The bread sizzles in the frying pan on the stove. I add more butter, brown sugar, and the bacon bits. I had to go to three different stores to find them. I flip each slice one last time, then turn the heat to low and cover the pan.
When the doorbell rings, I start to holler to come on in, then look down at Chase, strapped to me in the BabyBj?rn, and think better of it. He’s not asleep, but he’s not exactly awake either. I cross through the living room and fling open the door. There’s a burst of air that carries the faintest hint of an early spring.
Fred makes a mad dash to greet our visitor. I can barely see Riley over the giant baby stroller she’s struggling to push around the dog and up the one step of our porch. With its dual cup holders and cozy detachable bassinet, it’s the opposite of the stained and rickety hand-me-down of Annie and Matt’s that we’ve been using since Chase came home from the hospital.
I stand there a little dumbstruck.
“It was on your registry.” Riley says it so casually, like it’s a rattle and not a $500 stroller, the nicest item on the list. “I bought it months ago. When you first posted it.”
We manage to wrestle it into the tiny foyer. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”
I want to hug Riley hello, except the stroller stands between us, a barrier, and by the time she maneuvers around it in the narrow hallway, the moment has passed. Instead of reaching for me, she peeks at Chase in the carrier. “Is he asleep?”
“Sort of. I need to feed him pretty soon. I should also feed Fred. I just remembered that. Nothing makes you forget that you have a dog like having a baby.”
Riley trails behind me to the kitchen and I see her take in the mess—all the boxes.
“What’s all this?”
“Surprise?” That was stupid, but I’m nervous to see Riley and tell her my news. “We’re… we’re moving. I wanted to tell you in person.”
Riley looks around for a place to sit and I rush over. “Here, here, let me get that.” All of the kitchen chairs are filled with various junk, a string of Christmas lights, piles of old tax returns. I grab everything and push it into a pile on top of the table. “Sit, sit.” I gesture to the chair as if it’s a throne.
“Where are you going?” She sags into the wooden chair.
“Jacksonville.”
“Jacksonville! As in Florida?”
“Yeah, birthplace of Burger King!”
“Jen… this is serious. I can’t believe it. You’re leaving? Just like that?”
“I know, I know. It all happened so fast. We went to visit last week. Kevin’s got a cousin who bought us two tickets with his airline miles. At first we just left so Kevin could have some space to think about the deal, but while we were there the cousin offered him a job—at his landscaping business. And it just… it makes sense. To get out of here.”
“Wow, okay. It’s a lot. I’m trying to process.”
“I know, me too.” Moving almost a thousand miles away from the only place we’ve ever lived is not what I imagined for our future, but nothing has been what I imagined.
We were walking on the beach when Kevin finally made his decision about the deal.
“I’m going to do it, Jen,” he said. “I’m not going to put you and Chase through any more hell.”
“You’re sure?” I said.
“I’m sure. You don’t deserve it and, besides, it wouldn’t be right. I can’t get on that stand and say that I feared for my life.” He wrung his hands, working his knuckles into loud cracks. “Maybe I did in the moment. Maybe I want to believe that I did. But it’s still no excuse. I… reacted. And I can’t look that boy’s mother in the eye and say that I feared for my life. This is what I deserve—worse, probably—but at least this.”
We both stared at the foamy waves that lapped our toes. I could only hope something good comes of this, not for our family, but for the system, as Riley called it. The DA said she wanted to make Kevin an example. Well, now he is one, an example of someone who accepts consequences, who breaks the silence. More people need to. I get that now. Maybe it’ll make a difference. Maybe it’s some small silver lining.
Kevin called Brice to tell him his decision, and then he passed out for twenty-four hours straight. I hovered by the bed, watching him, worried out of my mind that we’d entered another terrible phase, that Kevin’s plan was to sleep （or drink） his way through the rest of his life and that I’d regret my decision to stand by him no matter what. But then he woke up, and the color was back in his face; he stood up straighter, as if a weight had been lifted. Our second night in Florida, we laid with our limbs twisted together like we used to do when we were first dating, only this time Chase was nestled between us. Kevin held on to our son’s tiny fist with his own meaty hands. “We made a person, Jaybird. I can’t believe it.” He smiled then, a barely there smile. Any trace of happiness still feels like an indulgence, something we shouldn’t get to have after everything that’s happened. How much is he entitled to after what he did? The guilt follows us everywhere like a shadow. And sometimes, when we’re happy, when we dare to smile, or delight in our child, or feel optimistic about the future, that shadow reminds us to be humble. And grateful for mercy.
“I want him to respect me,” Kevin said. “To look up to me, but I’ll never be able to change what happened.”
“No, no, you won’t,” I replied simply. I could only offer my husband the truth, my unconditional love, and the fact that I had stayed.
He paused before he said what we had both been thinking. “What if we lived here?”
We both knew staying in Philly would be impossible now that he’s testifying at Cameron’s trial in a few months. We’re already pariahs among people we thought were family, and members of our actual family too. Ramirez won’t speak to Kevin. No one on the force will either. And despite Cookie’s best efforts, Frank and Matt are a cold wall of silence. And then there’s the fact that no one in Philly will hire the guy who shot the kid. Down in Florida, Kevin has the chance to work. Our financial situation has gone from bad to bleak to impossible, and we still don’t know if we’re going to be personally sued; it’s like waiting for the results of a test to see if you have a horrible disease. There’s nothing we can do except hope for the best. But in the meantime, we have food, and Chase has clothes, even if they’re almost all Archie’s hand-me-downs, and with the security deposit on this place and Kevin’s last paycheck, we’ll be able to cover our first month’s rent in Jacksonville, and that’s what I focus on: our immediate needs are met. It made it easy to decide what to do with that $10,000 check from the Order of Kings: that money was never mine or Kevin’s to keep. When I cashed it, I did it at one of those dodgy check-cash places where they take 10 percent and don’t need to know your name. I got a $5,000 money order and sent it anonymously to Strawberry Mansion High School with instructions to start a scholarship fund in Justin’s name. I made out a check to Riley with the rest, right there in my wallet.