CHAPTER 18
Devon
Marla flagged Devon down as he was leaving the school the next afternoon, a small white envelope in her hands.
“Give this to my sweetheart for me, would you, honey? Something for the collection plate from Mr. Sam. You’re still going by the church to help Rev with setup?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Devon took it, and she came around the counter to give him a hug. She smelled like vanilla and spice, and he closed his eyes, let himself relax.
“How’s your Memaw?” Marla cupped his face in her hands and tugged him back so she could look at him, and his throat got all scratchy and he wanted so badly to tell her then, just lay it all out—T and the house takeover and Memaw in the bed and even what had happened last night, and what had come after.
But the moment passed and he shrugged, smiled, told her Memaw was fine, just fine, and he hoped she’d be in church this Sunday.
Truth be told, Devon wasn’t sure if she’d ever set foot in church again.
“Alrighty, then, but you tell her she’d best get to feelin’ right as rain or I’m bringing Doc over personally.”
He could imagine the look on Doc Kittredge’s face, on Marla’s and even Rev’s, if they stepped one toe inside the house. They’d wrinkle their nose at the smoke, step over pizza boxes to open the blinds, and then they’d see. See it all.
Maybe that would be for the best. Maybe if he said something they would come. Some days he thought even foster care might be better than this, even if no one would be around to take care of Mama’s memory garden and they’d put Memaw in some home and he’d never see her again. Never see anyone.
His ribs ached then, deep inside, and he didn’t know if it was from where T had shoved him or from the worry. No matter.
He forced a smile, waved the little envelope.
“I’ll tell her. See you later, Miss Marla,” he said, and then he was out the door with the other kids, heading for the bike rack.
Only today he’d timed it all wrong. And there was Marquis, standing smack in front of Devon’s bike with his arms crossed. Johnny and Big Ty were over near the clump of trees, and Devon saw Big Ty wrap his fingers tighter around something in his hands. A baseball bat.
A thin line of sweat trickled down Devon’s back.
“What do you want,” he muttered, head down as he tried to slip past Marquis to unlock his bike.
Marquis clamped a hand on the seat. “Where d’ya think you’re going?”
“Church.”
“Chuuuuuurch.” Marquis’s voice pitched higher, and he laughed at his own brand of humor.
“You should go, too. You need it,” Devon said before he could stop himself, but Marquis just glared.
“Shut up, Devon. Hey, whatcha got there?”
He snagged the little envelope before Devon could move, tore it open. A ten-dollar bill slid out.
“That’s for the collection plate!”
“Tell the church I said thanks.” Marquis jutted his chin. “You know the church gives to people in need. I’m in need of some lunch.”
Devon wanted to cry, wanted to punch him right in his stupid throat, but all he could do was stand there, frozen.
Even his lungs felt frozen. Empty. Turn the other cheek.
But sometimes it was so hard. And who was he kidding, anyway?
He was no match for Marquis. Certainly no match for Johnny Vasquez and Big Ty.
“You pickin’ on people again, Marquis?” came a girl’s voice from behind, and he turned to see Shenise, Gabby, and Mariana. Shenise’s hands were on her hips, and she was staring Marquis down like she was a tiger and he was a snack.
“And?” Marquis stared back.
“Give him back his money.”
“What money?”
Shenise pursed her lips. “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb.”
A loud whistle came from the front of the school, and they all turned. Marla was there, a silver whistle to her lips, and she held out a cell phone, looked at them pointedly.
“Just talking, Miss Marla.” Marquis held up his hands, slid sideways away from the bike rack, toward the clump of trees and his friends. He pressed the ten back into Devon’s hands, said in a growl to him, “You better not say anything.”
Gabby tugged at her friend’s arm, and Shenise moved, too, in the opposite direction.
“See ya, Devon,” she said.
“Thanks.” Devon’s mouth was dry, but his palms were damp, and the bill felt sticky in his hand. He turned back to the front entrance, and Marla gave him a little wave, watched as he got on his bike and pedaled off, toward Rev and the church.
His ribs hurt worse as he rode, probably because he’d been clenching his stomach so tight. Breathe, Devon. “Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid,” came to him, from the Gospel of John.
“It does no good to worry your heart about things you can’t control, Devon Robinson,” Mama’d told him from her hospital bed. “God has a plan, and he’ll see it through.”
She was right. He knew she was right. But some days it was hard to see that plan.
Yesterday was one of those days.
He’d come home from Mr. Allen’s shop a little after six, filled with relief that he hadn’t run into T as he slipped in the back door.
