We sat at the table, just the two of us. His wife was out with her sister, so it was quiet.
He asked about my mom, my business, the girls. I lied about bein’ fine like I always did.
“What about that boy?” he asked eventually, leanin’ back. “What his name… Roman?”
I damn near choked on my cornbread.
“What about him?” I asked, playin’ dumb.
He smirked. “You know you my business, right? I hear things.”
I rolled my eyes. “From who?”
“From everybody,” he said. “You think Truce and Trend don’t talk? You think Charlee keep her mouth shut?”
I sighed. “We cool.”
He gave me a look. “You say ‘cool’ the same way your mama used to say it when she was two minutes from cryin’.”
I looked down at my plate.
He didn’t push.
That’s what I loved about him.
He’d let me sit in my silence until I was ready.
After a while, we was done eatin’, just sippin’ on drinks. The sun was startin’ to dip, orange light comin’ through the window.
“Aight, let me walk you to your car,” he said, gettin’ up. “You know I don’t play that ‘bye at the door’ shit.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, grabbin’ my purse.
We stepped outside, air a little cooler, street quiet.
Soon as we hit the driveway, I felt it.
That prickle on the back of my neck.
Like eyes were on me.
Charlie Mac must’ve felt it too, ‘cause he stopped mid-step and looked across the street.
A black truck sat parked a little way down, lights off.
I squinted, and said to myself Of course, Roman.
Charlie Mac clicked his tongue. “This nigga,” he snapped.
He looked at me. “Stay right here.”
“Where you goin’?” I asked.
He was already walkin’ toward the truck. “To say hello.”
“Charlie—”
“Stay,” he repeated, in that tone that brooked no argument.
