“You my neighbor?” The voice made me jump. I turned to see a figure emerge from the dark doorway. I tried to see if he could possibly be the oldest son—if he was in his forties, handsome like his father. A yellow beam from a nearby streetlight bounced off his forehead but he was too far away to see in any detail. I could only make out his frame—tall and lanky.

“Sort of,” I said, gesturing across the street, in the opposite direction from my real building. “They don’t like us to smoke in front of the building so I took a walk. Tenant’s association.” As I said it I realized it was true.

“Is this a church?” I asked.

He didn’t answer, but said instead, “You go to church?”

“No,” I replied.

He didn’t respond, just nodded.

“It’s late,” he said. “You’re pretty, you know? You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice shaking as I said it.

He stood and turned to go inside. “Get home safe,” he said, and I swear, the way he said it sounded like a threat.

My heart pounded the whole way home. I felt the interaction must foretell some violence. I clenched my sweaty palms together, expecting something to detach from the shadows and swallow me up, expecting to turn and see someone following me. I felt deflated when I reached my front door without incident. Even the men on the plastic buckets had gone home. I was alone on an empty street. In the distance the glowing lights of a late-night bus approached.

19

AS IT TURNED OUT THE VIOLENCE THAT NIGHT WITH THE SCREAM predicted had nothing to do with me. I was working my usual hours when a text came through from Lonnie asking if it would be all right for her to come home late. I agreed, having nowhere else to be. I’d already put William to bed when I heard the downstairs door open and assumed Lonnie and James would shortly come up to greet me in the living room, but instead I’d heard only silence, so I went down to investigate.

She was sprawled on the ground, wearing a sheer white button-down and little black panties. I glanced toward the front door and saw her dark pants on the floor, in the same uncomfortable position as her legs, the left knee bending the lower leg outward, as if they were still a part of her body, despite the distance. My mind rapidly fired everything I knew about Lonnie but nothing added up to the inert body in front of me. Was it just drunkenness or something self-inflicted? Had she taken drugs before? Had she seemed depressed? Shouldn’t there have been a warning sign?