Missy was on the couch with another girl, watching some dumb reality love show on TV, and he’d grabbed two packets of oatmeal and headed down the hall when the door to the bathroom had opened and then T was standing there.
He tried to hide the oatmeal behind his back, but T was too quick, had spotted him and was prying the packets from his fingers.
“It’s only oatmeal, Uncle T.”
T hissed out a breath. “For a second there, I thought you were tryin’ to rob me.
” He tossed the oatmeal packets over his shoulder, and his eyes turned cold then.
T bent down, hands on his knees so they were eye level.
“I’ll warn you once. Don’t you ever, ever, ever try to rob me.
Missy’ll tell you what happens to people who do me dirty, right Missy? ”
He’d raised his voice over the TV, and suddenly Missy was there, a nervous laugh on her lips. She slid past Devon, wrapped her blue-tipped fingers around T’s bicep. Her nail polish was starting to peel at the tips. Up close he could see her right eye was purple.
“Come on, baby, come sit down. I’ve been missing you.”
“Tell Devon here what happens to people who try to rob me.”
Missy looked from T to Devon. Then, her eyes losing all spark, she slowly sliced a finger across her neck.
Devon swallowed. “Got it.”
“Got it, sir.”
“Got it, Uncle Terrence sir.”
T nodded, and for a moment Devon thought he’d be free, be able to continue on his way to Memaw’s room.
But his uncle had other ideas.
“Come on in here, Devon. Time you learned the family biz’ness.”
At the table, T made him sit there and watch as he counted out ten small white pills into tiny plastic bags, then pressed the air out with a contraption.
“This here’s called a food sealer. Stick the bag in, press the lever, cha-ching. Product done. Time fo’ the dividends. Next.”
Devon watched his uncle. “Memaw would have a fit if she saw you.”
“Memaw can’t even get out tha bed, so I guess we don’t have to worry about that, feel me?” T’s lips were thin as he sealed another bag tight. Devon glanced at the kitchen stove, wondered how many minutes he’d have to watch before T got bored of playing uncle and let him go. “Your turn.”
“Wait, wha … ? Uncle T I can’t do tha—”
“You can and you will.” The words were clipped.
“I—no.”
The chair screeched on the kitchen linoleum, and T loomed over him.
“Oh, yes.”
Somehow, the whisper was scarier than if he’d yelled. Devon’s heart thudded.
“I’m not doing it.”
“You are doing it.” T’s hand shot out, clamped his arm tight, then tighter, until it was so tight Devon wanted to scream. But he held it together. “Sit.”
Devon didn’t move.
“I said, sit.” T shoved him roughly into the chair, pressed both his hands on the top of Devon’s shoulders. “My guy didn’t show, so tonight you get to work for me. Hop to it.”
Devon’s eyes started to burn. God, please don’t let me cry.
“Uncle T, please—” He hated the way his voice cracked. Hated the lump in his throat.
“Uncle T nothin’. You eatin’ my food, you gonna earn it like everyone else. Go.”
And so he did, counting them out, sealing them in, pressing them tight. Twenty-five in all before T’s guy Neeson showed, and T got bored and yanked Devon up and pushed him out of the kitchen.
“Go on, run to your Memaw and tell her how T turned you to the dark side,” he said as the push took Devon so far he stumbled, crashed hard into the end table, knocking over one of the aluminum cans.
The fall hurt bad, and Devon lay there a moment, wondering if he’d broken something, watching pale liquid pool from the can onto the carpet.
Missy and her friend just watched their show and laughed at whatever was on the screen.
They didn’t even waste a glance his way.
“Remember—you’re an accomplice now,” T said from the doorway to the kitchen as Devon slowly got to his feet. “You go running to the cops, ratting me out, it’s your neck on the line, too. I got your fingerprints. I got juice. We’ll call it collateral.”
T held up a baggie and grinned, and Devon felt like he was going to throw up then. Barely made it to the bathroom in time before everything he’d eaten for afternoon snack came out in a tumble.
He rinsed his mouth out with cool water from the bathroom sink, and stood on his tiptoes to lift his shirt and see in the mirror if there was any damage. So far so good, but he imagined there’d be a huge bruise tomorrow.
Then he crept down the hall on tiptoe, looking over his shoulder, sure any second T would drag him back out for more and worse.
But T didn’t. And Devon found the oatmeal packets right by Memaw’s door, and then he was inside her room, and it was locked and he was safe.
Safe.
He took a shuddery breath and winced at the pull in his side, then another breath.