Janet recognized the foolishness of trying to hide the paper. She pointed to the chair. Bill picked up the paper and sat down. Janet put the eggs in front of him.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t wait on me,” he said.
“I felt like it.”
“You felt sorry for me,” he said.
Janet didn’t answer, but there was some truth in what her father said. Years ago, he’d lost his son and then his wife. Then came the recent job loss, and Janet moved in to help make sure he didn’t lose the house. Her father might be reserved and distant—difficult even—but she never outgrew the desire to protect and help him. And that desire only became stronger as her father grew older. He was sixty-two and starting to look his age.
“Jesus,” he said. He folded the paper, snapping the pages into place with a flick of his wrists, and leaned close to read the story. “Not even at the top…”
Janet knew what the story said. Her brother had disappeared twenty-five years ago that day, and the local paper was running a couple of stories to commemorate the anniversary. The first one detailed the life of Dante Rogers, the man convicted of killing her brother. Paroled three years earlier, slowly adjusting to life back on the outside, working part-time at a church on the east side of Dove Point, Ohio…
While her dad read the article and cursed under his breath, Janet turned to the sink. She ran a rag over some dishes from the night before. “Today’s our day, remember?” she said. “The reporter is coming over at two. I’m leaving work early—”
The paper rustled and fell to the floor. When Janet turned, her dad was cutting into his eggs, shoveling them toward his mouth with machinelike quickness. He paused long enough to ask a question. “Do you know what I think of all this?” he asked.
“I can guess.”
He pointed to the floor where the paper rested, the article about Dante Rogers facing up. “This article—it’s like they want me to feel sorry for this guy. It reads like he got some kind of a bum rap because he went to jail for twenty-two years for killing a kid—”
“Did you read the whole story?” Janet asked.
Her dad kept chewing. “I already lived it.”
Janet leaned back against the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “He still says he’s innocent,” Janet said.
Her father’s eyes moved back and forth, giving him the look of a caged animal. His cheeks flushed. “So?” He looked down at his plate, pushed the remains of the egg around, making a runny yellow smear. He didn’t look back up.
“He says—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said, dropping his fork. “He just wants sympathy from people. Probably living on welfare.”
Janet took hold of the belt of her robe. She worked it in her hands, fingering it, using it almost like rosary beads. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really want to tell my story to the reporter either,” she said.
“I know the story. Rogers killed my boy. That’s it.” He pushed away his plate and rose to his feet. The first year after being laid off, her dad dressed just like he did when he went to work—shirt and tie, neatly pressed pants. The past year had seen a change. He no longer dressed first thing in the morning and went days on end without shaving. He stopped reading the classifieds a few months earlier.
“Then I guess it’s silly for me to ask if you want to do anything special today?” Janet asked.
“Anything special?”
“For the anniversary of Justin’s death.”
“Have I ever before?” he asked. “Have you?”
Janet shook her head. She hadn’t. Every year, she tried to treat the day like any other day. She tried to live her life, work her job, and raise her daughter.
“Then there’s your answer, I guess,” he said. “What time’s that reporter coming over?”
“I just said. Two o’clock. So, are you going to talk to her?”
He left his dirty dishes on the table. “I’ve got nothing to say to any of them,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
Chapter Two
Ashleigh sent Kevin a text: Where R U?
She waited near the swings, the sun high overhead prickling the back of her neck. It was just eight thirty and already hot enough to send sweat trickling down her back. Ashleigh scuffed her sneakers in the dirt and checked her phone.
No response yet.
Where was he?
She watched the little kids scream and play. They ran around like monkeys, their mouths open, their hair flying. They never tired or stopped. Ashleigh felt something swell in her throat, an emotion she couldn’t identify. She took a deep breath, like she needed to cry, but swallowed back against it, choking it down. She turned away. She couldn’t watch the kids anymore. They looked so vulnerable, so fragile, like little glass creatures.
This is the park, she thought. This is where it happened.
Kevin came out of the trees. She recognized his loping gait, his broad shoulders. He wore his work uniform—black pants and a goofy McDonald’s smock. He’d decided to grow his Afro out over the summer, and it made him seem even taller. Ashleigh took another deep breath, collected herself before Kevin arrived.
“Hey, girl,” he said.
“Thanks for writing back.”
“I got called in.” He pointed at his shirt. “I have to be there at ten.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Kevin shrugged, casual as could be. “I have to earn my keep.”
“Let’s get going then. These kids bug the shit out of me.”
They didn’t talk much. Ashleigh imagined that the parents on the playground—the ones who always came to watch their kids, whether they knew what had happened there twenty-five years ago or not—had noticed the two of them: a tall black boy and a short white girl, walking side by side. She’d known Kevin for three years, ever since the first day of junior high, when they’d sat next to each other in history class. At first she thought he was dumb, maybe even retarded. He was so big, so quiet. Then she noticed the jokes he cracked at the teacher’s expense, his voice so low only she could hear.
“What’s your plan?” he asked.
They came out into the neighborhood that bordered the park. It was opposite where she lived with her mom and grandfather, and a little nicer too. She supposed it was upper middle class as opposed to simply middle class. Bigger houses, nicer cars. A neighborhood where no one got laid off.
They walked past older homes with nice yards. Retirees lived there, old people who spent their days digging in their gardens and sweeping their walks. If a piece of trash ended up in the yard, they’d probably call the police.
“I don’t have one yet,” Ashleigh said.
“You usually have a plan for everything.”
“I don’t for this.”
They reached Hamilton Avenue, a major road dotted with strip malls and gas stations.
Kevin said, “So you’re just going to go up to this dude and say, ‘Hey, what do you know about my dead uncle?’”
“Be quiet.”
Ashleigh looked down the road. She saw the bus.
“If I go with you…” Kevin sounded uncertain. “I’m going to be late for work. I’ll get written up.”
“Then don’t go,” she said. “Make hamburgers for strangers. Forget about all those football games I went to with you.”
“Come on, Ash. My dad says if I don’t have a job this summer, he’s going to kick me out of the house.”