“Mel Pierce’s office.”
“How long do you keep an archive of Mel’s schedule?”
“Lena! How are you doing?”
I was too anxious for small talk. “Fine. Two years? Five years? Aunt E is trying to remember someplace they went.”
She paused. “Date?”
“May 20th, 2017.” I hoped it wasn’t as ingrained in her brain as it was in mine.
She typed, then said, “Don’t think Aunt E has the right date because Mel was at graduation. He flew private to Maryland Thursday morning.”
“I’m pretty sure she said she saw him Friday night. Did he come back?”
More typing. “Nope. They were scheduled to come back Sunday afternoon, but I had to book a last-minute flight for Veronika…” She trailed off. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet I pushed the phone closer to my ear. “Aunt E definitely has her dates wrong. May 20th was Desiree’s accident.”
I exhaled. If Mel’d come back Friday, Tam would have booked the flight, marking it in her carefully kept calendar. Mel didn’t even know how to get his own MetroCard. Yet Desiree had insisted she’d seen him. Of course, she also was so drunk she’d passed out and didn’t even wake up when her car was involved in a deadly hit-and-run.
“Were you able to pick up Desiree’s stuff?” Tam said.
“Yeah.”
“Think you’ll be able to drop it off at the apartment?”
I hadn’t planned on it, but I needed to talk to Mel. “I can do it today or tomorrow.”
“Great. Mel and Veronika are in town. You want me to tell him you’re coming?”
I started to say yes, then flashed on my convo with Free. I sucked in a breath. “No. I’ll tell him. I just need his cell.”
She’d given it to me several times. I’d just never bothered to write it down. And it wasn’t like Mel ever called me.
“Great! I’ll text it to you,” she said.
Her text landed before we even got off the phone. It took me a lot longer to actually open the message. Instead, I paced the area between my living room and kitchen like I was completing a 5K. I was tempted to go for a marathon but instead finally reopened my phone.
Tam hadn’t shared a contact, instead opting to send the number directly. I didn’t have to even type it in. I could just press and Apple would dial. I could do this. I would do this. Dial the number. Say hello when he answered. Tell him I needed to stop by. I hesitated, then pushed the number so suddenly I almost gave myself a fracture.
I let the phone ring two times before I hung up and lobbed my cell toward the couch like it had caught fire. It rang in midair. I let it go to voice mail. There were ten blissful seconds of silence and it rang again.
At least I knew where I got my phone stalking from. It was as annoying as I’d always assumed. Knowing he wouldn’t give up, I picked up the phone. Mel’s number flashed on the screen, already seared in my memory. I’d be able to recite it when I was eighty. I hit the phone icon.
“Hello,” Mel said.
“It’s me,” I said, then realized I’d need to clarify. “It’s—”
“Everything okay, Melina?” He sounded concerned.
“Oh, yeah. Of course. I was calling about your car’s extended warranty. Press zero to speak to a representative.”
He laughed then. It wasn’t something I heard a lot, certainly not in his interviews. His laugh was thick and hearty—like good soup. I let it peter out before I spoke again.
“I got Desiree’s stuff.” I took in a breath. “Wanted to know when you’d be home so I can drop it off.”
“When do you want to come?”
“What about tomorrow morning? Nine-ish. You’ll be there?”
“Yep. You coming hungry?”
I doubted it. “I’ll eat before I come. See you tomorrow.”
“Nine-ish.”
“Oh.” I forced myself to be casual. “I had a question about the night of Desiree’s DUI. Something she said, but we can discuss it tomorrow.”
He paused. “Okay. Tam will tell you where to park the car.”
When we hung up, I plopped onto my couch like I had run that race. Exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Definitely emotionally. The call had gone well. Maybe Free was right. Mel would never hurt Desiree—or me. I felt like I’d come back down to Earth.
*
I managed to eat the next morning. Aunt E and I shared ham with fresh hash browns and biscuits. Aunt E’s eyes were on me more than her plate. “I’m glad your appetite’s back.”
“I need sustenance. I’m dropping Desiree’s stuff off this morning.”
“You want company?” Aunt E said. “I always wanted to drive a Tesla.”
“You don’t even have a license.”
“Don’t need one. Car that expensive should drive itself.”
I fiddled with a piece of ham. “Mel’s gonna be there. I spoke to him last night.”
To her credit, Aunt E didn’t look surprised. She just calmly nodded. “Glad to hear that.” She took a bite.
The question was out before I even realized I’d been thinking it. “What happened when they broke up?”
Aunt E’s mouth was full so she used it to her advantage, taking time to chew and swallow. “Your Gram always thought it was your mom’s fault. You know Black women and their sons.”
I did, so I wasn’t surprised. “And you?”
“I had my own thoughts.”
“Which were?”
“You should talk to Mel about it. Let me know what he says. I’ll tell you if my thoughts were right.”
She smiled then, trying to keep it light. My whole body felt weighted down. Still, I managed to stand up. My appetite gone again. “Got it.”
“Lena.”
I paused at the trash can. Waited. Hopeful.
“You…” Her voice stalled out, then caught again. “Don’t forget to wash your plate.”
*
The drive to Mel’s reminded me why I biked. I stared longingly at a Citi Bike breezing past as Desiree’s air-conditioned Tesla sat in Fifth Avenue traffic. I’d never wanted more in my life to be sweaty. But by the time I got to the apartment, I wished traffic had been worse. I felt less nervous asking about Desiree’s DUI than asking about my mom. At this point, I didn’t believe Mel had been in town—not with the newspaper photos and Tam’s records—but I needed to know why Desiree would’ve thought she saw him. See if she’d called. If they’d at least spoken. If Mel hadn’t been the driver, I doubted he knew who it could’ve been. Murder Mel would’ve taken care of them long ago.
To say talking about that would be an easier conversation than asking him about my mother was probably all anyone needed to know about my parents’ relationship. I’d heard her version of the breakup enough. When a Free Money song would come on the radio. When we’d see one of his artists on a magazine at the grocery store. When one would perform on late-night TV. Both before and after my visits to Gram, ones that always seemed to coincide with Mel being out of town. But he’d never offered his side, and I’d never asked.