My house was third from the end. Next to it was Linda Tyler’s place. And next to that was the abandoned lot now knee-high with trash and busted up furniture. Weeds grew ragged around it. A vine covered the rusted metal fence. We could hear raccoons and possums rustling around in there at night.

It had been two days since that call with the city. Since Rowan had hinted at what we could do. It bothered me nonstop, like the constant whine of a mosquito buzzing around my ear.

“It’s only going to get worse,” Natalia said, echoing my thoughts. “I know you told Maria and Midge you were going to handle it. But maybe it’s something we can do together. That’s a lot of pressure on you.”

I rolled my shoulders back. “It’s okay. I’m gonna get the city to fix it.”

If the city fixed it, like they were supposed to, then I could pass the buck to them and avoid the spotlight. I wanted it taken care of yesterday. What I didn’t want was people looking to me to organize a cleanup effort I could only fail at.

“Let the rest of the block know if you need help though,” she said. “I’m serious, Dean.”

“Okay, I will.” I avoided her eyes and kept walking down the cracked, uneven sidewalk. It was barely 9:00 am and the morning was already hot and sticky with humidity. The air smelled like water on asphalt. Folks moved to their stoops and benches to escape the heat inside hundred-year-old houses without central air. Beneath that was the buzz of window units, the roar of the bus, and a neighbor blaring the local classic rock station.

At the end of the block, Alice O’Callaghan, who was eighty years old, hosed down her stoop, the steam rising around her. One of my mothers sat on the bench in front of our house, drinking coffee and listening as Alice recited whatever gossip had cropped up from the night before. My other mother, who I’d called Midge since I first learned to talk, was dancing along to the radio and watering the flowers that grew in large pots lining their sidewalk.

I bent down to kiss Midge on the cheek. “Good morning. Plants look nice today.”

“They better,” she said out the side of her mouth. “Eddie’s been strutting around over there like he knows his petunias will be nicer than mine. But we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

I made a sound of agreement but remained silent. It was the only way to survive the vicious wars that sprung up around front stoop conditions and decor. Midge practically had an urban jungle growing out the front of our house, while Eddie kept two tidy planter boxes he was very proud of.