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UNEXPECTED
CONFIDENCE
“That line outside is incredible,” I say, wide-eyed, to Remi as we stack the clothes that have been folded and sorted by gender and size into the bins lined along the 500-yard-long convention center room. The volunteers are all busy at work setting up their stations for the doors to open at eight o’clock. “They did a great job getting the word out and there are shuttles all day for people who need it,” I tell him.
“Yeah, the Rivers kid is putting his money where his mouth is, that’s for sure,” he says and reaches for another box of clothes the organizers just dropped off.
“Why do you call him ‘kid’?” I ask a question that’s been burning at the tip of my tongue.
“Because when I met him, that’s what he was. And now, because it annoys him,” he says with a laugh. I laugh along.
“You knew him when y’all were kids?” I ask, my curiosity about how his family’s community is named after another family.
“No. Our families have been neighbors for thirty years now. When they bought the land from the Riverses in the oil bust in the 80s, the name of the development was one of the terms of the contract. And they hated having to sell part of their empire to a bunch of fresh-off-the-boat immigrants who made their money selling plantains in the hood,” he says.
“Plantains in the hood?” I chortle.
He chuckles. “Yeah, we lived in one of the parts of the city that was like a food desert. No good grocery stores. Just corner stores—Popeyes, Church’s Chicken, Shipley’s Donut Shop, if you were lucky. So, my grandfather saved the money he made painting houses and opened Eat!. That was our first business. And who knew that grocery stores that catered to every single palette it could source for would be so popular?”
“Well, apparently your grandfather did,” I say. They have three hundred and fifty stores in Texas and about two dozen
in northeast Mexico.
“Yeah, and he and my dad founded Rivers Wilde. My mom’s brainchild was Wilde Restaurants, Crick Crack being the very first,” he says.
“Wow, it’s amazing you’ve done all that in one generation.”
“Yeah. We’re kind of ambitious. And Houston is the most fertile ground for ideas that are all about the hustle. My mother’s Jamaican, so she’s got to have at least three jobs or she feels like she’s being idle,” he says.
“What about your dad?” I ask.
“He’s dead,” he answers in an uncharacteristically flat, hard voice.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No worries, he has been for a long time,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anyway, so I met Hayes once—because our families were enemies in a way that felt like a law. And then I ran into him in this little patch of land between our properties on the day of his dad’s funeral. I called him kid. He didn’t like it, so I did it repeatedly and now he’s back and it’s just stuck.”
I laugh, but I don’t feel like laughing. I miss Hayes. Like crazy. And I haven’t seen him since that day in our office when I turned down his settlement offer. When this event was announced a week ago, I realized what he’d been busy doing.
“How are you guys doing?” he asks.
“We’re not. But it’s fine,” I say, and wish that was true. Fine is the last thing I am.
“Does he know that?” Remi asks, and his eyes are trained over my shoulder. I turn and see Hayes walking in.
His scan of the room comes to a screeching halt when his eyes land on me. He smiles and starts toward me. My heart leaps in anticipation. I haven’t seen him in two weeks.
A man steps in his way and starts to talk. The reluctance he shows to look away almost makes up for the fact that he had to stop.
“All right, folks. It’s eight o’clock and the doors are opening. Man your stations!” a woman shouts over a bullhorn and I almost jump out of my skin in surprise.
“My brother Tyson will be here, and he’s going to switch out with me at eleven a.m. And I’ll be back at one o’clock. When you need someone to step in for you, let me know and I’ll find a volunteer.”
“Okay. But I think I’ll be good. I brought snacks and I’m ready,” I say and rub my hands together in anticipation. Today feels like the first time I’m actually doing anything meaningful for my clients.
After we rejected their settlement offer, the case was assigned a court date. In the meantime, I’m doing my interviews with my clients and preparing for our first hearing that’s six weeks away.
Right now, it feels like we’ll never get the mountains of records that we’ve requested. Kingdom, the corporation, is doing everything it can to stall. They asked for six weeks to even produce the documents we’ve asked for. So, we’ve filed for a continuation to give us time to review them. When I say us, I’m talking about my little team of four. One of whom hates my guts. And while all of this is happening, the people in the class are struggling to get their lives back together and are living in limbo.
