“For a second I thought Jamal was driving with you.” Mrs. Ridges’s expression relaxes, her hair with purple tips framing her face.

“Is…” I pause. Unsure what exactly I’m supposed to say to her. “Quincy home?”

“He gone. What you need with my boy?”

She’s lost a lot. I know she blames Daddy for mixing up Jackson in his business. We hadn’t lived in Crowning Heights long before we met the Ridges family. She can’t blame us for what happened to the Davidsons. And Jamal’s been a good influence on Quincy; that’s why Mrs. Ridges took to him. But by the way she’s staring at me, all that’s lost. Every time Mama sees her, hurt floats in Mama’s eyes. There’s a longing for a friendship that ended the day the police killed Jackson. I don’t think Mama and Mrs. Ridges stopped caring for each other. But when you lose someone, and an entire town thinks your spouses were guilty, it does something to your friendship. Being close reminds you what’s missing.

“Jamal, that you?” Malcolm, Quincy’s younger brother, comes strolling to the door, disappointed when he sees it’s just me.

I’m taken aback—Malcolm’s about my height now. He’s wearing a washed-out track shirt that used to be Jamal’s. My throat closes because Jamal was always hooking up Malcolm with gear. Jamal wasn’t just watching out for Corinne and me.

“You coming in?” Malcolm asks.

“She was looking for Quincy, but I told her he ain’t here. I got to get to work, so come on now.”

Malcolm’s eyebrows raise. “You heard from him?”

“Malcolm.” Her voice is biting.

“No.” I smile. “But I’m sure we will. It’s all—”

“Bev will find him. She’ll clear things up.” Malcolm’s all puffed out.

I hope that’s true. Hope that Beverly won’t forget where she came from.

I look past Mrs. Ridges to the inside of her house. It has remnants of our home. Jamal’s old bike hanging in the entryway catches my eye. My coat hangs on a hook. I purposefully tore it so I could beg Mama for a new one and keep up with my classmates. The rip is sewn, barely noticeable; it must belong to Quincy’s sister CeCe now. Being here is like seeing my family echoed in someone else’s.

“I should go,” I croak out.

“I’ll tell Quincy you came by.” Mrs. Ridges grabs her keys and walks to her car, Malcolm trailing behind. She stops. “I’m sorry to hear about Jamal, but don’t come ’round here bringing trouble. If they looking for Jamal, I know they gon’ be bugging my boy about this. Already been here once.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” I slump my shoulders. She’s right. I wanted to find Jamal.