This Is My America(27)

Malcolm’s eyebrows raise. “You heard from him?”

“Malcolm.” Her voice is biting.

“No.” I smile. “But I’m sure we will. It’s all—”



“Bev will find him. She’ll clear things up.” Malcolm’s all puffed out.

I hope that’s true. Hope that Beverly won’t forget where she came from.

I look past Mrs. Ridges to the inside of her house. It has remnants of our home. Jamal’s old bike hanging in the entryway catches my eye. My coat hangs on a hook. I purposefully tore it so I could beg Mama for a new one and keep up with my classmates. The rip is sewn, barely noticeable; it must belong to Quincy’s sister CeCe now. Being here is like seeing my family echoed in someone else’s.

“I should go,” I croak out.

“I’ll tell Quincy you came by.” Mrs. Ridges grabs her keys and walks to her car, Malcolm trailing behind. She stops. “I’m sorry to hear about Jamal, but don’t come ’round here bringing trouble. If they looking for Jamal, I know they gon’ be bugging my boy about this. Already been here once.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” I slump my shoulders. She’s right. I wanted to find Jamal.

“Don’t be like that now, Tracy. Hold your head up. I still love you. Still love your mama, Jamal, too. But I can’t lose one of my boys. They all I got.”

“I know.” I turn back to the car.

“How your daddy doing?” Mrs. Ridges yells after me.

I put my hand up to block the sun and see if she really wants to know.

“He’s okay.” My voice cracks. “He got less than a year, you know.” I stand there, waiting for her to say more. She almost seems like she’s done with me, but then she speaks again.



“I be praying for him, you know. Every day. Always in my prayers. We lost Jackson. We don’t need to lose nobody else. So, you tell him I say hi. You tell him…” Her voice stops, choking on her words. “I hope God’ll answer y’all’s prayers. Bring him and Jamal home.”

She steps into her car, waving at Malcolm to hurry up and get inside. Malcolm catches my attention, pointing to the garage before he waves goodbye. That’s when I notice Quincy’s Impala hidden behind Mrs. Ridges’s car. That garage never could close all the way.

Quincy’s home.





GOTCHA!

I walk around the porch to the back window and spot Quincy watching TV. I tap on the glass and give him a winning smile.

I read Quincy’s lips: Shit.

When I come around, Quincy’s already by the door, leaning on the frame. Even though he is lounging around the house, he never looks unkempt. Locs twisted tight, clean-shaven, and crisp white shirt and blue jeans.

“What’s the occasion?” Quincy’s locs sway as he checks me up and down. His soft brown eyes perk up, curious.

“What’s up with having your mom cover for you?”

“That was all her.”

I study him. He looks like he’s telling the truth, and Malcolm acted surprised when she mentioned Quincy wasn’t home.



“Can I come in?” I step closer, foot in the doorway and hand on my hips.

“A’ight.” Quincy towers over me as he leads me to his family room. Stacked up along the wall is his DVD master collection of The Wire. He binge-watches like new episodes are still coming out. He turns the volume down on the television.

“You talk to Jamal?” I ask.

“Your brother?”

“Of course, fool.”

“Damn, Tracy.” Quincy cocks his head to the side. “Why you always gotta run that mouth of yours?”

“You like it,” I say. “When was the last time you talked to my brother?”

“Why? You ratting him out or something?” Quincy points for me to sit right next to him. Normally, I’d choose the opposite seat to get under his skin, but I don’t.

“Does that mean you’re finally going to admit you’re happy to see me?” Quincy loosens a grin when I sit next to him.

“I’m looking for Jamal. I’m worried. The whole family is.”

Quincy’s face gets serious. He sits up, and his broad shoulders stand out as he pulls himself up from slouching on the couch, dragging his left leg in so it’s even with his right. He’s always kept his athletic, muscular build, training and working out, even though he never had a chance to compete much in sports.

“I know you’ve heard from him.” I don’t know if it’s true, but I’m betting something is up, since he didn’t want to answer the door.



I reach for Quincy’s hand. It’s rough but soft at the same time.

“I’d tell you if I could,” he says.

I drop his hand.

“Damn, T. Why you gotta be so disappointed in me? That shit kills me. I promised your bro I wouldn’t get you caught up. You feel me?”

“You admit you’ve seen him.” I flick my hand at his leg. “C’mon, where is he? Is he safe?”

“Slow down. I saw him yesterday. He needed to get cleaned up and clear his head, pick up a few supplies. Ma spotted Jamal hiding out in my room after the police came by, and she flipped her lid. She covered for him, since they weren’t searching the house, but made me promise not to see him again or she’d tell Beverly.”