Halfway across the street, I picked up my pace. An eerie whistle sailed toward me. Heavy footsteps followed. Dark memories from the night Tito’d attacked me on this same corner cropped up without warning. Clutching my purse strap and any shred of courage, I skirted around the building. A glimpse of a hefty man wearing a ball cap trailed behind me.
I pressed my back against the bricks, yanked open my purse, and wrangled out the pepper spray that Trey’d made me swear to keep on hand. I clasped it with two sweaty palms. The footsteps drew nearer, the whistle louder. Breathe. Pepper spray at the ready, I pushed off the wall at the same time the man rounded the corner.
He dropped whatever he’d been carrying. “Whoa.” He tugged on his earphones and raised his hands. “Easy, miss.”
“Who are you?” I kept my finger on the trigger.
He didn’t move. “My name’s Max. I’m just doing my job.”
The BMW squealed past us and stirred up a cloud of burnt rubber and exhaust.
I flicked my chin at him. “What job?”
He directed my gaze toward the ground and bent in slow motion. With continued caution, he picked up the paper, eased back to his feet, and held it out to me.
A “For Rent” sign?
He lowered his arms at the same time I lowered the spray. “Sorry, miss. I gotta post this on your door. Then I’ll be outta your way.”
“We still have three months.” Didn’t we?
He shrugged. “Just following orders.”
I would have liked to tell him what he could do with his orders.
I followed beside him, still gripping my spray can. Something felt . . . off. He jimmied a roll of tape from his jeans pocket as I stalled by the door. “Who was in that silver BMW?”
He tore off a piece of tape with his teeth. “What BMW?”
“You didn’t notice that peel out a minute ago?”
He hung the roll on his wrist and leveled out the sign, like he was mounting an art piece on the wall. “Figured it was some kids.”
“In a beamer?” Did he have a clue where he was?
“Didn’t get a good look at the car. Just heard ‘em tires.” He secured the sign with a final piece of tape and dusted off his hand as if he’d finished a day’s hard work. “Alrighty, that’ll do it.” He tipped his hat at me as he turned.
Adrenaline still pulsing, I jetted inside and left the door open.
Trey met my eyes from his desk.
I pointed at the sign. “Did you know he was doing this?”
His glance circled by Darius and Brandon on its way back to me. “Mr. Glyndon told me he was sending someone by.”
“And you just let him?” Trey’d always been able to work things out with our landlord.
He adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses. “I’m not exactly in a position to argue.”
How could he say that? If we didn’t rally for the center, who would?
He motioned to Darius. “Give a holler to the guys out back, will ya? Tell them it’s time to hit the books.”
Darius corralled his peers off the basketball court and led them into the classroom. After all that time being A. J.’s right-hand man on the court, he’d earned a certain respect from the rest of the kids.
I charged straight for my desk phone and the chance to give Mr. Glyndon an earful. Only one ring went through before his voicemail kicked in.
Trey eased the receiver from my ear and set it in its base. “I broke the lease, Emma. We’re four months behind on rent. He’s doing what he needs to.”
“But he was working with us. What changed?”
“Not sure.” He tucked one arm under the other. “It’s business. Guess grace wore out its welcome. At least he gave us three months’ notice.”
Like that made any difference. I slouched in my chair. “Can we move somewhere else?”
His forehead creased. “No one’s gonna sign a lease with someone who can’t even pay a deposit, let alone keep up with rent. Mr. Glyndon owns half the city’s buildings, anyway, and rubs shoulders with whoever owns the rest.”
I flicked a pencil into my keyboard. “Why couldn’t the Success Foundation have sent someone other than Mr. Brake last semester? We wouldn’t even be in this situation if he didn’t blow our chance at getting that grant.”
“But we are.” He squeezed my shoulder and brandished one of his famous father-looks. “No use casting blame.”
“Sorry. It’s just frustrating.”
