Saul pushed through the cafeteria doors, the noise behind him spilling out into the open air. He stepped into the courtyard and stopped short, letting the crowd move around him. He lifted his chin and scanned.
Tables were scattered across the square, benches bolted down, kids packed in tight with fries and chips and styrofoam clamshells. A couple boys argued over a phone, shoulders bumping. Saul’s eyes kept moving.
He spotted Zoe on the far side.
She sat with Mia at a table that caught more sun than shade. Zoe’s hair was down, long and neat. Mia’s phone sat in her hand, thumb working, her elbow planted, posture settled. Saul swallowed once, then started walking.
Zoe looked up when his shadow hit the edge of their table.
Saul stopped at the end of the bench and looked down at her. “Can I talk to you right quick?”
Mia’s head snapped up from her phone. She pulled her lips to one side and leaned back, arm draped along the table. “Talk to her about what? Y’all don’t got anything to talk about.”
Zoe’s eyes stayed on Saul. She gave a small shake of her head and nudged her chin toward the empty bench a few feet away. “Nah, it’s cool.”
She slid her book into her lap, pushed back from the table, and stood. Saul’s fingers flexed as he stepped out of her way as she moved past.
He followed her over, keeping his pace even. At the other bench, Zoe sat first, angled forward, knees apart. Saul lowered himself onto the bench next to her. The metal was cold through his jeans. He adjusted once, then still.
He turned his head toward her. “How you been?”
Zoe didn’t look at him right away. Her gaze stayed on the courtyard, on the movement, on the noise. She picked at the corner of her book cover with a nail, then finally answered, eyes still forward. “Straight. Just trying to get through these last months then I’m moving to Mississippi.”
Saul blinked hard. His eyes widened. He leaned back a fraction, shoulders stiffening. “Mississippi? For what?”
Zoe rolled her eyes and turned her head enough to give him a clean look. “School, fool. I get into Alcorn State.”
Saul let out a short laugh, the sound catching in his throat. His hand went up and rubbed the back of his neck, fingers pressing into skin, then sliding. “Oh, right. We are about to graduate.”
Zoe shifted on the bench, turning her body a little more toward him now. Her knee bumped his once. “What about you?”
Saul’s mouth opened and closed. His fingers tapped his thigh once, then stopped. “Well… well, I got a kid on the way?”
Zoe’s eyebrows jumped. Her eyes widened and she leaned back to look at him, taking in his face. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
Saul shook his head, slow. His jaw worked before the words came out. “No, my girlfriend is due in like July.”
Zoe’s mouth opened on a laugh. It came out awkward, half air, half sound. She sat forward again and blew out through her nose. “Damn Saul, you really wanted that kid.”
Saul’s shoulders rose in a small shrug. He stared at a crack in the concrete between his shoes. His hands slid together, palm to palm, then apart. “It kinda just happened.”
Zoe’s eyes cut to his hands, then back to his face. She tilted her head. “Yeah, kinda just happened because you were fucking.”
Saul’s lips pressed together. He nodded once, quick. “Right.”
The silence between them held for a beat. On the near side of the courtyard, somebody slammed a soda bottle down on a table. Saul shifted his weight on the bench, metal creaking under him, and pulled his elbows onto his knees. His fingers laced, then un-laced.
He looked at Zoe again. “Anyway, can I ask you something?”
Zoe lifted one shoulder in a shrug, her palm turning up. “Sure.”
Saul swallowed. He glanced past her shoulder, checking the distance to Mia without turning his head all the way. Mia sat where she’d stayed, phone still in hand, eyes up now, watching them through the bodies in the courtyard. Saul’s gaze came back to Zoe. “Do you know who Ethan gets his weed from?”
Zoe’s eyebrows pulled together. She leaned back. “Ethan Lasseigne?”
Saul nodded.
Zoe’s lips parted and she stared at him. She lifted her chin. “Why? You gonna start selling?”
