Things We Do in the Dark(25)
Forty-six million. Damn. So the wife probably did do it, then. Drew has never paid much attention to the trials and tribulations of celebrities, but the Jimmy Peralta murder is interesting. He just watched Jimmy Peralta Lives on Quan not that long ago, and is looking forward to the second special. Seriously funny shit, though the title of the first show is now ironic, and sad.
“As I live and breathe,” a delighted voice says.
Drew turns away from the TV to find a woman standing a few feet away with a big smile on her face. It takes a few seconds to place her, but when it comes to him, his mouth drops open.
“Charisse?” He stands, trying to reconcile this lovely woman with his memory of the gangly middle schooler whose dad forced her to bus tables here. “That you?”
“Drew Malcolm,” Charisse says, hip cocked. “What are you doing back in this neck of the woods?”
“Just meeting someone for lunch,” Drew says. “Look at you. You’re grown.” And fine, he thinks, but that would be a hell of a weird thing to say, even though Charisse has to be in her thirties now. Gone are the skinny limbs and braces. This woman has curves and a twinkle in her eye.
“All right, give me the five-second summary,” Charisse says. “Married? Kids? Home? Job?”
“Never married. One daughter, Sasha, nineteen, who just finished her second year at Western. I have a condo in Liberty Village, I was an investigative journalist for fifteen years for Toronto After Dark, and now I host a true crime podcast out of my den.”
“Toronto After Dark?” She looks impressed. “I remember that newspaper. It came out every Saturday, right?”
“Until it shut down, yes.”
“Ugh, sorry. Okay, my turn.” Charisse clears her throat. “Married for ten years, now divorced, but we’re still best friends. One amazing kid, Dante, eight. Just bought a house three blocks away, and I run this place now.”
“Wow, Junior finally retired?”
Her smile fades. “No, Daddy died. Four years ago. Prostate cancer that spread to his bones.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Drew says, and he truly is. “Junior was a good man. Heart of gold and the best cook this side of Toronto.”
“Amen,” Charisse says. She raises an eyebrow and gives him the once-over. “So what, you waiting for your Tinder date?”
“You’re funny. Work meeting, for the podcast.”
She seems pleased by his answer. “In that case, both your lunches are on me.”
He laughs. “Thanks, but that’s not—”
“Already done.” Charisse waggles her fingers. “Fitzroy is in the back cooking, and you’d better say hello before you go.”
He grins as she walks away, then sits back down, marveling at how much things have changed. The neighborhood, the restaurant, Charisse. She might be an adult now, but in his head, Junior’s daughter will always be twelve.
Just like Joey will always be twenty.
* * *
Drew recognizes the woman from her LinkedIn picture the second she rushes into the restaurant, though she looked a lot less harried in the photo. They trade introductions, and he waves off her apologies for being late, inviting her to sit down while he orders lunch for both of them at the counter. True to Charisse’s word, the cashier refuses his money.
By the time he’s back with their food, Dr. Deborah Jackson is calmer. Her coral blazer is draped over the back of her chair, her overstuffed tote bag sitting on the floor by her feet. She smiles at him warmly, and she reminds Drew of his mother before all the health issues started.
“You’re handsome,” she says, appraising him. “You could have mentioned that in your email. I would have been on time and worn something cuter.”
He nearly drops the tray, and she laughs. It breaks the tension, and he appreciates her efforts to make things a little lighter for the both of them. They both know this won’t be an easy conversation.
“I appreciate you meeting me, Dr. Jackson,” he says, taking a seat across from her.
“Deborah, please.” She picks up her fork. “I admit I had second thoughts on the way over. I quit doing social work a month after Joelle died. I realized when I couldn’t get out of bed that being a caseworker probably wasn’t the job for me. So I went back to school, and now I teach. Had you not told me about Ruby Reyes making parole, I’m not sure I could even bring myself to talk about Joelle. I think it’s outrageous her mother is getting out, and that she used #MeToo to make it happen. It’s offensive to the real victims. I’m glad you’re doing the podcast.”
Drew is relieved they’re on the same page. “How long did you work with Joey?”
“From the night her mother was arrested to the day she turned eighteen. Just over four years. But we did keep in touch for a while after she aged out.”
“Isn’t it unusual to work with someone that long?”
“Very. Most foster kids have several caseworkers by the time they age out of the system, but since Joey was placed with family, I was able to stay with her. She was technically in kinship care, but there’s not much difference.”
She takes a bite of the dish she ordered, oxtail, and chews slowly. “This is good.”
Drew also ordered them a side of fried plantains, and he pushes the plate toward her. “Joey and I used to come here all the time. Our house wasn’t far from here.”