“I know.” He smiled with the same assurance that’d guided his actions time and again. “It’s gonna be okay.”
Breathing in, I nodded. We’d find a way.
He patted my back and waved a hand over the mess that was supposed to be my desk. “We missed you while you were away.”
“I see that.”
His laugh boosted my spirits. We might’ve been running out of time, but we were here now. Time to get to work. He strolled off to the classroom, and I dove in.
How had this many papers accumulated during such a short time away? I shuffled the bills into a giant pile and glanced at the trashcan. Tempting. I shoved them into my inbox instead to deal with later. Right now, finding funding was the only thing I needed to tackle.
I pulled up Google. Were there any grant leads left? Even if there were, three months wouldn’t be enough time to pull it all together. I raked my hair out of my face. If Mr. Brake hadn’t flown off the handle last semester, we’d already have the funds we needed. His arrogance still burned me. The assumptions he’d made. How he’d accused Dee of things he didn’t have anything to do with and then wrote us off like we were nothing. The whole thing made me want to scream.
A wave of young voices rolled out from the classroom and settled over me in a plea to focus on the present instead of the past.
I opened my notebook to a clean page, tapped my pen against the desk, and drew another deep breath. Hopeless or not, I had to try.
After hours of scouring sites for a possible benefactor and catching up on my regular work, I stashed my pen into the notebook’s spiral binding and sank into the back of my chair.
Trey passed my desk on his way to his own. His gaze skimmed my scribbled notes, but he didn’t mention it. “Is Riley living it up in Nashville like I told him?”
I returned his grin. “Just for you.”
“Knew he’d come through for me.” He bottomed into his chair and tilted back, hands laced behind his head. “Ahhh . . . the vicarious life. That’s how we old folks roll.”
Would there ever be a time he couldn’t make me laugh?
“How do you do it, Trey?”
He lowered his square-framed glasses down his nose and dished out an expression that said “perspective” without any words necessary.
The back screen door shuddered into its frame as little Andre shuffled over to Trey’s desk. He craned his head and scanned the office, face falling. “No Mr. A. J. again?”
My heart winced.
“Not today, buddy.” Trey rolled his chair around his desk and held out a hand. “How ‘bout we keep up that secret handshake for when he comes back.”
Andre’s chin scuffed the tattered collar of his beat-up Nike sweatshirt as he swayed his head. “It’s not the same.”
Nothing was.
Trey kept his hand out, not missing a beat. “Aw, c’mon. You’re the big dawg around here now. I’m countin’ on you to school me.”
A teeny smile crept up Andre’s chubby cheeks. “A’ight.” He clasped Trey’s hand and showed him how he and A. J. used to do it.
Andre whipped around toward a holler from the basketball court and scurried outside.
Though frayed on all accounts, the court still offered them a home. It did for all of us. A. J. included. He should’ve been here. Especially now, when Trey needed help more than ever.
I leaned on my elbows and held my head in both hands. “I’m sorry, Trey. About A. J. not being here. It’s my fault.” Why hadn’t I done things differently?
Trey’s chai
r squeaked into an upright position. He crossed his arms over his desk and stared at me from above the rims of his glasses. “Now, don’t you go blaming yourself for that. And don’t worry about A. J., either. He’ll be back. Give him some time.”
I ran my finger along the dust-filled crease on my keyboard. “I’m not so sure about that.”
A smile curved under his scruffy mustache. He moseyed to the back door and leaned one heavy shoulder against the jamb. “The kids stirred him while he was here. That doesn’t just go away. Believe me, I know.”
So did I.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I usually am. Another of those old folks’ perks.” He fake-stumbled across the room, trying to keep a straight face while hunching over like an elderly person.
Old? He might’ve been pushing fifty, tops. Even younger in spirit. But no denying the business side of things had aged him. My chest deflated at the thought.
At his desk, he settled onto his chair and kneaded out the imprint of another long week from his shoulders. His gaze shifted with his tone. “You should visit him.”
