It’s funny to me how our friendship, so obvious to us, has always confused other people. They see a tall, elegant Black woman and a short, scrawny blonde and think, These two? If it hadn’t been for Lou’s desperation to hand me off, we probably wouldn’t have become friends. I can credit a flyer in a Laundromat for one of the most important relationships of my life. Lou, barely twenty-two at the time, was tending bar in Center City at McGlinty’s for the lunch shift and happy hour and working the ticket counter at the Trocadero at night, when the old lady who lived upstairs and usually watched me up and died. That’s how Lou always described it, all bitter, “She up and died on me,” as if Ms. Landis did it on purpose to screw with her, and it did, since Lou didn’t have any other child care options. It’s not like she could drop me with my dad. I’d never met the guy who knocked up my mom her junior year of high school. “You were an immaculate conception. I’m essentially the Virgin Mary,” Lou said whenever I asked about him, satisfied that this was a sufficient explanation. Which it wasn’t, obviously. I had a right to know who my father was. No matter how many times I demanded an answer, she never budged. “You’re all mine. That’s it.” End of conversation. Finally, I gave up. Her stubborn possessiveness made me feel loved, in a screwed-up kind of way, and burned my fury away.
I wouldn’t have put it past Lou to leave me alone with some dry cereal and a tightly locked door, but a few days after Ms. Landis died, she came across the ad for Gigi’s day care, Sunshine Kids, a place that specialized in taking the scrubs, the kids whose parents worked odd hours or late nights.
“I got such a kick out of it when we showed up at the Wilsons’ and I saw all these little Black kids,” Lou told me, years later. “You were like a snowflake in a coal mine! I thought maybe you’d all form a little rap group.”
I don’t remember noticing that I was the only white kid at Gigi’s, at least not at first; I was too focused on Riley, though then she was Leroya and I thought her name sounded so fancy, like a perfume. She was sitting at the kitchen table biting her lip in concentration as she practiced writing her name. Her hair was braided into intricate cornrows that I wanted badly to touch. When I did, Riley swatted at my hand, and I knew I had done something wrong even if I didn’t know what it was. I tried everything I could think of to convince her to play with me that day. She kept blowing me off until the other kids started holding relay races in the backyard and, out of nowhere, Riley walked over and challenged me to one. She might have had longer legs, but I knew I was faster. I took off across the yard, pumping my skinny legs as fast as I could. Then, at the last second, I slowed down and Riley won, but she wasn’t happy about it. She accused me of letting her win. I only did it because I wanted her to like me. We argued about it, faces red, little fists balled at our sides, until Gigi marched across the yard and turned the ice-cold hose on us. “That’ll keep you from fussin’。” We fell to the ground, sopping wet, in shock, and then looked at each other and started laughing. That was when we knew we’d be friends. Even with that rocky start we became inseparable, the sisters we’d always wanted.
I only went to Sunshine Kids for a few years, until Lou decided I was old enough to stay home alone after school and at night. “That’s what I did,” she said. “And see how I turned out.” Then she laughed, and I did too, because it was always better to be in on the joke. But by then I’d already laid a ferocious claim to the Wilsons as my adopted family and Riley as my best friend. The Wilsons seemed like an ideal family, with their nightly dinners together at a real dining room table and calendars on the fridge with dentist appointments and soccer games and a mom who read fairy tales to you at bedtime instead of Rolling Stone alone in the bathtub. Even as young as I was, I understood they were one of the best things to ever happen to me. I’ve said as much to Lou over the years. Like that time in high school when she accused Mrs. Wilson of having a stick up her ass. I had a primal flash of rage then, like How dare you insult my family, which was confusing, considering who was doing the insulting here. I’d screamed at her. “If it weren’t for the Wilsons, I’d probably be a stripper or a drug addict.”
Lou was unfazed. “There’s still time, baby girl.”
Lou should have been as grateful for the Wilsons as I was, since she always had a place to park me for her getaways, work concerts in New York or Atlantic City, or when she needed some “grown-up time” with a new man.
Like the summer before fifth grade, when she disappeared for more than two weeks to follow her roadie boyfriend, Blazer, to Summerfest in Milwaukee. It was the longest stretch I’d ever been away from her, and my feelings when she knocked on the Wilsons’ door to pick me up afterward were as confusing as ever. With her golden tan, sun-streaked long hair, and new tattoo of a mermaid running the length of her forearm, Lou was as wild and beautiful as ever. She never looked more beautiful than when she was returning after time away from me.
I gathered my things and climbed into the back seat of Blazer’s Ford Escape, a stomachache already beginning to form. Blazer glared out the window at Mrs. Wilson and Riley waving goodbye from the porch and turned to Lou with a look of disgust. “I can’t believe you let your kid stay with them niggers.”
Riley and her mom continued smiling and waving from the doorstep, oblivious, and this made it all the worse.
Blazer winked at me in the rearview mirror, mouth open just enough so I could see the pink flesh of his tongue. I wanted to spit in his greasy hair, say something to make him slam on the brakes and toss me into the street. White-trash bum.
Lou just smirked. “Why do you shave your balls, Blazer? You ask me a stupid question, I ask you a stupid question. Mind your business. They’re nice people.”
I slunk down in the ripped vinyl back seat, burning with shame that I hadn’t spoken up. It was the first but it wouldn’t be the last time someone would spit out the N-word or some other awful joke or comment over the years while I said nothing, the same shame rearing its ugly head, knowing I was betraying Riley with my silence.
The shock of my phone buzzing against the table makes me jump, sending my mug to the floor, where it shatters into pieces.
It’s too soon for Kevin to be calling with news. I know who it is without looking—and I promised I wouldn’t talk to her, so I let it go to voice mail. When I pick up the phone to listen to the message, I see it wasn’t Riley after all, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. The voice on the other end is my sister-in-law, Annie, speaking in a fast whisper. “Hey, Jen, it’s me. Matt told me. I’m thinking about you and praying for everyone. Call me. Let us know what’s going on. I’m working an overnight, but call anytime.”
Annie probably knows more than I do at this point about what happens now. Even with her crazy job as an ER nurse, she makes time to be involved in all the LEO groups. Yet another acronym—LEO, for law enforcement officer—and LEOW when it came to the wives. A close-knit group who organized volunteer committees, prayer circles, and gathered to drink margaritas and bitch about their husbands’ crazy schedules on a Tuesday night. They’re a club, a kind of sorority. I don’t know why I’ve held them at arm’s length—too much pressure to be a joiner, maybe. But now I wish I hadn’t because I’m sure there’s someone from the LEOW Facebook group I could reach out to for insight and support. But I’m not ready yet. Instead, I text Kevin: