If we were somewhere else, in another place and time, I’d tell her what Yesenia told me. I’d tell her to pick herself up and put herself back together piece by piece, but I think that would be futile right now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Yeah…me too.” She snatches her hand from under mine and stoops down, picking the tape up from the floor. “I’ll take you to Lucky’s. I need…I need to go home. You can talk to Pup all you want there. You can ask him about the money, about Jamari, about whatever. Y’all can do whatever you want. I don’t think I care anymore. Ican’tcare anymore.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
LOVIE
The five-minute driveto Lucky’s is dead silent except for the whooshing of the wind as Arnez whips down back streets I never knew existed. Jamari’s downturned eyes stare at her from the prayer card she has tucked in front of her speedometer.
I feel him even though he’s gone, and I wonder if Rich does sometimes too. Considering what happened between them, he had to—right? There are a million ways to die, but there’s just something so cruel about dying at the hands of another person.
I look out of the passenger window, poring over all the times me and Rich spent together—in his backyard, at Beatrice’s, in his kitchen, in the safety of his truck.
What signs did I miss?
How did I believe everything he said so easily?
Was guilt intertwined in his voice from the very first time he spoke to me?
The car dips, forcing me to look up as we glide over a pothole in the middle of Lucky’s parking lot. It looks like it looks every Sunday with people sauntering in and out of the store, carsparked at the gas pumps blasting music, and folks hanging out in groups trying to solidify their Sunday Funday plans.
Arnez drives past it all, circling the back of the building where lines of cars are parked in neat rows. I spot Rich’s truck parked in the grass field behind the parking lot like he wanted to be as far away from the building as possible. Its familiarity makes that longing surge through my body again because it still hasn’t caught up with my brain. It still wants to run to Rich.
I sit forward as she drives toward the back of the parking lot and into the field, pulling up next to his truck. I tug the door handle as soon as the car rolls to a stop.
“You know…he never even apologized for doing it,” she mutters as the locks clank. “He only said he was sorry I had to see it.”
I need air.
I push the door open, breathing in the bitter smell of the dumpster that’s a few feet away.
“As soon as he gets the chance, he’ll do it to AJ too. You know that, right? But just know that Melo Barnes’protectiononly stretches so far.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “I just want to—I…I need to talk to Rich.”
She shrugs, grabbing the tape from the middle console. We get out and slam our doors at the same time.
“I thought you weren’t staying?” I ask.
“This ain’t the Chanel store. You can’t just strut up there in your cute UGGs and get in. That’s not how it works.” She rolls her eyes, walking off toward the building’s back door.
I take long strides, following behind her. “That’s not how I expected it to work.”
“Good. So then you should know the less you say when we get up here, the better.”
If somebody would’ve told me she was bawling over her dead ex just thirty minutes ago, I wouldn’t have believed them. It’s as if Lucky’s made any inkling of grief disappear from her psyche, or maybe it’s just the nature of the Bottoms like Aunt Faye said. It’s hard and brutal. It doesn’t even give you space to grieve your dead boyfriend.
She folds her arms and walks faster and cars keep gliding into the back parking lot even though the only space left to park is in the empty field. I do my best to pretend that I belong here by keeping my eyes on the closed garage doors that line the building.
As soon as we get close enough to the back door, Arnez pounds on it. It flies open, letting loud music and even louder voices seep out.
A burly, bald man with dark skin stares at me while Arnez stares at him.
He raises his eyebrow. “Who’s that?”
