And maybe because the little house had been revived with the sounds of babies and the scent of warm meals and love and hopes and dreams, Death woke from its long sleep to claim the life of Haitian immigrant and father of three Jean-Phillip Fran?ois with a single bullet to the head outside the Chrysler plant.
Death parked itself on that corner of American and Joy, some days as still as stone, other days singing cautionary songs and delivering telltale riddles, waiting for the day when one girl would ask to open the gates to the other side.
TWENTY-TWO
MY SCALP ITCHES, but I can’t get to it because of this stupid weave. The fake hair is sewn to my own braided hair and my scalp doesn’t have room to breathe. And it was all for nothing. I turned myself into someone else just so I could get information on Dray, but he was the wrong one.
He comes around less now, and I hang out with Pri and Donna more. Or maybe they are keeping me close. Only a few days have passed since the thing with Q and me finding out what my cousins really do for money.
But it doesn’t change who they are—Chantal still sticks to her books and is worried about paying for her classes next semester. She shows me how to fill out financial aid and scholarship forms. “You’re a citizen, so you’ll be good. But make sure you take advantage of every penny, you hear me?” she says.
I don’t trust it because my mother filled out American forms that promised her things, too.
Pri still likes a girl from afar. I hear her singing in the shower one night—a love song. She sings Taj’s name. Her voice is smooth and it reaches me all the way on my mattress. It sounds like it’s filled with the shards of her broken heart. So when she comes out, I ask her, “How will you ever know if Taj feels the same?”
“I won’t. And I’m okay with that,” Pri says. “That’s what gives me my edge. Probably gonna walk around with a little chip on my shoulder all my life.”
“But you deserve every good thing,” I tell her.
“And the bad things?” she asks.
I don’t have an answer for her.
I borrow more of Donna’s clothes now. This is how we’ve become closer. I give in to all the things I’ve always liked: jeans that show off my curves, light makeup—not too much, just lip gloss and mascara—and beautiful hairstyles that highlight my eyes and cheekbones as Donna says. My mother is not here to judge me. So I experiment with different looks.
And Kasim. Kasim. I have been ignoring him since the night I found out.
My cousins make sure that I come with them whenever they go out together. I’m never in the house alone with Matant Jo. One day, we drove somewhere to pay a bill. Another day, we went grocery shopping. This morning, we’re going out to eat chicken and waffles, a dish I’ve never had.
Before we leave, I hear Matant Jo calling Chantal’s name from her bedroom. She comes out and she’s all dressed up in a nice sweater and a wig. She’s been making herself look nice and going out. She’s not worried about her sister anymore, it seems. But I am. She reminds me of my mother when she’s like this—all smiles and sunny days. But Chantal tells me not to get used to it.
“Where y’all going?” she asks. “Is there room for me?”
“Hell yeah!” Pri says.
And soon, I’m in the backseat, squeezed between the twins while Chantal drives and Aunt Jo sits in the passenger seat. My heart swells because this is starting to feel like a family. My heart deflates because my mother is starting to feel farther and farther away. I shake the thought from my mind, because thinking of my mother forces me to think of my cousins and their drugs, which makes me think of Detective Stevens, and Dray, and Kasim. Kasim. My heart swells again.
We drive down Livernois Avenue to a place called Kuzzo’s Chicken and Waffles.
“This is your spot, cuzz,” Pri jokes, and rubs the top of my head.
When Chantal parks the car, I notice her looking every which way, as if making sure nothing is going to jump out of the corners of this neighborhood to attack us. Donna and Pri are looking around, too, and I soon realize that they think Q might be here. This is the only thing I’ve seen them be afraid of—Q and his threat.
Matant Jo is still all smiles and sunshine and has no idea what’s going on with her daughters, or even me, or even her sister. If she finds out about all of this, I wonder if it will break her.
The restaurant is full of people, and this reminds me of my first date with Kasim, when we saw the Alvin Ailey performance. I shake that from my mind, too, because it makes me think of the tickets, which makes me think of Uncle Q, which makes me scared for my cousins.
The whole time at the restaurant, Pri keeps an eye on me, as if I will shout out their secret to their mother at any moment. Even as they joke and eat, I’m quiet and try to enjoy this fried chicken and waffles. Pri forces me to pour syrup over my chicken, too. She’s sitting next to me when my phone rings and I recognize Detective Stevens’s number. Pri looks at my phone. I don’t hide it from her, and I’m glad that I never typed in the detective’s name.
“Who’s that? Imani?” she asks.