The Brysons’ apartment was in a brownstone just a few blocks away from Parkside. Rashid accepted a hand on the front stoop but once inside struggled up himself, leaning heavily on the banister and refusing his mother’s and father’s anxious offers of help. The apartment was a narrow two-bedroom, cluttered with fabric flowers, framed stenciled quotes from the Bible, and pictures of the boys everywhere. A big, new-looking TV sat in one corner in one of those glossy black-and-gold home entertainment centers, and the house smelled clean but faintly of air freshener. It felt a little bit like a shrine, but not unpleasantly so. Right over the sofa was an enormous photo of the boys together: Rashid, his hair still short, not yet dreadlocked; and Kofi, laughing and confident, a little darker skinned than Rashid, a little handsomer, with horn-rimmed glasses that gave him a curiously professorial air.

Mrs. Bryson saw me looking at the picture and her eyes teared up. “Those are my boys. My boys.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Yes. They are.” She twisted her hands a moment, looking at the picture and then quickly at me. She looked as though she wanted to ask me something but then thought better of it.

The boys and Jerome entered the room behind me, and everyone perched nervously on the sofa and chairs crammed around the glass-and-wood coffee table. Mrs. Bryson disappeared into the kitchen and came out with Ritz crackers and yellow cheese and a bottle of Coke and glasses for everyone. Small talk was difficult, but the boys acquitted themselves pretty well. They responded politely to Mr. and Mrs. Bryson’s questions about their schoolwork and how they liked the school and offered some funny little stories of things that had happened during the year. Jerome, oddly, didn’t speak at all. He just looked around, a glass of soda in his elegant hand, his eyes quiet and waiting.

“The house looks nice, Ma,” said Rashid during a lull in the conversation.

“Well, I’ve been trying to get myself together a little.” She smiled ruefully. “Henry and me…. after Kofi … well, we let things go. But since Rashid has gotten up to you all’s school and is doing his best, we got to thinking that maybe we could try a little harder, too. It’s just so hard.” She sighed, looked out the window. “Some days it’s hard to even get up out that bed.” Mr. Bryson placed his hand on her knee, and she looked back into the room. “Listen to me. I’m sorry This isn’t what we invited you all here for.” She smiled, brightly, falsely, around the room.

Rashid was silent during her words, his eyes growing wide and his jaw clenching and unclenching. Sean, Gerald, and even Jerome appeared to have been struck dumb. Before I could even think about it, I was on my feet, moving to Rashid’s side.