“Why isn’t he calling? He promised he would. First thing. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. That witch isn’t making it easy on him. I’d bet this house that’s the problem.”

—

Gloria was braiding my hair but she put the wrong bit under another bit and it turned out bad. She stuck her fingers in and tugged hard. Some of my hair got knotted up in her fingers.

“I can’t manage a thing today.” She threw the comb in the sink. “Not even your frizzy mess.”

She was angry because Telly didn’t call last night. And he didn’t call this morning neither.

“I hate all this waiting.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I slid off the bathroom counter.

“That’s the problem with Telly. He don’t want to hurt no one’s feelings.”

Then, through the open window, I heard pebbles crunching. The sound of a motor. Gloria busted out of the bathroom and ran down the stairs. “That can’t be Telly,” she said. “I told him he had to call. Insisted on it.”

I raced behind her.

She didn’t go to the door. She went to the kitchen sink and lifted up the curtain. I climbed on the stool so I could see out too. Telly’s truck wasn’t there, but a different one was. It was white and dirty with a sticker on the side. But I couldn’t read what it said. A man got out. He had no hair and had sunglasses on, and the front of his T-shirt looked dirty too. He was holding an envelope. Gloria dropped the curtain, but we could still peek out. The man was on our porch and we couldn’t see him no more, and then he knocked on the door. My eyes got sparkles and stars. He was coming for me.

Sobs burst out. “I didn’t tell nobody, Gloria. I didn’t.”

“Will you be quiet?” Gloria whispered. Some of her spit hit my face. “It’s probably some weirdo. A kid dies and that gets some sickos excited.”

He knocked again. Harder this time.

“They want to see where it all happened. Like a damn tourist attraction. That’s their thrill.”

I tried to clamp down my sobs. My chest was shaking bad.

He knocked again. So loud it had to hurt his knuckles.

“Well,” Gloria said. She wiped her hands across her cheeks. “I’m not going to be a sheep in my own home. I refuse.”

She yanked open the front door.

“You got no right to be on my front porch, sir,” she said.

“Gloria Janes?”

“That’s me.”

“This is for you.” He pushed the envelope at her and she took it.

“What is it?”