What's Mine and Yours(6)

Ray looked at Gee in the rearview mirror. “What do you think about living in a house one day? One that’s really ours?”

“Our house isn’t ours?”

Ray didn’t want to explain about rent and mortgages, and he wasn’t sure he knew how it all worked himself. But he wanted his boy to understand.

“When a house is yours, nobody can take it away. It’s mine, and then one day, it passes on to you. It has your name on it. You know what a legacy is?”

Ray turned onto Wilson’s street and put the car in park. He wanted to go on talking to Gee, but he knew he had no time. He turned to tell his boy to run up to the house, when he saw Jade and Wilson in the yard, talking to a man in a dark blue sweatshirt. His back was to the street, so Ray couldn’t see his face. He was hardly moving but Ray could tell something was wrong. Jade had her finger pointing at the man and she was yelling. Wilson had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his face too nonchalant, like he was doing his best not to explode.

“You stay in the car,” Ray said and unlocked the door.

“Daddy?”

Ray turned to face his boy. “You pay me mind,” he said more sternly. Gee nodded. He sat up taller in his seat, strained to peer out the window.

Ray handed him the box of doughnuts. “I’ll be right back,” he said more softly, and scaled fast up the lawn.

Jade said his name as soon as she saw him, and the man in blue turned around. He had a pale face, a toothpick dangling out the side of his mouth. He slit his eyes at Ray and said, “Who the fuck is this? Did you call somebody?” He pointed his finger at Wilson, who was tapping his foot against the ground. He was either agitated or scared. Jade was both, Ray could see. He went and stood beside her.

“What’s going on?” he said. He was still wearing his apron, but he made himself look broad, his voice low.

“Your cousin owes me money. Selling all this furniture isn’t going to make you enough to pay me back. And I’m tired of waiting.”

“I already told you, I don’t have it on me,” Wilson said.

The man in blue shook his head. “Then I’m here to take you to the bank where you can get it. Or I’m taking her to the bank—” He nodded at Jade. “I don’t care who it is. Somebody is going to pay me my money today.”

He was shouting, and Ray wanted to take Jade, put her in the car, drive her and Gee back to Superfine, but he knew he couldn’t. This man wouldn’t let them off, he could see, and, if they weren’t careful, it would come to a fight. He didn’t want to fight him, not with Gee in the car. The little boy had his face to the window, his hand on the glass.

“How much does he owe you?” Ray asked. The man said the number, and Ray shook his head. “I can’t help you with that.”

“Then maybe she can,” the man in blue said, and he took a step toward Jade.

Ray put his arm around her, even if it didn’t make sense, even if he should keep his hands free. She was looking away from the three of them, toward the car, watching their son.

“That’s enough,” Wilson said finally. “Let’s go to the bank. Just leave my cousin out of this.” He inched his hand around his back.

“What are you doing?” the man in blue shouted at him. “Hey, man, what you doing?”

Before Wilson could answer, the man pulled out a gun, held it straight up to his face. Jade gasped, and Ray took her by the shoulders, pushed her hard behind him, but all the man in blue saw was Ray moving. He turned the gun toward him and shot.



His daddy had told him not to move from the car, and Gee didn’t mean to disobey, but his body started going all on its own. He was running up the lawn. His mother was slumped over, like she’d been knocked down, too, and she was screaming. There were doors opening down the street, but Gee couldn’t turn to look—his eyes were set on his father, fallen down, like he had been playing a game where one moment he was up, and the next, he was splayed out. Gee wedged himself between the grown-up bodies to kneel next to his daddy. He felt his mother lifting him away. He fought and kicked to stay close. She lost her grip on him, and he sank nearer to him, the one he loved. He used his hands to pinch his father’s shoulders, his pretty ironed shirt, his favorite, red-and-pink plaid. Gee shook him, called out to him, but he stayed still. He stuck his hand underneath his daddy’s body, to prop him up, so he could hear. Daddy, he said. Daddy. When his hand came back to him, it was shining with blood.





2



November 1996


On the outskirts of a city in the Piedmont, North Carolina

It was a Wednesday, newly November, and Lacey May Ventura was raking the leaves in the yard. Her fingers were red and sore, and it occurred to her to check the gas tank behind the house. In the Piedmont, winter never announces itself; the days turn toward the cold and away from it, the first dusting of snow arriving gently, without warning.

Lacey May pulled up the metal lid and saw the needle on the gauge pointing down to 15 percent. She ran inside, still holding the rake, and dropped the heat down as low as she could stand.

She passed the rest of the day in her good coat, a kettle boiling on the stove. She drank cup after cup of coffee to keep her hands warm, and by noon, she was shaking from all the caffeine, her fingernails tinged with blue. She wanted Robbie to call so she could ask how long 15 percent would last, but he didn’t. She called the agency instead to ask if they’d found anything for her yet.