Saul’s head moved side to side fast, too fast, and he forced himself to slow it down. He looked at her. “Nah. I was just wondering.”
Zoe’s mouth tightened. She leaned in a little, forearm resting on her knee. “You better not be trying to become a dopeboy.”
Saul lifted both hands, palms out, fingers spread. “I’m not swear. It’s just he’s always got some and he–”
Zoe cut him off before he finished. She sat up straight and her eyes stayed locked on his. “If you trying to get on, just say that, Saul.”
Saul’s shoulders dropped. He let out a breath. His hands fell to his thighs and he stared down at them, at his own fingers. “Yeah, I need the money.”
Zoe didn’t answer right away. She looked back out across the courtyard, eyes tracking a couple kids walking past with food piled high on trays, laughing, shouting over each other. Her jaw shifted once. Then she looked back at him. “Yeah, I know.”
Saul’s head lifted. The question came out quick, almost clipped. “You do?”
Zoe nodded once. Her mouth pulled in on itself for a second before she spoke again. “My boyfriend. Kayjuan.”
Saul’s eyes flicked to her mouth, then away. He shifted closer on the bench, then caught himself and stopped. His knee bounced once, then stilled. “You can give me his number or something?”
Zoe stood up. For a second she looked down at Saul. Then she turned and started walking back toward the table.
She didn’t look over her shoulder until she was already halfway there. Her voice carried back without slowing her steps. “I’ll think about it.”
Saul stayed on the bench. He watched her cross the courtyard, watched her slip back into the space beside Mia. His fingers curled on his knees. He shook his head once, slow, and kept watching.
~~~
Ramon walked out of Nina’s house, letting the door ease shut behind him. The latch caught with a soft click. Cold air sat on his face, damp enough that it clung. He kept his hands in his pockets for a second, shoulders loose, eyes moving.
The street in front of the house looked quiet. A mail carrier’s truck sat down the block with its flashers on, the little amber blinks steady. The carrier moved in and out of view between parked cars, dropping envelopes into boxes, then stepping up to porches to set down packages.
Ramon stepped off the porch and headed toward his car. Gravel shifted under his shoes. His gaze slid from the truck to the corners of yards, to the mouth of the street, then back again.
He stopped at his trunk and popped it. The lid lifted with a dull thump and a creak. He leaned down into the open space and pulled back the fabric at the back of the seats. His fingers found the seam and worried it open. He reached his hand inside.
The space behind the lining was tight. His knuckles rubbed against metal and foam. He dug around for a moment. His fingertips caught plastic.
He pulled out a cellphone wrapped in a sandwich bag. The bag crinkled in his hand. Moisture from the cold air beaded on the plastic right away. Ramon straightened, the phone held low near his hip for a beat as he looked around again.
The mail truck was still there. The carrier had moved closer, head down, sorting. A package hit a porch step with a soft thud. Ramon kept his body turned so the trunk lid blocked some angles from the street.
He slid a small power bank out of his pocket and plugged it into the phone through the bag. The wire bent and then settled. He hit the power button and waited.
The screen stayed black for a second, then flashed. Ramon held it steady, his thumb hovering. The phone took its time.
When it powered up, he tapped in the passcode. His fingers moved, muscle memory. The bag shifted and crackled. The phone unlocked.
No service showed in the top corner.
He pulled up the photos. The gallery loaded slow, thumbnails trying to appear and then staying gray. He flicked his thumb across the screen. It didn’t show him anything clear, but he could see the count still there.
He flicked again, quick this time, and watched the screen lag behind. He backed out of the photos and checked another folder, then went back. He hit the side button and the screen went dark.
Ramon lifted the hem of his shirt and wiped the phone down. The cold glass met his shirt. He rubbed the screen, the edges, the back, his movements careful and practiced.
He slipped it back into the sandwich bag and pressed the air out with his palms. The bag flattened. The plastic stuck to itself.
