“Can I help you?” he asked behind the screen door.
This had to be Jovanis’ stepfather, Alain. She didn’t know much about him and neither did Jovanis.
“Um, yeah, I’m Irish, Jovanis’ wife. Is it possible I can come in and talk to you and Ms. Margie?”
Alain eyed her for a moment before he opened the screen door. Irish and Cali entered the house as he turned on the lamp. The sound of slippers sliding across the floor brought their attention toward the hallway. Margie appeared, wearing a fluffy robe and a bonnet over her head. They’d met a few times during her and Jovanis’ nineteen-year friendship. They were typically cordial with not much depth. Jovanis wasn’t close with his mother, so Irish felt no need to establish a relationship.
“Irish, what’s going on? Why are you here at this time of night?” she asked, sporting a look of concern.
Irish loathed how she was about to ruin Margie’s life. She wished there was something much more exciting to share, not Jovanis’ death.
“Um.” Her voice was so shaky. “Ms. Margie, I came here to tell you… Jovanis was killed tonight.”
Silence suddenly flooded the room. Margie’s mouth parted as she took a few steps backwards. Her husband rushed over, catching her before she fell to the ground.
“That’s not true.” She shook her head, eyes filling with liquid pain. “I don't believe it. I just seen him. We just made up and had plans to spend more time together. I know what you're telling me isn’t true.”
Irish would’ve loved to say this was a prank but this was their new reality. She’d watched him be assassinated. His blood was all over her. She held his lifeless body in her hands while experiencing the same denial.
“It’s true.” Irish drew near to her. “I’m so sorry but someone… someone shot him.”
“Oh my Goooooddd!” she screamed.
Irish covered her eyes, hoping to shield her pain. Why did this have to hurt so bad? She could’ve gone her entire life without ever having to let Jovanis go.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Margie.”
Her husband tried his best to comfort her but she was inconsolable. She clawed at his arms while loud wails thundered from her mouth.
“How did this happen?” he asked over Margie’s blaring screams.
Irish shrugged, still trying to make sense of this. “I don't know. We were at the park and started leaving. When he walked to the car, someone came out and shot him.”
Margie’s wet lenses turned fiery. She cut her eyes at Irish while gritting her teeth.
“You had something to do with this.”
Drawing her head back, Irish gaped at the absurd accusation that had left her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me!” Margie snatched out of her husband’s hold. “You did something to my boy. How come you didn’t get killed? Why was it only Jovanis who was murdered?”
Irish’s lips were divided but no words had formed. Startled by Margie’s rant, Irish couldn’t fathom her thinking that she’d set Jovanis up to be killed.
“Um, excuse me, my friend was shot at,” Cali snarled, pointing her index finger at Margie. “She barely escaped that shit so watch your fucking mouth accusing my friend of killing her own husband.”
Margie scrambled to her feet. “Irish, you always played a role in the absence of me and Jovanis’ relationship.”
“I did?” she shouted, finally finding her voice.
“Yes, you. As a wife, you should've encouraged him to develop a relationship with me. Instead, you pulled him further away.”
Irish snorted a laugh while shaking her head. “Newsflash, you were a piss poor mother, Margie. I didn’t play a role in the demise of your relationship with your son. You suspected that he was gay and threw his ass away.”
“Gay?” Alain repeated.
“Yes, gay!” Irish confirmed, shooting bullets with her eyes. “Your wife was a homophobic bitch, who didn’t want any parts of Jovanis. So, she sent him with his uncles, who were terrible influences. She’d rather him be a hood nigga than gay.”
