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On the front stoop, Isaiah laughs with two Latino guys, then nods to my Jeep parked on the street behind his Mustang. They stop laughing. I agree. I’m not seeing an ounce of humor in this scenario. “This place is no good. ”
“They’re my friends,” Beth says. “Scott ripped me away and I never got a chance to say goodbye. You can stay in the car. Just give me twenty minutes, thirty tops. And then we’ll go out. I swear. ”
No way in hell is she going in there alone. I register the threat level of the neighborhood and the guys on the porch. “I can’t protect you here. ”
“I’m not asking you to. You said you’d wait—”
I cut her off. “When you said you wanted to stop by and say goodbye to some friends. That guy is wearing gang colors. ”
She hits the back of her head against the seat. “Ryan. I’m probably never going to see any of them again. Will you please just let me say goodbye?”
Those words, never going to see again and goodbye, are the only reasons I’m saying this.
“Then I’m going in with you. ”
“Fine. ” She hops out and I follow. She can live under whatever delusion she wants, but she’s no safer here than I am and I’ll go down swinging before anyone hurts her. We reach the front stoop and I see that Isaiah has disappeared. Is it too much to hope that he’s called it a night? The inside of the house is smaller than I expected, and I expected cramped.
The kitchen and living room are really one room put together and separated by the angle of furniture. Teenagers sit everywhere—on the furniture, on the floor. Others lean against walls. A haze of smoke lingers in the room.
Cigarette smoke. Other types of smoke.
I draw the stares of most everyone, but they continue their conversations. The guys size me up. The girls’ eyes wander to my chest. Some outright gawk lower. Beth entwines her hand with mine, then caresses her soft fingers against my cheek, enticing me to drop my head to hers.
“Stay close to me,” she whispers. “Don’t
talk and don’t stare. Things will be better in the backyard. ”
For days, I’ve dreamed of Beth being this close to me again, but right now I can only focus on the multiple sets of eyes watching our every movement. Beth turns, holds tighter to my fingers, and leads me through the living room and out the back door of the kitchen.
Several strings of Christmas lights hang between three trees scattered in the narrow yard. A patch of grass grows in the far corner.
The rest of it is a mix of weeds and dirt. In the middle of a ring of worn lawn chairs, Isaiah talks to Noah, a redheaded girl tucked close to Noah, and one of the Latino guys from the stoop.
Noah breaks from the group when he sees Beth. She releases me and falls into his waiting arms. They whisper to one another. I don’t like how he holds on to her and don’t like how long he’s holding. That doesn’t look like brotherly love to me. I stare at his girl. Why is she so damned happy to see her guy hugging someone else?
When he lets her go, Noah extends his hand to me. “S’up. ”
I take his hand and squeeze extra tight.
“Nothing. You?”
The moment I squeeze, Noah grins and squeezes back. “Chill, bro. Beth says you’re good, so that makes us good. ”
Beth hugs the Latino guy and laughs as he playfully talks in Spanish. “That’s Rico,” says Noah. “Relax. We’ve got your back. ”
“It’s Beth I’m worried about. She shouldn’t be here. ”
Noah loses the easygoing front. “No, she shouldn’t. ”
Beth glances over her shoulder and flashes me that joyous smile—the one I’ve only seen a handful of times.
“Is she wearing a ribbon?” Noah asks in clear disbelief.
Feeling proud, I answer, “I gave it to her. ”
“Fucking wonderful,” Noah mumbles as he eyes Isaiah. “Don’t stay long. ”
Noah returns to the group and pulls his girl onto a hammock strung along two posts in the ground. The hammock swings gently back and forth as they lie together. Propped up on an elbow, Noah focuses on her. “Echo, that’s Ryan. Ryan, this is my girl. ”