He leaned back into the trunk and pushed the fabric aside again. His hand found the gap behind the seats. He tucked the phone back into the hidden space, pushed it deeper until it sat where he wanted, then pulled the fabric back over it and smoothed it down.
He shut the trunk. The latch clicked. He ran his palm once along the edge then stepped away.
He walked back to the house and went inside.
Nina stood at the counter with a plate in front of her, moving food around with a fork. She turned her head when he came in, eyes on him.
Her voice came even. “Did you get the mail?”
Ramon shut the door behind him and let the sound settle. He shook his head once and moved past her toward the sink.
“They ain’t get to the house yet,” he said. His mouth stayed relaxed. “Still way down the street.”
Nina nodded, looking back down at her plate. “Alright.”
She carried the plate to the table and sat. She pulled the plate closer and started eating.
Ramon went to the refrigerator and opened it. Cool air washed over his fingers. He scanned the shelves, then grabbed a drink and shut the door with the back of his hand.
Nina chewed. Her fork clicked against ceramic. The house made its own quiet. The refrigerator hummed as it cycled.
Nina swallowed and looked up at him again. “I’m gonna be back late tonight. We have a candlelight vigil for that man who got shot in the East last week.”
Ramon nodded. “Yeah, me too,” he said. He walked to the table. “I gotta make a run to Boutte with Tyree and E.J. Might be back later than you.”
Nina nodded again. She ate another bite. Her shoulders stayed level.
Ramon pulled the chair out across from her and sat down. He set the drink on the table and popped it open. The seal hissed. He took a slow sip.
Nina kept eating. The fork kept moving.
He took another slow sip and let it sit in his mouth before he swallowed. Nina’s eyes stayed on her plate. Ramon’s eyes stayed on her face.
~~~
Mireya lay on the living room floor with one arm bent under her head and the other stretched out toward Camila’s pile of toys. The floor pressed into her chest. Camila sat a few feet away with her legs tucked under her, hair falling into her face as she worked two plastic animals together.
Camila lifted a tiger up in both hands and held it out at Mireya’s eye level, waiting until Mireya looked. “This one says rawr, mami.”
Mireya’s mouth pulled into a smile. She pushed herself up on one elbow and tapped the tiger’s nose with her fingertip. “It does, baby.”
Camila made the tiger bump the floor twice. Mireya’s gaze slid to the zebra lying on its side near Camila’s knee. She reached and hooked it closer with two fingers, turning it so the painted eye faced Camila.
Mireya pointed at it. “What about this one?”
Camila shrugged, shoulders rising up to her ears. She turned her face serious, looking from the zebra to Mireya. “I don’t know. What does it say?”
Mireya rolled the zebra between her palms, the cheap plastic warm from Camila’s hands. “They sound like a pig and a donkey together.”
Camila stared at her for a beat, then her laugh burst out quick and high. She shook her head hard enough that her hair slapped her cheeks. “Uh uh.”
Mireya laughed too, the sound pushing out of her. She tipped her head back. “En serio. They do.”
Camila scooted closer on her knees and grabbed the zebra, holding it tight to her chest. She frowned at Mireya in that stubborn way. “No, they sound like a horsey.”
She lifted her chin and made a loud, breathy neigh, then did it again, longer, a smile spreading across her face.
Mireya kept laughing, shaking her head.
A knock hit the front door.
Mireya’s laughter cut off mid-breath. She stayed on the floor for half a second, listening. The apartment went quiet around it, the small sounds still there under everything.
Mireya rolled onto her back and braced her palms against the floor to sit up. She reached over the edge of the coffee table, grabbed her phone, and tapped the screen.
No new texts.
The second knock came sharper, closer together.
Mireya pushed to her feet. She stepped around Camila’s toys and moved to the door. Her hand went to the deadbolt then stopped. She leaned in and looked through the peephole.
Her mother stood on the other side.