Holding a pile of papers together, I tugged open the center drawer to grab a paperclip. “I don’t think A. J. wants to see me.”
“I wasn’t talking about A. J.”
My glance caught his.
He angled his chin. “I was referring to Tito.”
The papers skimmed the inside of my hand and hit the floor. The air in the room vanished. I couldn’t hear the name of the person responsible for Dee’s death without anger constricting my chest until I couldn’t breathe.
I dropped to my knees, shoved the loose pages into a disheveled pile, and fought back the wave. “Tito’s in jail.” Where he belonged.
He hiked up a brow. “They have this thing called visiting hours.”
I sat back on my heels. “You can’t be serious? Why in the world would I want to visit him?”
“Because you have unfinished business with him.”
I towed myself back up to my chair and straightened the papers from every possible angle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I didn’t have to meet his eyes to tell he didn’t buy it.
“If you leave that bitterness festering, Tito won’t be the only one imprisoned.”
I stared past him into the memory of the day Dee’d first told me about his artwork. The chains of self-doubt that’d bound him before coming to the center had left permanent marks on my heart the same way the look on Tito’s face the day I’d confronted him had left permanent scars.
I choked down the emotion, looked away. Knowing what Trey was saying didn’t make it any easier swallow. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
Rather than press any further, he made his way over to my desk. “It’s been a long day.” He dipped his head toward the door. “Let me walk you to your car.”
A quick glance at the clock announced my shift had ended ten minutes ago.
I tossed a couple of far-reaching grant requests into the outgoing mailbox, tied my scarf around my neck, and flung on my coat. It had been a long day, but I couldn’t call it quits yet. “Hey, Trey? Do you think Dee’s mom would let me get my hands on some of his artwork? I want to see about getting it printed.”
A shade of sadness colored his eyes. “I think Dee would’ve been honored.”
I pinched the sides of my coat over my stomach and curbed back the sense of loss we both wrestled.
The afternoon sunlight reflected off the neighboring building and warmed my face as we walked, despite the chilled wind whirling around us.
Trey stopped in front of Riley’s car and stared at the pavement. “I don’t see much of Ms. Mendierez anymore. Sorry to say, I hear she drinks much of her life away these days.” He rested a hand on my shoulder. “You can stop by her house, Emma, but don’t hope for much of a reception.”
What happened to hope being the only thing we had?
In the driver’s seat, I heaved the car door shut against the wind as Trey turned back to the center. The engine strained against the winter air. Snapping on my seatbelt, I faced the road leading to a conversation I wasn’t even sure how to start.
A succession of one-way streets brought me to Dee’s home. The car idled in front of the mailbox. With my hands wrenched around the steering wheel, I peered back and forth between the run-down townhouse and the street. Did she still live here? Would she even want to talk to me? What if she was an angry drunk? Maybe this was a bad idea.
I grabbed the gearshift but stopped. A drawn-out exhale collected in the cold. Courageous, remember? I cut the engine and jogged up the walkway toward a faded blue door.
Inhaling, I lifted my hand to knock. Something crashed inside the house. The sharp noise tunneled through an open side window and echoed over the small porch. I froze with my arm an inch from the door. Clank. Adrenaline kicked in. Was someone trashing the place?
I crouched around the window. A woman’s muffled shriek followed another crash. I couldn’t see through the opaque glass, but the heavy-scented gust of alcohol seeping through the crack meant one thing.
Ms. Mendierez was home.
chapter Five
Unmoving
Halfway back to the car, the memory of Dee’s face drew me to a stop. He’d want me to be courageous. Not only for the kids in this neighborhood, but for his mom too.
I turned and marched straight up to the door without hesitation this time. “Ms. Mendierez?” I called. “It’s Emma. Emma Matthews . . . from the center. We met last week.”
Noise rattled behind the door, but it didn’t budge.
“I was a friend of Dee’s.” I held my breath. Would the mention of her belated son make things worse?
