RAMONE NEGOTIATED THE SIDE streets leading to his home. He drove the Tahoe a little recklessly, taking turns abruptly, going way too fast. Some were more careful when they had a few beers and liquor in their system, but Ramone on alcohol had always been both aggressive and sloppy. Fuck it, let some 4D uniform pull him over. He’d badge him and go.
Ramone wasn’t angry at Holiday. The comments about his wife were weird and cheap, but they hadn’t been directed toward Regina. Rather, he’d been insinuating that Ramone had married a black woman to make some kind of statement. Which couldn’t have been more off the mark. He’d fallen in love with Regina by accident. They had been lucky in their compatibility, like any couple who made it, and their marriage had survived.
Ramone hadn’t even thought too deeply about their color difference in a long time, certainly not since the birth of their children. Diego and Alana had erased anything having to do with that. It wasn’t that Ramone didn’t “see color,” that most ridiculous of claims that some white people felt they had to make. It was just that he didn’t notice it in his kids. Except, of course, to notice how handsome they were in their skin.
It was true that in the late ’80s, when they had married, they had run into some of that old negativity at holiday gatherings and around town. Early on, Ramone and Regina had agreed to jettison any family members and so-called friends who gave off that vibe, neither of them having any desire to reach out to or “understand” folks who were still that way.
Not that the two of them were untainted. Ramone freely admitted to having remnants of racial prejudice inside him that would never go away, as did Regina. They were products of their upbringing and time. But they also knew that the upcoming generation would be much more liberated of those prejudices, and because of that it was likely that their family would be strong and fine. And it seemed to be so. It was rare for Ramone to catch anyone in the D.C. area double-taking him when he was out with his wife and kids. And when they did, it didn’t dawn on him immediately that his family was being noticed because of their different shades. His first thought was, Is my zipper down? or, Do I have something stuck between my teeth?
It didn’t mean his kids weren’t going to face racism out in the world. He saw evidence of it damn near every day. It was hard for him to sit on his hands when his son got slighted due to his blackness or the way he dressed. Because what could you do, put every convenience store clerk up against a wall who had told his son to get out the shop, or threaten every township-quality cop who tried to bust Diego down? You had to choose your spots. Otherwise you’d go crazy behind the rage.
Ramone wasn’t trying to make any statements. It was difficult enough just to get through his day-to-day.
He pulled to a stop in front of his house. Regina’s Volvo was parked in the driveway, and she had left the porch light on as well as the light in the upstairs hall. Alana slept better knowing the hall was lit. He looked up at the light in Diego’s window. Diego was probably still awake, lying in his bed with his headphones on, listening to music. Thinking of a girl he liked or daydreaming of catching the long ball as the seconds ticked off the clock. All was good.
He sat behind the wheel of the SUV. He was close to drunk and as confused as he had ever been about Asa’s death. He had seen something that day, or heard it in an interview. It was glancing at him like a flirtatious woman. Now Ramone was waiting on the kiss.
His cell phone sounded. He read the name on the caller ID. Ramone hit “talk” and put the phone to his ear.
“What’s goin on, Rhonda?”
“Got something, Gus. You know that ballistics test I ordered?”
“Talk about it.”
“The markings on the slugs recovered from the bodies of Asa Johnson and Jamal White are a match.”
“You sayin —”
“Yeah,” said Rhonda. “They came from the same gun.”
Five minutes later, Ramone entered his house. He locked up his badge and gun, went up the stairs, checked on Alana and Diego, and then walked into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He went to the bathroom, gargled mouthwash, brushed his teeth, and swallowed a couple of aspirin. Back in his bedroom, he stumbled while taking off his pants and heard Regina stir in bed. He removed his boxers as well and dropped them on the floor. He turned off the bedside lamp and slipped naked under the sheets. He got close to Regina and kissed her behind her ear. In the darkness, he kissed her neck.
“Where you been, Gus?”
“Place called Leo’s.”
“You drunk?”
“A little.”
Ramone slid his hand under the elastic band of Regina’s pajama bottoms. She did not resist him. He began to stroke her and she guided his fingers to a better place, and when he found it she made a small sound and opened her mouth. Ramone kissed her cool lips. She pulled her bottoms down further and kicked them away. He got up on one elbow, facing her, and she took him in her hand and rubbed him against her inner thigh and as she turned into him she pressed the head of his cock onto her warm, flat belly.
“Remember me?” said Ramone.
“You do feel familiar.”
That night, they made love intensely.