I know I should be grateful for all the support. For all the faces from the church and even from the Ducts that came out to show us love. Man Boo ushers people inside, helps them find a spot to park their prayers. Mrs. Jackson from the next building brought us a freshly baked apple pie to go along with her hope. The Armstrongs from upstairs wanted MiMi to hold on to their Bible because apparently it brought them good luck after praying over it every night when they were trying to conceive a baby. Now they have three. Even Lil Chuck showed up with his parents, giving me a solemn high five as his parents greeted MiMi and me. Told me he hoped Nic comes back because she’s nicer than me. Can’t argue with that one.
Javon’s phone call eclipses it all, though. He sounded so sure about these mythical white dudes having something to do with Kenny. With Nic. There were moments when he even sounded sad. Broken about everything that’s happened. But Officer Hunter had seemed sure, too. The cops were never able to pin anything on Javon, even when everyone and their mama knew what he did to make ends meet. Now he was finally behind bars, so that must mean something. Right?
Deacon Irving slides his slithery self next to MiMi in our pew. He grabs one of her hands and massages it. Because that’s what MiMi needs right now. A fickin’ masseuse.
“How are you holding up?” he asks MiMi.
MiMi nods. “Better now—especially after seeing all this love that Nicole has. Warms my heart. Isn’t that right, Jay?”
I look up from my hand, which holds on to my phone. I keep glancing at the clock. Seeing how long this vigil will last. “Uh huh,” I say.
Deacon Irving leans forward over MiMi to get all up in my business. “You’re taking care of your grandmother during this time, right?” It’s like he took a bath in mouthwash and aftershave. His rigorous hygiene regimen assaults all my senses.
“I always take care of her. No one does it better than me,” I say. Hope he feels my not so subtle dig for him not making an appearance at the hospital. By the way he quickly leans back in his seat, I know he catches my drift.
“I’m going to lead the next prayer after the Reverend says a couple of words,” Deacon Irving says to MiMi, conveniently avoiding eye contact with me. “You want me to grab something for you in the meantime? Cup of water? Deviled eggs?”
I make a face. Nothing like mourning over a plate of stinky boiled eggs.
“You’ve done enough.” MiMi smiles and pats his hand.
Deacon Irving squeezes MiMi’s shoulder before sliding out of the pew, slithers his way over to the Reverend to talk about his prayer, I guess. He’s probably requesting a spotlight, a wireless microphone, and anything else to make his prayer extra and all about him. Reverend Palmer nods at Deacon Irving, then turns to pass along a message to . . . Riley.
I suck in my breath when I see her. I don’t know why I’m surprised she’s here. Why wouldn’t she be here? It’s her father’s church. Plus, she said that Nicole was her friend. Nicole was her friend and I mocked her about that. What kind of friend was I? We lock eyes for a few seconds. Finally, Riley blinks and makes her way behind the pulpit. I wait for her to peek back at me, but she doesn’t. I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t give me a second glance, either. Not after I took everything out on her. I’m not sure if she’ll ever forgive me.
“Hi, Ms. Murphy.”
My eyes pull away from Riley’s direction and Pooch hovers over us. My head snaps back at his appearance. He isn’t wearing his trusty Cowboys jersey. Instead, he tucks a black T-shirt into black, holey jeans. He has his same dusty white Keds, though. I still have to applaud his effort. He put some thought about showing up here tonight. Looking decent for MiMi.
MiMi scans him over. “How are you feeling, Pooch? Everything going well with you?”
Pooch shakes his head over and over. Looks like he’s malfunctioning. “Don’t even worry about me, Ms. Murphy. This is all about you guys tonight.” He peeks over at me, then looks down at his hands. Almost like he’s embarrassed at something. Proves Officer Hunter right—he did take a payoff from Javon to pretend like he had Nic’s phone. The nerve of him for showing his face tonight.
“I just wanted to say that . . . that I’m really sorry about Nic. That’s a sweet girl right there. Never let anyone rag on me. Never let me go hungry. Always willing to loan me some change to grab some nuggets or something.”
“Yeah,” I say, raising a skeptical eyebrow at him. “She really deserved better.”
At that, Pooch chews on his bottom lip. “Didn’t mean any disrespect,” he mumbles. “Just wanted to send my well-wishes, that’s all.”
“And we appreciate your well-wishes, Pooch,” MiMi says, nudging me with her elbow. “Why don’t you sit down and join us for the next prayer?”
Pooch shakes his head again. “I gotta . . . you know . . .” He grunts something else that doesn’t sound like it belongs in the English language and then scurries down the aisle. The guilt really seems to be eating away at him. Good.
MiMi nudges me again. “What did you say to that man?”
I shrug. “Nothing. You heard me.”
MiMi smirks at me as she stands. “Sit here and fix your face. People went out of their way to be with us tonight.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going after Pooch.”
I roll my eyes and groan. “But MiMi, he—”
“Needs just as much prayer as Nicole.” She pinches my chin. “When I get back, you better be a brand-new Jay.” She shuffles out of the pew and heads in the same direction as Pooch.
A brand-new Jay? That’s what got us all in the situation in the first place. I pushed Nic away when she called, thinking that this New and Improved Jay would stand his ground. Stop covering for his big sister so she could grow up and get on track. Help her be more than what others expected her to be. But I didn’t think I was pushing her away forever. Now the last thing Nicole probably remembered about me was that I hung up when she needed me the most.
I clutch my phone again. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can squeeze out the minutes to make the time go by faster.
“Hi, Jay.”
Sterling stands over me, a sniffling, sobbing mess. Her face is pink and soggy, and her mascara drips down her cheeks, leaving dark trails of sorrow.
“Hey,” I say, though it comes out more like a question. She has some nerve stepping foot into our church after covering for Javon. She’s supposed to have been Nic’s best friend, but she probably just used her to get closer to him.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice breaks as she pulls out a handkerchief, blows her grief into it. “You came to me about Nic weeks ago and I kept shooing you off. I just figured she was going through the motions, you know? Had I known . . .” She cries into her handkerchief again. I would reach for her hand . . . but that handkerchief looks mighty damp. And so does her attempt at sorrow.
“I’m sure she knew you cared.” The words come out flat. My throat won’t even allow me to lie for Sterling.
“Oh God, you’re speaking about her in past tense?” Sterling flinches. “Oh God, and now I’m saying the Lord’s name in vain in a church. Ugh, I did it again!” She pops herself on her hand. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know how to do this.”