The front door creaked open an inch. A distorted replica of the confident woman I’d met at the center peered from inside. Her hair was matted down from every angle as if she hadn’t showered or combed her hair in days. Deep circles under her eyes matched the door she was clutching to keep from tumbling over.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Mendierez? I’m Emma. We met—”
“I remember.” Her voice sounded pained, distant.
I had trouble finding my own. “Would you mind if I came inside for a minute?”
Her gaze wandered over her shoulder.
Maybe I should’ve at least called first. Gave her some kind of warning. “If it’s a bad time, I understand.”
Shoulders dropping, she staggered backward and tied a loose belt strap around a gray, tattered bathrobe. The door swayed open and released another gust of alcohol-infused air from inside. This time, a mixed odor of stale laundry and expired milk joined it.
Ms. Mendierez transferred her grip from the door to the staircase banister. Inside, I glanced into the living room from the entryway. A collection of drained liquor bottles cluttered a coffee table piled with papers and clothes overflowing onto the couch.
She stumbled into the hollow doorway and obstructed my view. “What can I do for you, Miss Matthews?” she slurred.
I backed up in search of the reason I’d come. “Um, actually, it’s about Dee.”
She hugged her arms to her stomach and stared right through me into memories I didn’t need to see to feel. The disheveled place carried enough brokenness of its own.
Was there any way to restore what’d been lost? I paced across the small entryway. “Your son was a very gifted artist. I was hoping—”
A rueful laugh caught me short. I looked up. “Ms. Mendierez?”
“I never even knew my boy liked to draw.” Her face contorted with pain. “I found a sketchbook in his desk after . . .”
Compassion drew me toward her. “I think Dee was very self-conscious about it. He didn’t realize how talented he was.”
Her glassy eyes stayed locked on the wall.
I reached for her hand. “I think we have a good chance of getting his artwork printed. Maybe even selling some. My brother has connections. I came to ask if you’d be okay with us tr
ying. Dee’d probably be embarrassed,” I said, smiling. “But I think it would’ve made him happy.”
For the first time since I’d arrived, a genuine smile graced her face. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I think you’re right. It’d make him happy.”
She motioned for me to go ahead of her up the worn staircase. Daylight dimmed behind us once we reached the top. Ms. Mendierez nudged me toward a bedroom door on the right.
I paused with my hand on the knob. She didn’t move from the top of the stairwell. Only gestured for me to enter.
A door had never felt so heavy. The glare from a window on the opposite wall flooded the darkened hallway. I inched inside. The room looked like she’d left it exactly the way it’d been the last night Dee was there—rumpled covers balled up at the bottom of his bed, an untouched pile of dirty clothes hanging down the side of an open hamper next to the closet, textbooks strewn across a small desktop.
My feet might as well have had weights tied to them. Surrounded by memories torn between what was and what would never be, I couldn’t blame Ms. Mendierez for keeping his door closed.
I reached over an old wooden chair in front of his desk and picked up a black metal picture frame. An ear-to-ear smile radiated from an elementary-aged image of Dee, who had his arms wrapped around a man’s broad shoulders. Must’ve been his father. The resemblance left little room for doubt.
Despite the damage his dad’s abandonment had created, Dee’s eyes didn’t hold a drop of bitterness. Only grace.
“He loved that fool.”
Ms. Mendierez’s frail silhouette lined the doorframe as though an invisible barrier prevented her from stepping into the room and into a world where even breathing felt unbearable.
“Damian ran off before Dee was out of training pants.” That same dark laugh from earlier shadowed her words. “Oh, he’d show his face whenever he needed somethin’. Even put on a show like he cared ‘bout spending time with his son. But it always ended the same. Always empty words. Same empty promises. He never had to see the look in Dee’s eyes the next day.” Lines of resentment burrowed into the creases on her forehead.
Hope Unbroken (Unveiled Series Book 3) Page 3
