1
DR. NIA PRICE
Magnolia’s Soul Food Kitchen hadn’t changed a bit in the five years I’d been away. The heavenly scent of chicken and collard greens filled my nostrils when I opened the door.
I arrived five minutes early, but spotted Talia, my best friend, already waiting in our usual corner booth with two sweet teas sitting on the table. The sight of her wearing a vibrant purple headscarf with gold hoops loosened something in my chest. This was what coming home was supposed to feel like. Her eyes caught mine, and she was up in an instant, arms open wide.
“Look at you, Dr. Price! Out here looking like a whole academic snack.” Talia giggled, pulling me into a hug.
I laughed against her shoulder, suddenly fighting tears I hadn’t expected. “Girl, stop. I’ve been traveling all day.”
“And still fine as hell. Are you alright, sis? You look tired.” She held me at arm’s length, examining my face with scrutiny only a best friend could get away with.
“Yeah, doing the usual teaching and researching, trying to make white folks uncomfortable with historical facts. What about you? Still running the community center into theground?” I asked, sliding into the booth across from her, gratefully wrapping my hands around the mason jar of sweet tea.
“Please, that place would fall apart without me.”
I sipped the sweet tea that was so sugary it made my teeth ache. “Mmmm, this is good.”
“For real, though, how are you holding up? You know what today is, right?” Talia took a sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving my face.
My heart sank. Of course, she would remember. “Yeah. Seven years.”
Seven years since my brother Devon was killed during a police raid gone wrong, or as someone would say, gone exactly as planned, depending on who you asked. Seven years of no charges, no accountability, only a family left with the hole that would never fill.
After the server approached our table and took our orders, Talia reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “It didn’t surprise me when I heard you were coming back to do this lecture series. The timing is right.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. “Didn’t plan it that way, but maybe subconsciously . . .”
“He’s still working through you. Divine intervention,” Talia said, using our old nickname for my brother.
“How’s your family taking your little investigative crusade?”
“Mama thinks I should let it rest. Says the Lord will handle his justice.”
Talia nodded with understanding. She’d been there for the funeral, for the weeks after when I couldn’t get out of bed, for the moment I decided tears weren’t enough.
“And how’s the PhD program feeling about this little sabbatical?” she asked, delicately changing the subject while not really changing it at all.
“My advisor’s calling it ‘field research,’ bless that woman’s heart. Dissertation’s still getting written with a more . . . personal methodology section.”
Talia’s bracelets clinked against the table. “Nia, be careful. These small towns have long memories and short tempers. What happened to Devon?—”
A server slid by to refill our tea glasses.
“Was murder, not ‘unfortunate altercation,’” I finished.
Her hand reached for mine, squeezing gently. “I know, girl. I know. I’m saying, the same people who covered it up are still running things. Including your fine-ass chief of police.”
I pursed my lips. “Girl, I ain’t here to make friends; I’m here for the lecture series. That man might have the internet calling him ‘Birmingham’s Finest’ in more ways than one, but a pretty face doesn’t make you innocent.”
“I’m just saying, from what I hear?—”
“Hold up, sis, stay locked on the story. What you hear is what they want you to hear. That’s the problem.”
“I know. Things are heating up here. Last month, police broke up a youth basketball tournament, claiming they received reports of gang activity. Girl, they were fourteen-year-old boys playing ball. Nia, in team jerseys,” she mentioned, lowering her voice slightly.
My jaw tightened. “Any of that make the news?”
