“You’re funny. Work meeting, for the podcast.”
She seems pleased by his answer. “In that case, both your lunches are on me.”
He laughs. “Thanks, but that’s not—”
“Already done.” Charisse waggles her fingers. “Fitzroy is in the back cooking, and you’d better say hello before you go.”
He grins as she walks away, then sits back down, marveling at how much things have changed. The neighborhood, the restaurant, Charisse. She might be an adult now, but in his head, Junior’s daughter will always be twelve.
Just like Joey will always be twenty.
* * *
Drew recognizes the woman from her LinkedIn picture the second she rushes into the restaurant, though she looked a lot less harried in the photo. They trade introductions, and he waves off her apologies for being late, inviting her to sit down while he orders lunch for both of them at the counter. True to Charisse’s word, the cashier refuses his money.
By the time he’s back with their food, Dr. Deborah Jackson is calmer. Her coral blazer is draped over the back of her chair, her overstuffed tote bag sitting on the floor by her feet. She smiles at him warmly, and she reminds Drew of his mother before all the health issues started.
“You’re handsome,” she says, appraising him. “You could have mentioned that in your email. I would have been on time and worn something cuter.”
He nearly drops the tray, and she laughs. It breaks the tension, and he appreciates her efforts to make things a little lighter for the both of them. They both know this won’t be an easy conversation.
“I appreciate you meeting me, Dr. Jackson,” he says, taking a seat across from her.
“Deborah, please.” She picks up her fork. “I admit I had second thoughts on the way over. I quit doing social work a month after Joelle died. I realized when I couldn’t get out of bed that being a caseworker probably wasn’t the job for me. So I went back to school, and now I teach. Had you not told me about Ruby Reyes making parole, I’m not sure I could even bring myself to talk about Joelle. I think it’s outrageous her mother is getting out, and that she used #MeToo to make it happen. It’s offensive to the real victims. I’m glad you’re doing the podcast.”
Drew is relieved they’re on the same page. “How long did you work with Joey?”
“From the night her mother was arrested to the day she turned eighteen. Just over four years. But we did keep in touch for a while after she aged out.”
“Isn’t it unusual to work with someone that long?”
“Very. Most foster kids have several caseworkers by the time they age out of the system, but since Joey was placed with family, I was able to stay with her. She was technically in kinship care, but there’s not much difference.”
She takes a bite of the dish she ordered, oxtail, and chews slowly. “This is good.”
Drew also ordered them a side of fried plantains, and he pushes the plate toward her. “Joey and I used to come here all the time. Our house wasn’t far from here.”
“The one that burned?”
He nods.
“I’ve only been here once,” Deborah says, glancing around. “Which was the last time I ever saw her. She told me she’d quit the video store, but she didn’t mention she was dancing at the strip club right next door.”
“She never told me, either,” Drew says. “I found out the hard way.”
They switch to small talk while they eat their lunch. Fifteen minutes later, a busboy clears their plates, and Fitzroy, Junior’s nephew, pops out of the kitchen in a stained white apron to say hello. The two men shake hands vigorously, both agreeing that it’s been too long and that the other still looks good for his age. Fitz has been cooking here ever since Drew can remember, and he promises to send over coffee and coconut cake, on the house, if Drew promises to come back more often. Deborah watches the whole exchange thoughtfully, a small smile on her face.
“I can see why Joelle liked you,” she says when they’re alone again. “She talked about you a lot the last time I saw her, and she told me that you and your girlfriend had just moved to Vancouver. She was sad about it. She said you were her best friend.”
The words sting. “She was mine, too.”
“But it was more than friendship for her,” Deborah says. “She loved you, Drew. Like, loved you loved you. Would-have-married-you-and-had-your-babies-and-grown-old-with-you loved you. Not a crush. I don’t think Joelle was capable of infatuation or anything shallow.”