Mireya’s breath went out through her nose. Her mood dropped in a single clean motion. She unlocked the door, the chain sliding, the bolt turning under her fingers.
When she pulled it open, Maria stepped inside almost immediately, not waiting, her purse tight on her shoulder. The air from the hall came in with her, carrying a stale smell.
Mireya shifted back to give space. She looked over her shoulder toward the living room. “Mi amor, come say hello to your Abuela Maria.”
Camila had frozen where she sat, tiger in one hand, zebra in the other. She looked from Mireya to Maria, then got up and walked over in quick little steps. She wrapped her arms around Maria’s legs and pressed her cheek to Maria’s thigh. “Hola, Abuela Maria.”
Maria bent at the waist and kissed the top of Camila’s head. Her lips landed on hair, quick and practiced. “Hola, Camila.”
Mireya watched it from a few feet away, jaw tight. She kept her hands at her sides so she didn’t cross her arms.
She spoke to Camila without taking her eyes off Maria. “Go in your room for a bit, baby. After me and Abuela Maria talk, I’ll take you to get some chicken tenders.”
Camila’s arms loosened. She leaned back just enough to look up at Mireya. “From Cane’s?”
Mireya nodded once. “Si, mi amor. Go on now.”
Camila turned and walked down the hall toward her room. She glanced back over her shoulder once, then again when she reached the doorway. She disappeared into the room slowly.
Mireya waited a beat after she was gone. Then she turned back to Maria.
“What the fuck do you want?” Mireya’s voice came out flat.
Maria’s gaze moved over Mireya in a slow sweep, taking in the PSD set Mireya wore, the bare skin, the fit of it. Her mouth tightened.
“Is this how you dress around your daughter now, too?” Maria asked. She shifted the purse strap higher on her shoulder. “Medio desnuda. Con el culo al aire y los pechos también.”
Mireya’s jaw set, her lips pressed tight. “Get to the point. I’m tired and not in the mood for your shit today.”
Maria made a sound through her teeth, half scoff, half dismissal. She opened her purse and dug inside with quick fingers. Paper rasped. She pulled out a packet thick enough to bend at the edges and held it out, arm straight.
Mireya didn’t take it. She stared at the papers, then at Maria’s hand. “What’s this?”
“Tax forms,” Maria said. “It’s almost the end of February.”
Mireya let her eyes close for a second. Her jaw tightened. She opened her eyes again and dragged her hands up through her hair. “We’re doing this again? I keep telling you that I’m not doing that shit.”
Maria clicked her tongue, then walked past Mireya into the apartment. Her shoes made a small, hard sound on the floor. She stopped near the living room area, eyes scanning what was left out.
She bent and picked up a pair of red bottoms from beside the couch. The heels dangled from her fingers, bright against her skin. She turned them over once, slow, then looked at Mireya over the top of them.
“¿Sabes qué formularios fiscales necesitas para declarar que eres una sugar baby?” Maria asked.
Mireya crossed the space in two steps and ripped the shoes out of Maria’s hand. The leather squeaked under her grip. She threw them down near the edge of the couch.
She turned and walked to the kitchen. The chair legs scraped when she pulled one out. She stepped onto the seat, reached up and opened the cabinet above the refrigerator.
The cabinet door thudded against the wall. A folder sat shoved back behind other paper. Mireya pulled it free and climbed down, keeping it clamped tight in one hand.
She walked back into the living room area and stopped in front of Maria. She snapped the folder open and held it out so Maria could see.
A W2 from a cleaning company sat on top, the numbers printed clean and plain. Forty-three thousand for the year.
Mireya held it steady and kept her face hard. “¿Esto satisface su curiosidad, mamá?”
Maria reached for it, fingers already stretching out.
Mireya pulled it back before Maria could touch it. She shut the folder with a sharp clap. “Now, that you know I’m not worried about filing my own taxes, you can stop hanging it over my head as a threat.”
