even though I haven’t taken a bite of my food yet. I remember the look of disappointment on Mr. Boyce’s face when he talked about all the things his son could’ve been but wasn’t. The hope across Mrs. Boyce’s when I spat her some lie about Kenny and a job prospect. I can’t imagine what either of them looks like now. I don’t think I want to know.
“We’re planning the funeral at Providence,” MiMi says. “I told the Reverend I would help set up.”
“MiMi, you just got back.”
She nods. “I know. That’s why I said you’d help, too.”
I give her a look and she dishes it right back.
“Now you know that’s the least we could do for that family. I didn’t like who he started hanging around with, but he was a good kid. A good kid. And he was always so sweet to Nic. Whenever she’d come storming into the house after some nonsense with Javon, I’d find her on the phone late with Kenny. It’s like he wanted to make sure she was okay. That she was home. But now . . .” MiMi’s voice breaks and I rest my hand over hers. She blinks back tears and I squeeze her hand, try to help her fight them. But the harder I squeeze, the more I push out more of my own. Without even saying it, MiMi says it. With Kenny gone, what did that mean for Nic? He was the one who made sure she got home safe. If he wasn’t here to tether her, where did she drift off to? And is she even able to still drift?
I use my free hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. Try to stop the tears and the thoughts. MiMi rubs the back of my head.
“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s okay. Look around us, baby.” She waves a hand at the older ladies making calls at the dining room table. The young kids drawing on flyers at the coffee table. The hustle and bustle of everything. “This is all for us.” She pulls my head closer to hers to make sure I look at her. I do. “This is all for Nicole. We’re going to find her, baby. We’re going to bring her home.”
I let out a shaky breath, then peck MiMi on the forehead. I want to believe her. I do. But each time I make traction, I lose my footing. Soon, I’ll have nothing left to tread on.