A sharp jangle rang out. Keys. “Is he from the bank?” Sol mouthed to herself. Her dead grandmother continued to receive bank notices, but Sol never opened mail that wasn’t hers. Her first cellmate, Laura, had gotten four years for that. The stranger casually unlocked the screen door. He hadn’t even had to search for the right key; he already knew which one it was. Sol remained crouching, wondering who the hell was at her door.

Couldn’t be cops. Except for last night and a few tags here and there—oh, and that bike—she’d been on her best behavior. Couldn’t be Jehovah’s Witnesses. They avoided that midday Georgia sun like it was a secular holiday. Couldn’t be Antonio either. She’d always had him drop her off a few houses away. She’d dated him despite his rep, but she dumped him precisely because his rep turned out to be true. Who the fuck was at her door?

Loudly fiddling around, the stranger seemed to be unable to find the right key. Sol fumed. She wasn’t about to go out like Copperhead, pounced on and then killed in her own damn home. Brazenly, she stood up and flung open the front door.

She was greeted by a shriek. Her older cousin, Derrick, stood on the other side of the storm door, bewildered. He’d gained weight, lots of it. He’d also acquired some money. Despite the heat, he was wearing a full suit, tailored and slick. He was still a chump, though. Sol laughed and invited him in. He tarried in the doorway.

“I thought you were in jail,” Derrick said cautiously. Sol could feel his eyes on her chiseled arms.

“I was. Been back home for over a year, though. I just graduated. Three point four.”

“A year? Shit. I had no idea.”

“Really? Your dad picked me up.”

“Weird. He never mentioned it.”

Sol didn’t respond. Stepping back, she invited Derrick in again. This time, he obliged, following her into the kitchen, where she deposited her knife onto a counter and reached inside the fridge, removing a jug of sweet tea. Raising the jug above her head, she offered Derrick a swig. He declined. Sol’s sweet tea was notoriously more tea than sweet.

“So, why are you here, Derrick?” Sol asked, drinking straight from the jug. She neither offered Derrick a seat nor sat down herself.

“You remember my homeboy Mario? He said he had drove by here and Nana’s house was all fixed up and shit. I knew your parents were thinking about fixing this place up, so I was curious about what it looked like.”

“You see my parents lately?”

“Yeah, every couple of weeks or so. They’re doing fine. You don’t talk to them?”

Sol didn’t respond, but her eyes remained on Derrick as if she were still speaking. He avoided her gaze, scanning the room. She watched as his eyes lingered on all of her renovations: new cabinets, new sink, new blender. She had seen that look before.