Needy Little Things(30)

“Really, Jo?” I collect a couple of pieces of trash. “Where’s Mama?”

“In her room,” he says without looking away from the screen.

“When’s the last time you checked on her?” I don’t wait for him to answer. If she’d seen this mess, he’d be scrubbing the walls instead of playing games. I tap on her bedroom door before letting myself in. “Mama?”

The lump on the bed shifts but does not speak.

“Mama, did you give Jojo his medicine?” Her bedroom is worse off than the living room. Aside from a narrow passage from the door to her bed, the floor is covered with random stuff. It’s not filthy, like Philly’s place, but it’s equally cluttered. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?”

“Mind your business, Sariyah.”

“I’m not trying to be nosy, but the house is a mess and Josiah—”

She sits up, makeup smudged across her face, headscarf barely hanging on. “If the house is a mess, go clean it up. Don’t come back in here. Not going to work tonight. I called in.”

I glimpse some NyQuil and Kleenex on her end table. “Are you sick?”

“I’m tired, Sariyah. I’m tired. You can entertain your brother for a little while, can’t you? And let me catch up on some sleep?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I grab an overturned laundry basket and fill it with as much as I can, but it barely makes a dent in the mess. “Can I bring you something to eat?”

“No, I’m all right. I need to be alone for a little while, then I’ll be good as new.”

I leave her room wishing I could believe her. Wishing for the one millionth time that my ability extended to the people I care about most. She says it doesn’t work with her and Dad and Jojo because all they need from me is love. But that’s not true at all. It’s not true for them and it wasn’t true for Tessa. It isn’t true for anyone.

“Play Mario Kart with me,” Josiah says before I can make it across the living room.

“No.”

“Please,” he begs.

“I said no.”

“You never want to do anything fun.”

I grit my teeth to keep from popping off on him when it’s other things that have me in a mood.

“I’m hungry. And my leg hurts. And I need help with my extra-credit project.”

“Josiah,” I whine. “Go play outside for like”—I check the time—“an hour. When you get back, I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“I want pizza.”

“You got pizza money?” My skin crawls when I realize how much I sound like our mother.

Josiah throws back his head and stomps off down the hall. A few seconds later, the front door opens and shuts.

I try cleaning the mess he made, but I’m preoccupied with planning my next visit to Philly’s. All I need to do is peek in a basement window and see that dog. That’s all I need to relieve this stupid doubt. I should have turned around and done it before we even left. Not that it should matter. If the police missed something that obvious, the world can go ahead and get swallowed by a black hole.

Resigned to spending the day googling the Irvine family and boosting social media posts about Deja, I go to my bedroom and open my laptop. Never read the comments has been Malcolm’s motto ever since the incident between him and Ms. Jess at Sweet Pea’s and I’d adopted it, no questions asked. Until now. Because what if someone’s seen her? What if we miss it? I scroll until my eyes hurt and Josiah comes back from the playground asking for food. I make sure he takes his medicine while I scramble us some eggs. He eats his in front of the TV and I take mine back to my room. I’m scarfing down my last bite when my phone rings. I snatch it, hopeful, but it’s just Dad.

“Dad’s calling!” I shout to my brother.

Josiah busts open my bedroom door and leaps straight from the threshold to my bed, which gives an angry groan in response. He grabs the phone from me and angles the camera at his toes before accepting the FaceTime call.

“Hello!” my father draws out joyfully. “Now, I can’t quite put my finger on it,” he says to Jojo’s feet, “but Sariyah, something looks different about you.”

“Y’all are not cute.”

Dad chuckles and I seize the phone from my brother.

“Spring break means the countdown is on until I got my favorite farmhands in town. I’m ready to put y’all to work.”

“Y’all? You mean Jojo.”

“I’m ready, Dad!”

“I know you are, son. And your sister is ready to lie up by the creek with some books.”

That farm is the quietest place on Earth for me. Summers there are the only time of the year I can go days without hearing a need.

“Josiah, why don’t you let me talk to your sister alone for a few minutes?”

I shake my head, knowing he wants to talk about Deja. “It’s okay, Daddy. He’s been asking to FaceTime with you for days.” Deja is the last person I want to talk about with Daddy. He’s hurt by this and I can tell. He feels like I never talk about real stuff with him. Sure, we’ve texted about it, but texts don’t count as communication in his mind. But speaking about what happened, out loud, with him—that will make it real. And I already know it is, but it’s real here. In this world. In Atlanta. If I don’t talk about it with Dad, Chefly can stay clean. If I don’t talk about it with him, our calls can be a magical bubble where there are no stabbed men and no missing girls.