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.
“You have a collect call from . . .”
I suck in a breath as the automated voice on the other end lets me know that Javon Hockaday is calling me from the city jail.
“Would you like to accept this call?”
My thumb hovers over the red phone icon, itching to hang up. But it won’t cooperate. Neither will my vocal cords as the word “Yes” scrapes up from the pit of my throat. I don’t know, maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. This day has already gone to shiz with that vigil looming. At least I might get some kind of satisfaction from hearing Javon wallow to me from behind bars.
“I didn’t think you were going to pick up,” Javon says. He’s only been in jail two nights, but he already sounds hardened. Hoarse. Like he has enough stories to tell that would keep any black guy up at night.
“You have two minutes,” I say. I don’t even squeak the words. Remember how Officer Hunter said Javon played me. I can’t let him do it again.
He takes a breath. “I know you heard some crazy shit about me. Especially because I took off like that the other night. Left you and your girl in the dark.”
I wince at Javon referring to Riley as my “girl.” Whatever she was, she isn’t anymore. Especially after all those awful things I said to her.
“The cops, though. They wouldn’t listen to me. They never do. So, I’m hoping you can pick up where I left off. We both owe it to Nic.”
I put a chokehold on my phone. “Owe it to Nic?” Repeating his words makes them sound even crazier. “You know what Nic deserves? To sleep in her own bed tonight. To finish high school. To go out and change the world. Or not. Maybe she wanted a regular nine-to-five, but guess what? She no longer has that choice because she had a jealous-ass boyfriend.” I sling out every syllable with so much fervor that I imagine each one clocking Javon right across the head. I want him to feel my rage. I want him to feel Nic’s pain.
There’s a pause on Javon’s end. I try to imagine what he’s doing. Rubbing his forehead with regret? Wiping away a tear? But that’s impossible. The cops finally arrested Javon—which means they have to have something on him. Which means that he killed Kenny and did God knows what to Nic. If he’s crying, it’s because he’s finally caught.
“I get it,” Javon says finally. “And look, you can think what you want about me, but at least hear me out. I think I know where she is. I think . . . I think I know who has her body.”
My stomach tugs at Javon’s final word. Body. Nic’s body. That’s the closure I need. That MiMi needs. Hearing it, though, doesn’t make it go down any easier. Javon’s throat makes a noise on the other end and, for a moment, I think he laughs. But the snort is too guttural, too harsh. Almost like he’s fighting against his own body. Wait—can Javon be really crying?
I swallow even though my throat is dry. “I’m listening,” I croak. I grip the phone tighter. Brace myself for whatever Javon has to say.
“These white guys. Punk-ass frat dudes who think they’re down with the culture because they listen to Childish Gambino or some shit. They’ve come by my stoop a few times to . . .” Javon takes a breath, like he’s catching himself before he stumbles. “. . . hang out. The night Kenny and Nic went missing, I sent Kenny to their spot to hang out with them.”
I frown, confused, but then everything hits me in the face like a shovel. He sold drugs to these dudes, but he doesn’t want to out himself on a recorded line. Even when he tries to help me, he can’t help but help himself.
“What the hell does this have to do with Nic?”
“You know Nic rolled with Kenny after she got pissed at me that night. So, they went to the spot together and then I didn’t hear anything. Which means something went down with those boys. The night I was arrested, I was heading to them to find out what.”
He played you, kid. Officer Hunter’s words slice through our conversation again. Shakes the fog out of my head until I see Javon clearly again. Is he seriously saying some doofy frat guys attacked Kenny? Killed him? For what? Talking shit about Donald Glover on a bad bliss trip? And what about Nic? She always knows to steer clear of any deals. Though Javon got her all twisted most of the times, she kept her head straight enough to never be around for any of those exchanges. At least MiMi did something right with raising her.
“And you told the cops all this?” I ask.
“Come on, bruh. Without evidence, they don’t listen to guys like us.”
My jaws clench. Javon boxed me in with him, too. But I’m not the guy who tried cracking another dude’s nose against the pavement or jacking me up in a church. I’m not the guy who let a blisshead score in exchange for an alibi. I’m definitely not the guy who won’t admit I sell drugs in order to do right by my girlfriend.
“I’m not like you, Javon.” I don’t even shout. I speak clearly, calmly, so he takes in every word. “And your two minutes are up.”
Javon tries to say something else but my thumb twitches and I hang up. I hang up on Javon with a million questions floating above me, but one answer. Javon seems certain that Nic is dead.
I toss my black shirt on the bed. Grab the one with the most lint. Need to save the better one for Nic’s funeral. My fingers tremble as I button up my shirt. I go all the way up to my neck until the collar chokes me.
It had only been a few days since Kenny’s service, but the dreariness lingers at Providence Baptist Church. Makes sense since we’re not here for a joyous occasion. Reverend Palmer and some of the congregation went all out for Nic’s prayer vigil, though. Damn near every candle they could find lights up the aisles of the nave. Maybe if the prayers don’t work, Nic can find her way back home from all the flames. That is, if she’s still alive.