“Not happening.” Razor stares at Violet. “Wow. Can’t believe I’ve got a kid. What’s her name?”
“Not telling you.”
More growling and jumping from Ace. Razor yanks on the leash and smacks him hard on the head.
The dog cowers.
I feel sorry for him. I’m familiar with Razor’s fists. Been there, done that. And I’m never, ever going back. How could I possibly have found him attractive just a few minutes ago?
“C’mon, I’m the baby daddy,” Razor says. “What’s her name?”
“Fuck off and leave us alone!”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to the cops.”
“Bad idea.”
“You helped shoot an innocent kid! You belong in prison.”
“Hey, I owed a guy, so I had to drive. But that’s all I did. Drive. Never thought he was gonna shoot that kid. Said he just wanted to talk to him, give him a warning.”
“You’re still guilty.”
“Well, guess what? That kid wasn’t exactly innocent.”
“Not what his family says.”
“The family never knows the truth.”
“Still doesn’t make it okay. And what did he do that was so bad he had to die?”
Razor yawns and stretches. “Nothing, really. It was just a message. To somebody we can’t afford to shoot.”
“That’s disgusting! You’re disgusting!”
“But you still love me anyway, don’t you, babe?”
“You wish.” I stand and grab the stroller. Time to get the hell out of here. I don’t want Violet around Razor a second longer.
“Wanna know how we got that loser dealing drugs for us?” Razor says to my back. “By watching your building. I been keeping an eye out all along. Never saw you with my baby girl, or I would have paid you a visit sooner. But that kid was a bonus. Teen from a strict family, wanting easy money. Wasn’t hard to reel him in.”
I grip the stroller handles hard and start walking away from Razor as fast as I can. But I still hear him call out, “See ya around, Jem.”
Chapter Seven
I run all the way back to Woodley Co-op. Violet has a bumpy ride in her stroller, but I don’t care. We have to get home fast.
Razor doesn’t follow. But then, that’s not his style. He’ll probably show up somewhere else when I’m not expecting it.
The camera crews are camped out in front of our building again, so I sneak around back. But to reach the elevator, I have to go through the lobby. There’s a bunch of residents gathered, Big Bad Betty among them. They’re all hugging each other and crying.
While I was out, they made a display about Kwame’s life. There’s an easel with pictures from his birth right up to this year’s school photo. There’s a table with his drumsticks, soccer ball and uniform all laid out.
I want to sneak upstairs and hide like I did yesterday. But it’s too late. They see me and all start talking at once, about the shooting, the fund and the memorial service.
I feel like a pile of crap. That poor, sweet kid. I don’t care what Razor got him into—Kwame wasn’t a criminal. He didn’t deserve to be shot. His family didn’t deserve to lose him.
Big Bad Betty grabs Violet out of her stroller. “Pretty flower,” she says, hugging Violet to her chest. “Keep safe. Always safe.”
I burst into tears. Even though she’s seventy-three, Betty’s the closest thing I have to a girlfriend these days. She hands Violet to someone else and flings her arms around me. Luckily, Violet doesn’t make strange yet. She smiles and coos at whoever is holding her.
I’m a head taller than Betty, so it’s more like she’s hugging my stomach. Her face is pushed into my boobs. I’m looking down into the white roots of her dyed-black hair.
“Is okay,” she says. “All gonna be okay.”
But it’s not. That’s the problem. This isn’t a dream. I’m not going to wake up and find out that the shooting never happened. I’m not going to open my eyes and remember that I didn’t really witness a murder. A cold-blooded murder involving my ex, who is also the father of my baby.
No, this is for real. And I’m guilty of keeping what I saw secret.
I’m not sure if I’m crying for Kwame, his family or myself. Probably all three. At least nobody seems surprised. After all, everybody else is weeping too.
I break away from Betty. “Sorry,” I say. “I have to go. I’ll come and see you soon.” I grab my baby back and hold her tight. “She’s hungry,” I tell the group. “Time for her bottle.”
