“Not sure if we have the budget for that.” Officer Clyde follows Beverly back to us.

“Seems to me you certainly had the budget to have someone watch the house for Jamal,” Steve says.

Officer Clyde takes his hat off again and puts it to his side.

“I’ll see if I can get overtime approved by the sheriff for tonight in case someone thinks about coming back. But you might want to stay away until things calm down.”

“Thank you, Officer Clyde,” Mama says.

Officer Clyde helps the firefighters put up the particle board we use during hurricanes over our broken window.

I take photos of the cross so I don’t feel helpless, then move closer to the windows, but I can’t get the image of the burning cross out of my mind. If it wasn’t Richard Brighton, then who?

TAKING CHANCES

The house is nearly silent by midnight. The only other sounds are the soft click of Steve on his computer before he shuts it down and goes upstairs to Jamal’s room. Mama’s letting him sleep here for the night. It took some planning after the police left, but Pastor Jenkins from church agreed to help lead a meeting tomorrow evening at the community center where I hold my workshops.

Dean and I pace by the large kitchen window, hiding behind its pitch-blackness. Instead of the smell of Mama’s kitchen, I’m overtaken by a damp, smoky smell that’s seeped through the broken window. A stain that will be more than charred black grass outside.

I check my cell, watch the online confirmations for tomorrow’s community meeting grow with each refresh. Hoping for a text from Jamal, but nothing. I send a few messages to Tasha, who’s freaking out. Then text Quincy last, because I know he’ll hear about it from Beverly.

I grab a glass of water at the sink, letting the water overrun before I notice how long I’ve been standing here.

My phone beeps and Dean glances over. Instinctually, I turn it over in case it’s Jamal. Just another text from Tasha.

Come stay at my house. Bring Corinne and your mama.

Maybe tomorrow. Steve Jones is staying in Jamal’s room. Bev is watching out.

This is scary. Stay safe.

I will. Love you.

Same.

I tuck my phone in my pocket. Dean eases his arms cautiously around my shoulders, resting his head on top of mine. The clock ticking in the background reminds me that Dean will have to leave soon. I’m at least grateful that the uneasy feeling that was churning inside me, the one that screamed in fear but was overpowered by the need to be brave, has finally calmed down, like a smooth ocean wave after high tide. Rocky and shaky, but softening up with each faltering wave.

Air catches on my neck from Dean’s even-patterned breathing as I sort through how to solve this all.