sandwich bag, put that bag of cash into a small Tupperware container, poured some spaghetti sauce around it, and tucked it into the freezer so Kirk wouldn’t find it. He never made the meals, so she wasn’t running any risk. As for her share, she’d lied to Kirk, telling him she’d only made a thousand on this job, half of which he demanded. The remaining two grand she’d hidden in a Tampax box that sat under the sink.
Justin had told her he probably wouldn’t be around for a few days to collect. He knew his mother would want him to see “someone,” and that she wouldn’t be letting him out of her sight for a while. His stealing the sleeping pills, and that note he’d written her, had her scared to death he might hurt himself.
But sooner or later, he’d escape. He was planning to make a speedy recovery, psychologically speaking. He’d tell whatever shrink his mother lined up that it was just a blip, he was right as rain, it was all triggered by his troubled relationship with his mother (lay as much guilt on her as possible, he figured), but they’d patched things up, he couldn’t be better, he was never going to do anything like that again, and while I’m here, have you got any samples of some fun meds I could take with me?
So when the doorbell rang that morning, seven days later, Keisha was not surprised to see Justin on her doorstep.
She’d been making Matthew’s breakfast, the kitchen TV on, the volume down low. Kirk was sleeping in. Last time he’d been awakened too early, he’d come hobbling into the kitchen like a bear with its leg in a trap and thrown a glass up against the wall. He scared the hell out of Matthew.
So Keisha tried to keep things quiet this early, but at the same time, she liked to know what was going on in the world, so the TV was on.
“Hurry up,” she said to Matthew, “or you’re going to be late for school.”
He picked at his breakfast, which was a piece of toast with peanut butter slathered all over it.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked him.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
Keisha had noticed he’d been particularly mopey these last few days. Quiet, withdrawn, spending a lot of time in his room. She’d asked Kirk, “You got any idea why he’s so down in the dumps?”
Kirk, dusting his mag wheel display in the living room, said, “Beats me what’s wrong with the li’l fucker. He’s just moody.”
But Keisha thought it was something more than that. Now, at breakfast, she said, “Somethin’ on your mind?”
Matthew shook his head.
“Anything going on at school?”
“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Haven’t I been good lately? Have I done anything wrong?”
She didn’t have to think. “You’ve been good.”
“So I don’t see what the big deal is,” he said.
“I was thinking,” she said, “maybe after school today, we could go to the Post Mall, get you some new shoes.” She could spare a little of that cash she had tucked away.
“I don’t care about new shoes,” Matthew said. “I just want to be able to stay here with you.”
“You want to hang around the house after school today?”
“No, I mean, all I want is to be able to keep living here.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Keisha said. “You’re losing your tiny mind.”
“We never have a vacation,” Matthew said. “We should go someplace. Just me and you. We could go visit your cousin in San Francisco.”
“Yeah, well, Caroline may think the world of you, but she hasn’t got much use for me,” Keisha said. “You need to get moving. Go brush your teeth.”
The boy took one last bite of toast and bolted from the kitchen. Keisha sighed and turned her eyes toward the television.
“We got off kind of easy with winter so far, not too cold, but that’s going to change starting tomorrow and continuing through the weekend as temperatures dip below freezing. And we’ve got a warning that even though it’s getting colder, people should stay off ponds and small lakes, that the ice hasn’t gotten all that thick yet and-”
The doorbell rang.
Keisha left the kitchen and walked to the front door. Standing there, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other texting on a phone, was Justin. His stepfather, Dwayne, was parked at the curb in his Range Rover, engine running to keep the heater on. He waved.
“I told Dwayne I wanted to come by and say thank you,” Justin said, ending his text conversation and devoting all his attention to Keisha.
“Come on in,” Keisha said, and motioned for him to follow her into the kitchen. “And keep your voice down. My boyfriend’s asleep.”
Justin nodded, glanced around the living room as he stepped in, his eyes stopping briefly on the four oversized mag wheels on the rickety-looking shelves. He walked over to examine them, ran his finger over one, checking for dust and finding none. The shelf wobbled slightly.
“We have books on our shelves,” he said.
Keisha said, “Come on into the kitchen.”
“Police are investigating two liquor store robberies in Bridgeport last night. For a report, let’s go to…”
“So,” she asked, “how’s it going?”
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Like I figured, they got me seeing a shrink. Mom wants me to see her a couple of times a week for like a month. But I can ride that out. Great thing is, Mom’s being so nice to me. Buying me stuff, some video games, DVDs. I just got the whole original Star Trek on Blu-ray.” He nodded and smiled, impressed with himself. “Things are good. But she’s still kinda tight with the cash.”
Keisha swung open the freezer and took out the Tupperware box. “Here’s your share.”
“Huh?” he said, looking at the frozen container. “What’s in here? Lasagna?”
She ran the tap until it was hot, took the lid off the container, and ran hot water on the bottom. The sauce came out in one solid chunk. Keisha kept it under the hot tap until the sauce melted away, revealing the sandwich bag stuffed with cash.
“Man, you’re like a spy or something.”
Keisha opened the bag, took out the cash and handed it to Justin.
“In other news, a Milford area woman who went missing Thursday night is still unaccounted for.”
“Awesome,” Justin said, pocketing it just as Matthew walked into the kitchen.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Justin,” he said.
“How many apps you have on that?” the boy asked, seeing the phone in his hand.
“A whole bunch.” He held the phone so the kid could see the screen. “I got lots of games.”
“Take my picture,” Matthew said. “My mom says she doesn’t have any good pictures of me.”
“Matthew, please, the man-”
“It’s okay,” Justin said. He opened the camera app, took a shot of Matthew. Then he asked Keisha for her email address and sent the picture to her, the phone making a barely audible “whoosh.”
Keisha handed the boy a paper sack that held his lunch. Matthew threw on his coat, ignored his mother’s pleas to zip it up or put on his mitts and hat, and went out the front door.
The kid gone, Justin said, “You remember what I was saying to you before? That we could try something else? You and me? I mean, we did good together, right? It was fun. I should have job-shadowed you on careers day back in high school.”
“I told you, this is it with us,” Keisha said. “You had a good idea, it paid off, and now we’re done.”
She didn’t want anything else to do with him. Something was wrong with the wiring in his head.
“Yeah, well, okay.”
On the television, a man, his arm around a young woman, was talking about his wife. How he wanted her to come home. That if anyone was watching, who knew anything at all about what had happened “So, anyway, thanks. I better go. I keep Dwayne waiting any longer-”
“Shh,” Keisha said, watching the report. The words at the bottom of the screen read: Wendell and Melissa Garfield: “Mom, come home.”
“Whoa,” Justin said, watching the TV. “You got a prospect?”