I rush to the elevator and push the button.
After I feed Violet, I make myself a sandwich and a cup of tea. I check the TV again to see what they’re saying about the shooting. But there’s nothing new.
There have been no arrests. There aren’t even any leads. The investigation is “ongoing.”
Violet turns herself over and over on her mat. She’s figured out that she can move around by rolling. Then she reaches for the rattle that Kwame gave her. Sticks it in her mouth and gums it. Shaped like a flower, with a mirror on one side and a happy face on the other, it’s pretty much her favorite toy.
I love that she likes it so much. But at the moment I can’t bear to watch her play with it. “Okay, best little girl in the world,” I say, gently taking the rattle out of her tight grasp and picking her up. “Time for your nap.” She snuggles into my arms, and I smother her with kisses.
When Violet’s asleep, I lie down on the sofa. I have to work tonight, and I’ve had almost no sleep since I witnessed the shooting. I pass out right away and almost can’t wake up when Violet starts to fuss about two hours later.
I check my phone and see that Dekker has texted, asking if we’re coming down for a visit. I’m so tempted. I’ve got some time to fill before dinner, and I need to keep busy. Plus, we usually go see him when the building manager is on her break, so it might seem weird if we don’t.
I fix my hair, put on some makeup and carry Violet down to the office.
“Hey, Dek,” I say when I enter. “Wasn’t that terrible about the shooting?” His casual white shirt looks great with his dark hair and eyes.
“Tragic.” He rests his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. “Just totally tragic.”
“How’s the family holding up?”
“They’re devastated. But they’re strong, you know, and religious. So that helps.”
“I guess.” I shift Violet to my other hip. She’s getting too heavy to carry around. “But I can’t imagine how anybody ever deals with something like that.”
Dekker lifts his head and grimaces. “And the worst thing is, they still don’t know who did it. They don’t even have any suspects.”
“That really sucks.” Violet pulls at my hair with her tiny fingers, making me cringe at the memory of Razor stroking my hair in the park this morning. “How’s the memorial fund going?”
Dekker’s face brightens. “Great. Thanks for setting that up. People have been really generous. We’ve got over a thousand bucks so far.”
“Seriously? That’s amazing! So is there anything else I need to do?”
“Not really. We’ll deposit everything and cut the family one big check.”
“Okay.” Good news for me. But it also means I haven’t done enough to count for my volunteer hours.
I can’t believe I just thought that. I should be thinking about helping the Mensah family.
Dekker tickles Violet under her chin. “Hey there, gorgeous.” She gives him her adorable baby giggle.
I say, “So I’ll see you at the memorial service?”
“Of course.” Our eyes meet. He looks a bit awkward and then blurts out, “Maybe this isn’t the right time, but I’ve been meaning to ask. You ever want to go for coffee?”
Yes! Totally. I try to sound casual. “Sure. Just not at the Bean Leaf, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Which reminds me. I’m working tonight, so I better go.”
I feel even guil
tier when I get back upstairs. I’m excited about our possible date but relieved Dekker didn’t guess my terrible secret. He wasn’t suspicious at all.
What will he think of me if he ever finds out?
Chapter Eight
“Just go, Jem,” Wade says. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and give Violet her bath.”
“I know, I know.” I have to go to work, but I’m still shaken from seeing Razor in the park this morning. I keep fiddling around with last-minute stuff. Like putting on more makeup and then wiping most of it off. Like doing my hair for the third time. “Have you seen my keys? And my phone?”
“They’re in your bag,” Wade says. “You put them there a minute ago.”
“Oh yeah, right. I forgot.” God, I’m a mess. I’m so jittery that at dinner I spilled tomato sauce all down my Bean Leaf T-shirt and black skirt. Since my extra uniform is in the laundry basket, I had to sponge the mess off. Now there’s a big wet patch from my chest right down to my crotch.
I am dreading going to work. And not just because of Razor. I don’t want to have to walk past the site of the shooting. But there isn’t time to go another way.
