chapter seven: Strange Patterns

There was an envelope in the screen door.

It was thick, white, bent by the door’s pressure, no words on the outside, but some stuff crossed out from previous use. It was taped along the seal, which she appreciated—she always cringed at the idea of touching other peoples’ dried spit.

She looked across the street and around, but no one was in sight.

Dune backed into the house, sat on the stairs and tore open the note. Inside was a wad of money wrapped with a piece of paper and secured with a rubber band. She pulled the paper open.

This message is for Dune Chin and any other surviving relatives of Brendon Chin.

Dune felt her breath catch and crushed the letter between her hands for a moment, closing her eyes against the memory of her father in the hospital, somehow both swollen and crushed, bruised and bloodied, gone and there, the three women of his life touching him as he left his body.

She exhaled and flattened the paper against her thighs, the exploring energy of the morning deflated as she picked it up again.

I saw your mother’s name on the list of those whose lives have been claimed by H-8. I have never forgiven myself for taking your father from you. I have not driven a bus since that day. A lot in my life has changed. Many times I wanted to come visit you. Your mother said I could. She said that she had done the work to forgive me. But I couldn’t face you, her or Mrs. Chin.

I sent your mother some money over the years. Not enough. The settlement never felt like enough. I know nothing ever could.

I am leaving Detroit now. Maybe you are gone already, but it looks like you are there. Here is everything I can spare. Please get to safety.

With eternal sorrow,

Paulie Vereen

Dune looked at the money. It was hundred dollar bills, Ben Franklin’s stern face over and over. She counted the bills till she got to thirty, still she wasn’t a tenth of the way through the stack.

This would have been a godsend two months ago, when it could have covered Kama’s hospital care, extended her life. Dune felt her system try to catch the spark of grief or anger, but she was thumbing an empty lighter. She took the money to the altar in Kama’s room. She placed the envelope under the picture of Brendon that was the center of the sacred space.

Then she fell into the bed, praying to dream of her parents.

The next morning, after taking care of Mama Vivian, Dune was cleaning dishes when she felt the pull to visit the basement again.