Maria’s eyes stayed on the folder even after it closed. Her jaw worked once. She dropped the packet of papers onto the coffee table. The stack slapped wood and slid an inch.
“That only proves you have a job,” Maria said. She took a step closer, close enough that Mireya could smell her perfume, sweet and heavy. “It doesn’t prove where you get these gifts from.”
Maria leaned in another inch, voice lowering without getting softer. “When I find out what you’re doing, I’m going straight to CPS and getting custody of Camila.”
Mireya’s hands clenched around the folder so tight her knuckles went pale. She stared at Maria’s face, at the set of her mouth. “Fuck you. Over my dead body.”
Maria let out a short laugh through her nose. Her eyes flicked once toward the hallway, toward Camila’s room, then back to Mireya. “That might not be out of the question with how you’re living, mija.”
She turned and walked to the door. She pulled it open and stepped out, purse swinging once at her hip.
Mireya followed far enough to slam it behind her. The door hit the frame with a crack that rang through the apartment.
For a second Mireya stood with her palm on the door, breathing through her nose, shoulders held up around her ears.
Camila’s head poked out from her room down the hall, hair sticking up in a soft mess. Her voice came small. “Mami?”
Mireya dropped her hand from the door and let her shoulders fall. She pushed air out slow, then turned her face toward Camila. “Coge tus zapatos, mi amor. We’ll go get you something to eat.”
~~~
Caine popped the trunk on Laney’s van and leaned in, shoulders crowding the opening. He dragged the first box forward by its taped seam, the cardboard rasping against the trunk liner. He stepped back into the gravel and set it down beside the dolly, then reached in again.
Laney stood a few feet off, keys looped around one finger. She kept sweeping the lot, then the door, then the lot again.
Caine pulled another box out and stacked it on top of the first, palms flattening the corners until they lined up. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached for the next one.
“You know you can just get this shit delivered here, right?” he said.
Laney rolled her eyes and shifted her weight, the heel of her shoe grinding a small crescent into the gravel. “I don’t know if someone gonna steal my packages from here. I know they ain’t gonna take them off my porch.”
Caine leaned back into the trunk and dragged a third box toward him, arms tightening under the weight. He straightened and set it on the stack, then slid his hand over the tape.
“Sounds like y’all little town unsafe,” he said. He tipped his chin toward the building. “I ain’t never had to worry about my packages getting taken back in the city.”
Laney made a quiet sound through her nose and reached into the trunk for the last box before he could. She hugged it to her chest, walked it over, and set it on top with a careful neatness.
Caine shoved the dolly’s lip under the bottom box and rocked the load back until it balanced. He started toward the side entrance with one hand braced against the stack to keep it from shifting.
Laney fell into step behind him, shoulder close to the boxes when the walkway narrowed.
They pushed into the church and the daycare sound wrapped around them. A child squealed, sharp and excited. Another cried for two seconds and then stopped, cut off by an adult voice too low to catch. Somewhere a cartoon jingle leaked out and then got muffled by a closing door.
Caine steered the dolly straight down the hall, shoulders squared, then checked the hallway ahead and the reflections in the glass.
Laney gave the woman a quick nod. Her expression stayed calm, but her eyes didn’t stop moving.
Mrs. Ethel came out with a dish towel in her hands, looking up at the sound of wheels. She lifted her fingers in a quick, practiced wave over Caine’s shoulder.
Laney lifted her own hand and waved back, smile flashing and gone in a beat.
Caine turned the dolly toward the storage room. The boxes swayed once and he corrected it with his palm, then pushed through the doorway with his elbow and let the door swing almost shut behind him.
Laney waited a moment in the hall. She stayed angled toward the daycare traffic, listening for footsteps. When a pair of workers passed with a bin between them and kept going, she stepped in and remained at the doorway, her back against the jamb.
Caine lifted the top box down and carried it toward the back of the room. He set it on the floor near the shelves, then dropped onto it.
