Fifteen
RAMONE FOUND REGINA in their kitchen, leaning against the island countertop, holding a glass of chardonnay. It was early for her to be drinking alcohol. She had grilled chicken, boiled some green beans, and cut a salad, and all of it was ready to go. He kissed her and after their embrace he told her where he’d been and how it had gone.
“You see Helena?”
“No. She was in bed.”
“I’ll go by tomorrow, bring them something like a casserole so they don’t have to think about dinner.”
“They’re loaded with casseroles,” said Ramone.
“I’ll call Marita, then. She’s a busybody, but she gets things done. Maybe we’ll get a schedule together, where a bunch of us can cook something on a certain night and take it over.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Ramone. “Where the kids at?”
“They’ve eaten. They’re up in their rooms.”
“I spoke to Diego on the phone. He seemed okay.”
“He didn’t get too emotional about it, if that’s what you mean. But he’s been kinda quiet since I told him.”
“You know how he is,” said Ramone. “He thinks he’s gotta be hard, even at a time like this. He holds everything in.”
“And you’re effusive,” said Regina. “By the way, the school sent him home a little early today.”
“What now?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
Ramone locked up his badge and gun and went upstairs to Alana’s room. She had lined up all her plastic horses in a row and was fitting her smaller dolls, Barbies, and Groovy Girls in the saddles. She liked to organize her things.
“How’s my little girl?” said Ramone.
“Good, Daddy.”
He kissed the top of her head and smelled her curly hair.
Alana’s bedroom was always in order, obsessively so, because Alana kept it that way. Unlike Diego’s room, which was perpetually a mess. The boy just could not get it together, and not only in his personal space. He couldn’t remember to make note of his homework assignments, either. Even when he completed them on time, he often turned the work in late.
“We need to get him tested,” Regina had said at one point. “Maybe he’s got a learning disability.”
“He’s scatterbrained,” Ramone had responded. “I don’t need to pay someone to tell me that.”
Regina had had Diego tested. The shrink or whatever she was said that Diego had something called executive function disorder, which was why he had trouble organizing his day and thoughts. It was causing him to lag behind in school.
“He doesn’t want to do his homework, is all it is,” said Ramone. “I know what that’s about.”
“Look at his room,” said Regina. “You can’t tell the difference between the dirty clothes and the clean. He doesn’t even know to separate them.”
“He’s a slob,” said Ramone. “So now they got a big name for it. It cost me a grand to learn a new word.”
“Gus.”
Ramone was reminded of this as he knocked on his son’s door, opened it, and saw the explosion of T-shirts and jeans on Diego’s bedroom floor. Diego was lying on his bed, his headphones on, listening to go-go as he stared glassy-eyed at an open book. He removed the cans and turned the volume down on his portable player.
“Hey, Diego.”
“Dad.”
“What you doin?”
“Reading this book.”
“How can you read and listen to music at the same time?”
“I’m one of them multitaskers, I guess.”
Diego sat up on the edge of his bed and dropped the book at his side. He looked tired, and disappointed that his father was giving him the same old. Ramone could have kicked his own ass for riding Diego on a day like this, but he had done so out of habit.
“Look, I shouldn’t have —”
“It’s all right.”
“You okay?”
“We weren’t, like, tight-tight. You know that.”
“But you were friends.”
“Yeah, me and Asa were straight.” Diego made a clucking sound with his tongue. It was something he and his friends did often. “I feel bad, though. I saw him yesterday. We didn’t talk or nothin like that, but I saw him.”
“Where was that? Where and when?”
“Over on Third, at the rec center. Me and Shaka were playin basketball. Asa was walking down the street, and then he turned up Tuckerman.”
“Toward Blair Road.”
“Yeah, that way. It was getting late in the day. The sun was fading; I remember that.”
“What else?”
“He was wearing a North Face. Musta been new, ’cause it’s too warm to be rockin that coat right now. He was sweatin.”
“What else?”
“He looked pressed,” said Diego. He had lowered his voice and he rubbed his hands together uselessly as he spoke. “We called out to him, but he kept walkin. I wish he would’ve stopped, Dad. I can’t forget the way he looked. I can’t help thinking that if we had made him stop and talk to us…”
“Come here, Diego.”
Diego stood up and Ramone pulled him into his arms. Diego held him tightly for a few seconds. Both of them relaxed.
“I’m good, Dad.”
“All right, son.”
Diego stepped back. “Is this one gonna be yours?”
“No. Another guy caught it.” Ramone stroked his mustache. “But Diego, I would like to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Was Asa into anything we should know about?”
“Like weed and stuff?”
“For starters. I was thinking more along the lines of, was he deeper into it. Matter of fact, was he into anything criminal at all?”
“Not that I know. Like I say, we weren’t all that tight this past year. I’d tell you if I thought he was.”
“I know you would. Anyway, we’ll talk some more. Go ahead and read your book. Listen to music while you’re doing it if you want to.”
“I wasn’t really readin that book, tell you the truth.”
“No kidding.”
“Dad? I got in a little trouble again today.”
“What happened?”
“We had this fire drill, and while we were standing outside, this boy told me a joke and I laughed.”
“So?”
“I mean, I kinda laughed real loud. They suspended me for the rest of the day.”
“For laughing outside of the school.”
“It’s the rule. Principal got on the intercom before the drill, warned everyone against it. I knew not to do it, but I couldn’t help it. This boy just cracked me up.”
“You couldn’t have been the only kid who was laughing.”
“True. Plenty of kids were joking around. But Mr. Guy didn’t mess with them. He came right down on me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Ramone.
He left his son in his room. Ramone’s jaw was tight as he walked down the hall.