Pastor Jenkins finishes, and Beverly takes the mic at the front of the room. She’s greeted warmly because she was raised in Ebenezer Church.

Beverly shares the state of things, what happened last night and that although it probably won’t happen again, we should be keeping an eye out. Lots of heads nod while she talks, until she mentions that the Galveston County police force is asking residents to be careful as they conduct their investigation. She opens up the floor.

An older Black man with a Kangol cap stands up. “We can’t live like this.”

A man speaks from the other side of the room. “First it’s a cross, then what?”

“Yes!” More shouts from the crowd.

“Why aren’t there arrests already?”

“We’ve begun an investigation.” Officer Clyde steps in, standing next to Beverly. The crowd grows uneasy. Energy shifting.

“An investigation?” the man who spoke first repeats. “Then what are you going to do when you don’t find anyone? They said they’d burn a body.”

“We believe it’s an empty threat,” Officer Clyde says.

The crowd erupts. Angry. It’s chaotic. Parents hug their children close, some pacing in the back. I’m glad I’m not the only one upset by his words. Too often I’ve felt like we’ve just been fighting this battle ourselves.

“Is this a threat to all of us or someone looking for the boy?” An older woman in the middle of the room raises her arm while she speaks.

That stings. I knew there’d be some blame on our family, but I wasn’t ready for this today. This just adds more reasons Jamal should stay in hiding.

Beverly taps Officer Clyde on the shoulder, relieving him at the mic.

“I know you all are scared,” Beverly says. “I was, too. That’s why I’m here today. Me and Officer Clyde. We don’t want anyone scared, but we need your help to be vigilant. Contact the police if you see something suspicious.”

“Call the police?” Murmurs rise, hesitant voices repeating the same sentiment.

“Call. Me,” Beverly says. “Cross burning has no place here. It’s possible someone’s angry over the death of Angela Herron, placing the blame on the Beaumonts. Regardless, we can’t take chances it won’t happen again.”

“Or something worse,” Quincy calls out.

“Or something worse,” Beverly says.

Officer Clyde looks like he wants to address the room, but Beverly has it more in control than he could, so he must know it’s better to stay in the background.

Beverly fields more questions. Community members sharing their stories, speculations. Some angry. Some see it as an isolated incident. Translation: It’s Daddy’s fault. Jamal’s fault.

It burns inside to hear a crowd filled with confusion and putting the blame on my family.