We Are Not Like Them(100)

“Where are you going?” She sags into the wooden chair.

“Jacksonville.”

“Jacksonville! As in Florida?”

“Yeah, birthplace of Burger King!”

“Jen… this is serious. I can’t believe it. You’re leaving? Just like that?”

“I know, I know. It all happened so fast. We went to visit last week. Kevin’s got a cousin who bought us two tickets with his airline miles. At first we just left so Kevin could have some space to think about the deal, but while we were there the cousin offered him a job—at his landscaping business. And it just… it makes sense. To get out of here.”

“Wow, okay. It’s a lot. I’m trying to process.”

“I know, me too.” Moving almost a thousand miles away from the only place we’ve ever lived is not what I imagined for our future, but nothing has been what I imagined.

We were walking on the beach when Kevin finally made his decision about the deal.

“I’m going to do it, Jen,” he said. “I’m not going to put you and Chase through any more hell.”

“You’re sure?” I said.

“I’m sure. You don’t deserve it and, besides, it wouldn’t be right. I can’t get on that stand and say that I feared for my life.” He wrung his hands, working his knuckles into loud cracks. “Maybe I did in the moment. Maybe I want to believe that I did. But it’s still no excuse. I… reacted. And I can’t look that boy’s mother in the eye and say that I feared for my life. This is what I deserve—worse, probably—but at least this.”

We both stared at the foamy waves that lapped our toes. I could only hope something good comes of this, not for our family, but for the system, as Riley called it. The DA said she wanted to make Kevin an example. Well, now he is one, an example of someone who accepts consequences, who breaks the silence. More people need to. I get that now. Maybe it’ll make a difference. Maybe it’s some small silver lining.

Kevin called Brice to tell him his decision, and then he passed out for twenty-four hours straight. I hovered by the bed, watching him, worried out of my mind that we’d entered another terrible phase, that Kevin’s plan was to sleep (or drink) his way through the rest of his life and that I’d regret my decision to stand by him no matter what. But then he woke up, and the color was back in his face; he stood up straighter, as if a weight had been lifted. Our second night in Florida, we laid with our limbs twisted together like we used to do when we were first dating, only this time Chase was nestled between us. Kevin held on to our son’s tiny fist with his own meaty hands. “We made a person, Jaybird. I can’t believe it.” He smiled then, a barely there smile. Any trace of happiness still feels like an indulgence, something we shouldn’t get to have after everything that’s happened. How much is he entitled to after what he did? The guilt follows us everywhere like a shadow. And sometimes, when we’re happy, when we dare to smile, or delight in our child, or feel optimistic about the future, that shadow reminds us to be humble. And grateful for mercy.

“I want him to respect me,” Kevin said. “To look up to me, but I’ll never be able to change what happened.”

“No, no, you won’t,” I replied simply. I could only offer my husband the truth, my unconditional love, and the fact that I had stayed.

He paused before he said what we had both been thinking. “What if we lived here?”

We both knew staying in Philly would be impossible now that he’s testifying at Cameron’s trial in a few months. We’re already pariahs among people we thought were family, and members of our actual family too. Ramirez won’t speak to Kevin. No one on the force will either. And despite Cookie’s best efforts, Frank and Matt are a cold wall of silence. And then there’s the fact that no one in Philly will hire the guy who shot the kid. Down in Florida, Kevin has the chance to work. Our financial situation has gone from bad to bleak to impossible, and we still don’t know if we’re going to be personally sued; it’s like waiting for the results of a test to see if you have a horrible disease. There’s nothing we can do except hope for the best. But in the meantime, we have food, and Chase has clothes, even if they’re almost all Archie’s hand-me-downs, and with the security deposit on this place and Kevin’s last paycheck, we’ll be able to cover our first month’s rent in Jacksonville, and that’s what I focus on: our immediate needs are met. It made it easy to decide what to do with that $10,000 check from the Order of Kings: that money was never mine or Kevin’s to keep. When I cashed it, I did it at one of those dodgy check-cash places where they take 10 percent and don’t need to know your name. I got a $5,000 money order and sent it anonymously to Strawberry Mansion High School with instructions to start a scholarship fund in Justin’s name. I made out a check to Riley with the rest, right there in my wallet.

“Let me get you something to drink. How about a Coke?” I open the fridge hoping we actually have Coke.

“Whoa, is all that breast milk?” Riley looks stunned at the rows and rows of plastic bottles piled on the top shelf.

“It is. I told the doctor this was the first time in my life that I’ve ever been over-productive at anything. I’m not so great at getting pregnant, but man, I sure can make milk.”

“Have you tasted it?” It’s such a Riley thing to ask, like she’s interviewing me for a segment on new motherhood.