Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
THREE WEEKS LATER
Kennedi bobbed her head to the soft music floating from her computer as she searched for a studio for TKL.
She should’ve been editing footage from the session at the shop yesterday, but she’d gotten distracted when she realized how long it had been since she checked in on her lens family.
She’d honestly been tired, still working on settling in.
She was loving being back home, but it was an adjustment.
She printed off the list and stood when soft taps came to the glass door. She looked over and smiled at Rolani standing on the other side.
“Come in.”
He came in, and she could immediately tell the day was having its way with him.
“You busy, Ken?”
“I should be, but I’ve been slacking,” she giggled.
“You know I’m the boss, right?”
“I’m aware. I’m also aware that you basically said I get special privileges because I’m carrying your son.”
He chuckled and pulled her close, nuzzling her neck. “You right. Who gon check you?”
“Exactly.”
“Ride with me.”
She grabbed her purse and followed him to his truck.
The ride was quiet as he drove. Sometimes he’d rap a little with the music, but for the most part, he stayed in his head, and she let him.
She watched Coupeville pass outside the window and felt the particular comfort of knowing every street they turned down.
She was still getting used to that feeling, not scaring her.
They ended up at El Grullo on the north side.
She’d learned that when Rolani was in his head, he fed people first and talked second.
She ordered the birria tacos and a horchata.
He got a plate of everything within arm’s reach, and they took the corner table by the window and spread it all out between them.
She stole a chip from his side without asking.
“I’m getting used to that,” he said, watching her. She loved eating his damn food.
“You have forty chips.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Ro?” She dipped it and ate it, looking at him with the patience of a woman who knew he’d get there eventually. “You came and tapped on my door in the middle of a deadline. I’m assuming there’s a reason.”
That pulled a reluctant laugh out of him. He sat back and rubbed the back of his neck. “The city grant got held up.”
She put her taco down. “How held up?”
“The good ole boys want to gentrify but wanna control who gets in on it. They’re pushing to redirect the community development funds.
Some redevelopment initiative, but it ain’t for us.
So our shit is taking a backseat and sitting in review until the next vote, and nobody can tell me when it moves. ”
She could tell when a thought had been sitting in his head too long.
“How long have you been sitting on this?” she asked.
“A few days.”
“A few days?” She dipped a chip and ate it slowly.
“Rolani.” She waited until he looked at her.
“I need you to hear me. You can’t bring me halfway in.
Either I’m your partner, or I’m not, and if I am, then that means the stuff that’s got you rubbing your neck is exactly what I’m here for.
” She set the chip down. “I can’t show up for you if you’re still deciding whether to let me. ”
He was quiet for a second. Then he exhaled.
“Who is it?”
“Webb, I think. I ain’t got time for the bullshit. I been on the phone all day trying to get answers.” He shook his head. “Shit, I’ve been code-switching all day to get nowhere. I’m finna get on bullshit to see if that gets their attention.”
“Ahh, bae.” She laughed, and he laughed too in spite of himself. “Webb.” She turned the name over. “I know that name. He ran against Dorinda Chambers a few years ago.” She was already pulling out her phone. “How much is the grant?”
“Eighty thousand. It’s not the whole budget, but it’s enough to stall the electrical and the HVAC installation. We push that back, we push the opening back. We push the opening back—”
“The kids lose another summer.” She was already scrolling. “I hear you.”
She got to work, and he watched.
“What you doing over there?”
“Ro.” She looked up. “Trust me and eat your tacos.”
He ate his tacos.
She found who she was looking for in ninety seconds flat. “Brooks.”
“Damn.” He sat forward. “I forgot about his connections.”
“His whole career is city contracts and public funding navigation. He’s been in rooms with half the council for fifteen years.
He and Taylor just got back from Cabo, so he’s free.
” She was already typing. “I’m texting Taylor right now.
” Her phone buzzed back almost immediately.
“She said call him or swing through later, he’ll be expecting you. ”
“Bet. I appreciate that.”
“I want a raise. Because if Brooks can't figure it out, I’ll have to get my hands dirty. Everyone has secrets.”
“Talking like that, you can have whatever you want.”
She picked up a taco and took a bite, chewing slowly before she smirked at him. “I hate when you spiral, but I love when you feed us, daddy.”
“Ken, chill.” But he was smiling when he said it. “You gon fuck around and stay pregnant.”
She giggled as he stood and helped her up.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” She laughed as he kissed her nose and laughed.
They headed back to the truck. The spiral wasn’t gone; she could still feel it on him, as he drove. She knew where they were going before he turned onto Dempsey Street.
The lot was quiet in the late afternoon, the crew gone for the day, the block settling into its evening sounds around them. He grabbed the hard hats from behind the seat and handed her one.
She put it on.
He looked at her.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.” But the way his lip slipped between his teeth told a different story.
“Rolani.”
“You look good in a hard hat. That’s all.”
“You are so mannish.” She pushed past him toward the entrance. “Come on.”
Inside, the building smelled like concrete and sawdust. It smelled unfinished.
Afternoon light came through the window frames where glass wasn’t in yet, cutting long rectangles across the unfinished floor.
She could see the bones of it — where the workshop would be, where the classroom space opened up, the wide corridor that would eventually have kids moving through it after school, ready to learn something.
He’d been meaning to get out here to sign the beams. The community had already come through, but he’d wanted to do it on his own terms. That was before Kennedi came back. Now his own time and her time had become the same thing, and he was still getting used to how good that felt.
He stopped in front of an unmarked beam in the art room. Stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking at it.
“It’s going to work out,” she said.
“Yeah.” A beat. “I’ve been thinking about what it means if this doesn’t open on time. There are kids already depending on this. Already planning on being here.” He touched the beam. “I don’t want to be another thing that didn’t come through for them.”
“It’s going to open.” Her voice was steady.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” She looked up at him. “The devil doesn’t get busy on things that don’t matter. This is all God.”
He looked down at her. The hard hat was slightly crooked, and she hadn’t fixed it. He reached up and straightened it, his hand lingering at the side of her face for a moment.
“I still can’t believe your pretty ass stuck with me forever.”
She opened her mouth to say something slick, and he was already reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a paint pen. He uncapped it, pressed it to the beam, and signed his name.
Rolani Pracher loves Kennedi Pracher!
And underneath it, smaller: For Pearl. And for Pops. Who showed us what to build.
He stood back and looked at it for a long moment. Then he held the pen out to her.
“You sure?” she asked.
“You’re part of this. You’ve been part of this since you started telling the story. Put your name on it.”
She took the pen. Stepped to the beam. She thought about what to write and then stopped thinking and wrote.
Kennedi Walters.
And underneath, because she was who she was and couldn’t help it: And Little LA.
Rolani stared at it. He put his arm around her and pulled her into his side, her hard hat knocking softly against his shoulder.
“Little LA,” he said quietly.
“I had to.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his mouth to the top of the hard hat. “You had to.” A pause. “But we gotta get on one accord with this last name, baby. You spelled Pracher wrong.”
“Here you go.” She tilted her head up at him. “I don’t see a ring on my finger yet.”
“Aight.” His voice dropped, all the way to that register she felt in her bones. “You can have one by the end of the night.”
She smiled and looked back at the beam. Both their names in paint, permanent, drying slowly in the late afternoon air. His people honored. Their son acknowledged.
“You ready?” he asked, scooping her up bridal style and carrying her outside while she laughed.