Like a Sister(10)

The last time he’d done this had been my twenty-fifth birthday, and the For you had been a Visa White Card. Though I’d needed it, I didn’t want it. I’d given it back to Desiree so she could give it back to him.

I opened the envelope. The piece of paper held extremely detailed information on a brownstone on West 126th Street up in Harlem with a $2,575,000 price tag, an elevator, and a completely redesigned roof deck.

That area of Harlem had long completed Gentrification 101 and was ready to graduate. Instead of just putting Tom’s of Maine on the shelf, they’d put an entire Whole Foods on a corner. An area whose lone distinction had long been the Apollo Theater now boasted an H&M, an Old Navy, and a Staples for all your office needs. I had managed to avoid them all except for the multistory Magic Johnson AMC on Frederick Douglass and West 124th. I’d often sneak in and catch a matinee by myself instead of going to lunch with the rest of my classmates.

“I had my realtor pull some listings this morning,” Mel said. “I like this one ’cause it’s not too far from school. What do you think?”

I thought giving back a house would not be as easy as giving back a piece of plastic. “I don’t want to move from Gram’s.”

“You’re gonna have to. It’s not safe up there. Never was.” I thought about the break-in we’d had but knew it was likely some bad-ass kids with too much time on their hands. When I didn’t say anything, he spoke. “You know I’m glad you’re finally letting me help you.”

His help felt like bribes—pathetic attempts to be a parent now that I was grown enough to no longer need one. He’d started small—a five-thousand-dollar bike that had served as real estate in my downstairs hall—then upgraded to the aforementioned hundred-thousand-dollar-limit credit card. Now he was giving me whole houses. I wanted none of it. I was too Black to say that, though, so I said nothing at all, figuring later I’d tell Tam to tell him I wasn’t interested.

Thinking about her conjured her up because there was a knock on the door. Tam appeared as if I’d said “Abracadabra” and pulled her out of a hat. “Detective Green’s here.” She spoke as if we didn’t notice the guy already lumbering in behind her.

I took a breath, mentally reviewing the things I needed to ask. Why had she been up there? What had happened to the needle? When could we get her phone back?

I glanced at Detective Green’s hands first, hoping he’d be carrying her things. But they held nothing, not even his own cell. Shitnuts. I finally glanced at the rest of him.

He was at least six feet and looked over forty. I hadn’t expected him to be Black, but he was. He looked like he’d played college football before some ill-timed injury forced him into this plan B.

I had a love-hate relationship with cops. I knew they weren’t all bad, believed there were only a few bad apples in the bunch. But the problem was, you had to get up close to see which ones were rotten. You couldn’t always tell until it was too late.

Tam stopped by the door as Green kept walking toward us. Mel got up and met him halfway. Green stuck out his hand. Mel took it. Shook. Green was about to pull away when Mel tightened his grip. Then Mel leaned in. Green hesitated, shocked at the informality, then leaned in himself so their opposite shoulders touched and—finally—they patted each other swiftly on the back with their free hands. It was the automatic Black male greeting.

When they eventually pulled away, I noticed Mel’s smile. It was just an eighth of an inch, but it was enough. He’d done the routine on purpose, wanting Green to think they could be friends. I mentally shook my head as they both walked toward me. Mel thanked Tam over his shoulder, and just like that rabbit, she disappeared again. Back at his desk, Mel sat, not bothering to take off his sunglasses. “Have a seat. How’s Jim?”

There was a pause while Green and I tried to figure out who he was talking about. The light bulb went off over the detective’s head first. “I don’t talk to Commissioner O’Neill on a regular basis, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

“You’re not missing anything,” Mel said. The previous commissioner once had condemned Mel’s record label for encouraging violence against cops. Now Mel was on a first-name basis with his successor.

Mel motioned to me. “My oldest. Melina. Getting her master’s from Columbia. She’s moving to Harlem to be closer to school.”

Two truths and a lie.

“I taught her everything she knows,” Mel said.

Make that two lies.

“I love the shit out of her,” Mel said.

Possibly three.

Instead of correcting him, I shook Green’s hand and smiled. “Lena Scott.” I glanced at Mel from the corner of my eye to see if he’d react.

I’d changed my last name right after Desiree, Gram, and Aunt E were the only ones who’d come to my high school graduation. Ten years later, Mel still hadn’t mentioned it.

Green finally took a seat, pulling a notebook out of his back pocket. Very twentieth century. “Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice. Before we go too in-depth, I obviously want to extend my condolences.”

Mel nodded but didn’t say thank you. I followed suit.

Green continued. “I wanted to give you an update on our investigation and answer any questions. Although we’ll wait for the medical report for final confirmation, we don’t suspect foul play. We are looking into why your daughter would have been at that playground, and of course there is the matter of the car.”