What Lies Beyond the Veil(Of Flesh & Bone #1)(5)

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The sky that night is like fire-burnt marshmallows, with some patches too dark to see, but some patches that glow. We sit on the big porch, me and Nia and Granddaddy, none of us speaking. Back in Detroit there was always so much noise. I used to cover my ears with earmuffs, even in the summertime, and say over and over, I just wanna be alone. I just wanna be alone. I just wanna be alone. No matter how many times I said it, I never got to be alone. There was always somebody there, always so much noise. But now, ain’t no noise. I’m still not alone, but feels like I am, here with Nia and Granddaddy and wondering if either one of ’em even likes me. I decide not to worry bout it, though, and just enjoy the quiet I always wanted. I open my book and peek at Nia, who got headphones in her ears, as usual. She begged Momma for days after finding a new Walkman at the secondhand store, and now she listens to it nonstop.

Hours ago, before the sun crept into its shadow, Momma backed out of Granddaddy’s graveled drive, no smile painted on her face, only a blank frown that spread to her eyes. She frowns so much now, and I know it has something to do with Daddy. And not just cause he died. She been sad since before that day. Some nights I’d hear her arguing with Daddy in a big whisper that crossed the thin wall between their room and ours. If I asked bout it the next morning, she’d keep humming and washing dishes and say I imagined it all.

After Daddy died, I looked up that word, fiend, in the dictionary. The first definitions I saw all made it seem like a fiend was some kind of devil. But the third definition down talked bout somebody who was addicted to something, which reminded me of a movie I once watched with Daddy. It was called New Jack City even though it took place in New York City, and it was bout gangs and a drug called crack and a guy named Nino Brown who sold it to people. I ain’t sure why Daddy let me watch it cause the movie had naked people and guns and it was definitely not a movie for little kids. But when I found him on the couch in the basement and snuggled up next to him, he ain’t make me leave.

Once I thought back to that movie, I figured out what the smell was, and what Daddy was doin’ on them stairs, and how Daddy died. At least I think I know, cause I ain’t ever ask nobody. But I think Daddy was doin’ drugs, and kinda like the crack addict Pookie from the movie, Daddy did too much til he died. But there’s still a lot of stuff I don’t know, too. Like why Daddy ain’t just stop doin’ drugs if he knew it could kill him. And why Momma ain’t do nothin’ to stop him, or if she did, why it ain’t work. Even Pookie tried to go to rehab, which I guess is a place for people to go and try to stop being addicted to drugs. Usually, I would ask Nia my questions. Used to be that Nia would tell me the stuff the grown-ups wouldn’t. She was the one who finally told me the truth bout Santa, after I asked her why Santa forgot our house one Christmas. But these days, talking to Nia is like talking to a grown-up. And all grown-ups do is lie to me and treat me like a kid.

I pull off my gym shoes—damp now cause I ain’t wear no socks—and stretch my legs in front of me, wiggling my toes in the cool night air. This summer, I’m gon’ get Nia to start telling me the truth again. I bet if I figure out how to be her friend again, then she gon’ tell me stuff and we can figure it out together. I bet me and Nia gon’ fix everything, so we can all go back home.

Granddaddy stands up from his big rocking chair and slowly walks into the house. It’s black dark outside now, so the words in my book disappear. I strain my eyes, try to make out anything in the darkness, but ain’t nothin’ to see, cept, barely, the leaves of a giant tree, stretching and growing and pointing in all directions. A strange noise like when the wind gets caught in my bedroom curtains makes me wonder if something is crawling nearby—maybe a raccoon? I ain’t ever seen a raccoon, cept for when I begged Momma for a subscription to National Geographic. We couldn’t afford it, but she found me just one encyclopedia at the secondhand store: animals starting with the letter R. I read in that book that raccoons have thumbs like humans and can turn doorknobs. After six straight nights of raccoon nightmares, I hid the book under Daddy’s stairs, where I knew nobody would ever find it.

I shiver and stand, tryna think bout something else. But now my mind is stuck on that book. On raccoons and Daddy’s stairs.

“Nia?” My whisper comes out more like a shriek. But Nia, still with them headphones on, don’t budge. I creep closer. Her eyes are closed tight, and her head sways slow, back and forth, to a rhythm I can’t hear. All I can hear instead is a bunch of noises I don’t recognize. Too many noises I don’t recognize. “Nia!”

Her eyes pop open just as I reach to shake her shoulder. She jumps, and her Walkman lands with a hard thud on Granddaddy’s wood porch. “What’d you do that for?” Nia scoops up the Walkman and shoots me her very best mean face. I smile, even though it don’t make no sense. Nia turns the Walkman over and over in her hands, but she can’t find nothin’ wrong.

“I just wanted to get your attention,” I whisper. “You wanna go inside?”

“Nah, I’m gon’ stay out here.” Nia stretches her long legs out, crossing one ankle over the other as she leans back on the corner porch post. Her legs are thicker than mine, especially her thighs, but we both got the same little spots all over—not quite moles or freckles, but more so little brown speckles—just like Daddy.