Wade hands me my bag and pushes me toward the door. He holds Violet up for me to kiss goodbye. “Now boot it. You’re gonna be late. And your manager hates that.”
“Sorry.” Wade is such a good boss. And I’d say that even if he wasn’t my big brother. All the staff like and respect him. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” If he only knew what I’m really sorry for.
Wade’s a great babysitter too. I never worry about Violet when she’s with him. By the time I get home at eleven, she’ll have had her last bottle. She’ll be in her crib, sound asleep.
I head up the street, walking fast. Staring straight ahead. But my mind replays it all.
The black SUV roars up again. As it squeals around the corner, I see Razor driving. The other guy leans out the window and shoots.
Kwame is lifted up off his bike and into the air.
Now there’s a shrine near where Kwame landed.
The sidewalk in front of Ready Go is piled with flowers and candles and photos and toys. The display in the building lobby was sad, but this is heartbreaking.
Some of it must be from Kwame’s friends. But a lot is from the general public. People who didn’t even know him but still want to honor him.
I wonder about adding something to the remembrances. But what? There’s already so much stuff here.
Maybe I could bring the rattle he gave Violet? But I’d rather she kept that. Wouldn’t it be a better way to remember Kwame? By seeing how much she likes it every day?
A girl about Kwame’s age comes by and adds a mixed bouquet to the pile. Tears stream down her face. “Did you know him?” she asks me.
“Yeah, kind of. He lived in the same building as me. What about you?”
“He was my best friend,” she sobs. “And my first boyfriend.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Oh God, I’m so, so sorry.”
I walk on to give her some privacy. Grief floods over me. For her, for the life Kwame will never have and for the Mensah family.
Knowing who did it would at least give Kwame’s parents some closure. I’m sure they’d welcome that. For their sakes, I wish I could go to the cops.
But I can’t. I have to do what’s best for Violet.
I walk on to work, hating myself. I made a bad decision leaving Violet alone and going to the store that night. I know the shooting would have happened anyway. But now I’m paying the price of being a witness. And the debt is one I can never clear.
Is it true that Razor didn’t know Kwame would be shot? Should I believe him? And does it even matter? He’s still guilty of being an accomplice. He’s still evil.
What matters more is, did the shooter see me? And if he did, will Razor protect my identity? Or will he tell him who I am?
It’s Monday night, so not much is happening in the neighborhood. The Bean Leaf isn’t busy at all. I could sit and read a magazine. But I’m too jumpy. So I clean tables and refill the milk, cream and sugars.
I watch the door the whole the time, just in case. Razor was toying with me in the park today. He wants to keep me off-balance.
Well, he succeeded.
I’m rattled.
And I can’t stop remembering things I’d rather forget.
How I wish I’d listened to Wade and my mom. How I wish I’d asked more questions about Razor’s work, which turned out to be drug and porn related, before I moved in with him. Or that I’d at least demanded answers to the ones I did ask.
But he made tons of money. He bought me cool clothes and expensive jewelry. He took me to fancy bars and restaurants and fantastic parties.
He rented a nice, respectable detached family home in the eastern suburbs. Landscaped front yard. All very well kept. What more did I need to know?
So when Wade kicked me out, it seemed like a good idea to forget my family and go live with Razor.
But after Razor had made me completely dependent on him, he said I had to earn my keep. With his friends. While he recorded everything.
I can’t believe now that I ever went along with it.
He didn’t lock me in or anything. Didn’t have to. I was totally stuck in my own mess. No job. No friends. No self-respect. Whenever I did threaten to leave, Razor would remind me of his photo and video collection. Did I want my mother and brother to see that?
“Hello? Can we get some service here, please?”
A hipster couple has come into the café. I take their order, still in a daze.
“Hey,” the guy says. “I wanted an Americano, not a large black decaf.”
The woman says, “And I ordered iced black currant tea, not a chai latte.”
“Sorry.” I dump their drinks and start again. I get them right this time, but then I mess up the change.
