It rolls out in front of me, a blood-red carpet.

The officers glance around, taking in my decor. I figure anyone walking into a PR exec’s office and finding a black man sitting there is going to get a sense of my heritage. So it is political.

What isn’t?

“Have a seat.” My arm sweeps forward to invite them.

They perch in my wing chairs. They squint into the sun. For a moment, I allow them to squirm. The leather of my desk chair settles underneath me.

They nod. Blink.

“Oh, John, would you adjust the blinds?” I tip my hand negligently toward the window. Not meeting his eye, which is more than enough to let him know. I’ve sat at the knee of a master. I’ve learned to play the game.

The officers relax, grateful. I appear both thoughtful and in charge.

EVA

Everyone at school knows it was my dad. His name was on the morning news and so was the name of the girl. Shae Tatum. A girl only a few years older than me. She was in sixth grade.

Other kids look at me and point. They whisper behind my back.

Teachers speak in voices extra bright. They whisper over my head.

He was only doing his job! I want to shout.

But I’m supposed to say nothing.

BRICK

Sheila cries when I tell her about Shae. When her face falls, I learn what that saying means in real life.

Maybe it was a mistake to come in person. I wanted to. Thought it was right. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.

I’ve dropped her off a cliff. She loves it when I visit. Her eyes light up, she bounces. “Hi,” she exclaims, when I walk into the breakfast room. “Look!” Sheila shows off her sparkling blue backpack. Her smile is a hundred watts and brightening.

But when her favorite person comes bearing terrible news … Extreme high to extreme low. I ask the cook to leave us alone for a minute. Pull up a chair next to Sheila and take her small hands in mine.

I was younger than this the first time I tasted grief. I remember, and I don’t want to remember. If I could use my power to spare Sheila of this loss, I would do it. If I could give all my money to make it untrue, I wouldn’t hesitate.

Her cries echo off the wood-paneled walls. She will wake the whole house. Any minute now, other residents or staff from the home will come running. Sheila knows that dead means gone, not just out of sight but gone forever. We go over it anyway.

When I reach over to hug her, she fixes me with a look worse than death. I am the bad-news man. I can offer no comfort.

It breaks me. I hold myself as still as I can, but in every other way I am falling apart.