“You know the pastor talked to me the other day,” he said.
Laney’s eyes flicked to him, then to the crack of hallway she could still see. “My daddy?”
Caine snorted and pushed his palm against the box top as he leaned forward. “You know any other pastors that would be walking around here?”
Laney’s mouth tightened, then she lifted her chin at him. “’Bout what?”
Caine dragged another box closer by the tape edge.
“That he ain’t like a Black dude fucking on Rylee.”
Laney sucked her teeth and looked out toward the hall again, holding her attention there a second longer, then pulling it back in. Her fingers tapped once against the doorframe.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Caine said.
Laney’s eyes came back to him, flat and tired. “I ain’t surprised. I love my daddy. God bless him, but he’s ass backwards. An ignorant man. Always has been. Always will be.”
Caine let out a short laugh and stood, the box creaking as his weight came off it. He turned toward the shelves and started shoving boxes into place, sliding them along the metal until they sat square.
“So basically, me and Mr. Charlie good enough to work out in them fields but ain’t good enough to fuck his precious daughters?”
Laney laughed once, short and flat. Her face didn’t change. “I don’t think Mr. Charlie fucking anybody. His wife included.”
Caine paused with his hands on a box and turned his head just enough to look at her. “You dodging the question.”
Laney’s shoulders rose and fell once. She didn’t move from the doorway. “I ain’t dodgin’ shit. I told you that man ignorant. But you don’t care anyway. I can see if on your face.”
Caine slid the box the last inch, then shrugged, loose. He turned back toward her, eyes steady.
“Because he worried about the wrong one of y’all.”
Laney’s head snapped toward the hallway. She leaned out a fraction, listening, then pulled back in and kept her hand planted on the jamb. “Hope you ain’t think to tell him no foolishness like that.”
Caine lifted his chin and spread his hands a little, palms up, a quick show. “I’m a lot of things, but stupid ain’t one of them. I would’ve been on the first thing smoking back to New Orleans to serve my full bid.”
Laney’s mouth twitched at that then she let it go. Her eyes stayed on him.
Caine hooked his fingers under another box and lifted it. He carried it to the shelf and set it down.
“So, that’s how you ended up with a man who hate you?” he asked as he pushed the box back. “Needed to appease daddy after letting the bruhs hit for years?”
Laney’s jaw worked once. She shifted off the jamb and stood straighter, shoes planted. “It was more complicated than that. But my daddy got what he wanted and that’s all that matter to him.”
Caine’s eyes tracked her face, then slid to the door, to the hallway beyond. He stacked another box on top of the last one and stepped back.
“Until Rylee bring one of us home for family dinner.”
Laney snorted a laugh, short and sharp. She shook her head once. “Rylee bringin’ anyone home is more absurd than what that man look like. Her whole personality is bein’ the opposite of me.”
Caine put the last box on the shelf and pressed his palms flat to it. He turned back toward her.
“Except for y’all wanting the same man right now.”
Laney’s eyes cut to the hallway again. She held the look there, listening for a cart wheel or a voice. When nothing came, she stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her.
The latch clicked. The daycare noise dropped into a muted hum.
Laney crossed the short space between them, shoes quiet on tile. She wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him.
“I’m sorry if my racist ass daddy hurt your feelin’s.”
Caine laughed quietly and dropped his hands to her back, fingers spreading. “Compared to my PO back home, some old ass man telling me he don’t approve of me fucking his daughter is square one shit.”
Laney rolled her eyes and tightened her arms once, deliberate. “Here I was ‘bout to offer myself to you for a whole weekend,” she said, mouth tipping at one corner, “’cause Tommy takin’ the boys fishin’ in Alabama but I guess you fine.”
Caine pulled her closer, a smile on his face. “Nah, I’m actually about to cry right now on second thought. Most traumatizing shit I ever been through.”
Laney slapped him in the chest and said, “Dick.”