I’m so upset by the time I’ve closed the café that I take a taxi home. I can’t really afford such a luxury. But I’m too scared to walk. Because I know it’s only a matter of time before Razor makes his next move.
Chapter Nine
In the morning I can hardly drag myself out of bed. I didn’t fall asleep until long after midnight. Now it’s six thirty, and Violet’s crying. I lean over her crib and try to shush her, but she won’t settle back down. She’s hungry.
I lift her and tiptoe past the futon in the living room. Don’t want to wake Wade. I shut the kitchen door and get a bottle ready.
When Violet’s had her milk, I sit her in her high chair. Pour some Cheerios on the tray. She loves to pick them up and stuff them in her mouth or hurl them onto the floor. Keeps her busy.
I make strong coffee. Open the box of day-old baking I brought home from the café last night. There are blueberry muffins, cheese scones and oatmeal cookies. Normally, I’d want one of each. But today I can’t face eating.
I’m too exhausted. Too guilty. Too scared.
After Wade leaves for work, I vacuum the apartment, clean the bathroom and even scrub the kitchen sink. Anything to keep my mind off Razor.
But I can’t block him out. The thought of what he might do is terrifying.
And what about the actual shooter? If he does know I am a witness, he’s not going to just let me be. He’s going to make sure I don’t rat.
The pressure is too much. I have to talk to someone or I’ll freak.
But there’s only Betty. I’ve been avoiding a visit because I’m afraid she’ll get the truth out of me. They don’t call her Big Bad Betty for nothing. For such a tiny person, she can be very intimidating. She’s on the co-op board, and everybody’s scared of her. Except for Wade. They adore each other.
But I really need some company right now. So I take Violet and some muffins down to the fourth floor. Betty answers her door like she was waiting for us. Which she probably was. We often stop by around this time of day.
“Come, come,” she says, pulling us in. “See what I make.”
Betty creates cool jewelry with
fine silken cords of all colors. She ties them into fancy knots. Apparently, it’s an ancient Korean craft. “For Amadi,” she says, holding up a necklace. The knots look like beads. Betty has used shades of red, orange and gold.
“Oh, wow, that’s beautiful.”
Betty nods. “To remember her boy Kwame.” She reaches out to take Violet. “Happy flower face,” she says. “So precious.”
“Brought you some muffins.” I hand her the bag.
“Thanks,” Betty says. “Tea?”
“Tea would be great.” I take Violet back and sit on Betty’s floral sofa. It almost matches the flowered stretch pants she’s wearing today. Violet loves the sofa’s pattern and colors. She grabs at the cushions like she wants to pick the flowers.
Betty puts the muffins on a plate and sets it on the coffee table. She makes jasmine tea in a black iron pot and pours me a cup. Violet grabs for that too.
“No, no, sweetie. Too hot.” I break off a piece of muffin for her. She jams it into her mouth, and crumbs fall everywhere. She struggles in my arms, trying to get more.
Betty takes Violet again and gives her another piece of muffin. Then she scrunches up her face and peers at me. “Nobody come forward about Kwame,” she says. “Nobody will tell what happen.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s so sad.”
“That woman,” Betty says. “On TV.”
“The cashier?”
“No, the one wearing tank top. Buying diapers.” Betty hands Violet back and picks up some bright-blue cords. She starts knotting them like she’s strangling someone. “She should tell.”
“Maybe she didn’t see anything.” Good thing I stuffed that tank top down the garbage chute. And thank heavens I only wore it that night, and neither Betty nor Wade saw me.
Betty nods and says, “Must have seen something.” She concentrates on the cords. “She should tell.” Her fingers move fast and furious. The intricate knot starts to look like a dragonfly.
Violet leans forward, trying to get hold of it. “What if she can’t tell anybody?” I say.
Betty scowls. “Why not?”
“Dunno. Maybe she’s scared? Maybe she doesn’t want to have to testify in court?”
Impossible Page 3
