We Are Not Like Them(22)

“You’re right. Everything you said. It’s messed up.”

“I mean, it could’ve been me.”

We’re both quiet for a beat; we’ve cut close to the bone, too close.

“You gotta interview Justin’s mom. Tamara Dwyer,” Shaun says. “She needs her story told. We gotta keep the mothers of the movement in the spotlight. The mothers are what hit people. He killed someone’s child.”

Shaun’s militant fire never fails to focus me. “Exactly, I have to get to her. I need to talk to Tamara.”

“I can connect you.”

“Really?” I’m relieved to hear that I may have a way in that doesn’t involve Pastor Price.

“Bet, my boy Derek lives over in Strawberry Mansion. He knows her people. He used to mess with Justin’s cousin Deja. Her dad, Wes, is one of Tamara’s brothers. She’s got a slew of them.”

Justin was shot only a few blocks from his row house in that neighborhood.

“You’ll ask for me?” This is why I love being back on my hometown turf, a network of sources I can easily tap.

“Yeah, I got you, sis. She ain’t gonna wanna talk to any of those white people anyway. Quinn Taylor? No way is Nancy Newscaster doing this interview. You got this. Now I gotta go tear up some more of this mac.”

Shaun’s got the same chip on his shoulder that I have about Quinn, ever since I told him what she said on Halloween.

“You should all come to my house in Society Hill,” she offered the news team. “Our whole street is decorated, and we get kids from all over the city. Their parents drive them in from the ghetto. It’s cute.”

Shaun gets up to grab seconds from the buffet. He’s a grown man, but he eats like a teenage boy in the middle of a growth spurt. He looks like one too, with the carriage of a gangly adolescent, a puppy who hasn’t quite grown into his paws and ears. It’s why the girls have always flocked to him: he looks like someone you want to save. Gigi always calls him tenderhearted, and it’s true.

Someone approaches from behind me, and I reach for my purse, assuming it’s the waitress coming to fill our iced teas. I want to pay for our meal while Shaun’s at the buffet.

“Hi?”

It’s not the waitress.

I turn around and I’m face-to-face with Jenny, who, once again for a disconcerting split second, seems like a complete stranger. She’s wearing an extra-large Phillies sweatshirt commemorating their World Series win. It’s peeking out of a puffy coat that doesn’t quite fit around her middle. Her glow has been replaced by scarlet splotches.

“Sundays is church and Monty’s.” She offers a tentative smile.

An unfamiliar awkwardness charges the air between us.

“I haven’t come here in forever.”

Jen’s face flushes pink. The redness of her eyes makes me think she’s been crying, only Jen never cries.

“Shaun posted on Facebook that he was taking his sister to Monty’s. I had to see you. You didn’t answer my calls.”

I can’t explain why my heart is racing. I take a deep breath, but before I can respond, Shaun returns and, when he sees Jenny, almost drops his slice of apple pie.

“Oh… hey, Jenny.”

“Hey, Shaun.” She tentatively steps forward to hug him, and he lets her, even though he stiffens up, a contrast to his usual bear hug.

He clearly doesn’t know what to do or say once they’re apart. He reaches out like he’s about to touch her stomach, then thinks better of it. “You’re so big. You having triplets or something?”

No one even attempts to laugh, not that it was particularly funny, or maybe even meant to be. Instead, there’s a beat where we all stare at one another like actors who’ve forgotten their lines.

Shaun breaks the spell by doing what I wish I could do: he leaves.

“I’mma let y’all do this. I’ll catch an Uber back, sis.” He leans down and kisses the top of my head like a dad sending his daughter off to school and then nods at Jen. He’s a few feet from the table when he turns back. “Kevin fucked up, Jenny.” He says it loud enough that heads swivel toward us. And then he’s out the door.

Jenny visibly cringes at Shaun’s words, and I do too. But what else was he supposed to say or do right now? Flirt with Jenny like he normally does, or make some lame joke about her haircut? She looks like she’s going to call out to Shaun, and then she stops herself; instead, she turns to me, helpless. I want to reach for her, but my hand doesn’t move.

“Can we please talk?” Jenny’s not asking, she’s pleading.

And whatever tornado of emotions is swirling through me right now, about what Kevin’s done or the things she may have said or not said, there’s only one answer to her question. I motion for her to sit.





Chapter Four JEN




Shaun’s words are a sucker punch to my gut. It takes everything I have not to turn and bolt out the door. Coming here was a mistake, I see that now, but I can’t leave. I can’t do anything except slink into the booth across from Riley, who stares at me like I’m a stranger. She’s waiting for me to say something, face as blank as an empty canvas. I have no idea what to say. I’m sorry? But what am I sorry for exactly, and why am I apologizing to Riley?