“Well okay then, he’s dead.”
“Do they always come to their burials?” Liz asked.
“How should I know? This is my first graveyard, Liz. I saw Mrs. Burkett at her funeral, but I don’t know about the graveyard, because me and Mom didn’t go to that part. We just went home.”
“But you see him.” She was staring at the funeral party like she was in a trance. “You could go over there and talk to him, the way you talked to Regis Thomas that day.”
“I’m not going over there!” I don’t like to say I squawked this, but I pretty much did. “In front of all his friends? In front of his wife and kids? You can’t make me!”
“Mellow out, Champ,” she said, and ruffled my hair. “I’m just trying to get it straight in my mind. How did he get here, do you think? Because he sure didn’t take an Uber.”
“I don’t know. I want to go home.”
“Pretty soon,” she said, and we continued our cruise of the cemetery, passing tombs and monuments and about a billion regular gravestones. We passed three more graveside ceremonies in progress, two small like the first one, where the star of the show was attending sight unseen, and one humungous one, where about two hundred people were gathered on a hillside and the guy in charge (beanie, check—plus a cool-looking shawl) was using a microphone. Each time Liz asked me if I could see the dead person and each time I told her I didn’t have a clue.
“You probably wouldn’t tell me if you did,” she said. “I can tell you’re in a pissy mood.”
“I’m not in a pissy mood.”
“You are, though, and if you tell Tee I brought you out here, we’ll probably have a fight. I don’t suppose you could tell her we went for ice cream, could you?”
We were almost back to Webster Avenue by then and I was feeling a little better. Telling myself Liz had a right to be curious, that anyone would be. “Maybe if you actually bought me one.”
“Bribery! That’s a Class B felony!” She laughed, gave my hair a ruffle, and we were pretty much all right again.
We left the cemetery and I saw a young woman in a black dress sitting on a bench and waiting for her bus. A little girl in a white dress and shiny black shoes was sitting beside her. The girl had golden hair and rosy cheeks and a hole in her throat. I waved to her. Liz didn’t see me do it; she was waiting for a break in traffic so she could make her turn. I didn’t tell her what I saw. That night Liz left after dinner to either go to work or go back to her own place, and I almost told my mother. In the end I didn’t. In the end I kept the little girl with the golden hair to myself. Later I would think that the hole in her throat was from the little girl choking on food and they cut into her throat so she could breathe but it was too late. She was sitting there beside her mother and her mother didn’t know. But I knew. I saw. When I waved to her, she waved back.
18
While we were eating our ice cream at Lickety Split (Liz phoned my mother to tell her where we were and what we were up to), Liz said, “It must be so strange, what you can do. So weird. Doesn’t it freak you out?”
I thought of asking her if it freaked her out to look up at night and see the stars and know they go on forever and ever, but didn’t bother. I just said no. You get used to marvelous things. You take them for granted. You can try not to, but you do. There’s too much wonder, that’s all. It’s everywhere.
19
I’ll tell you about the other time Liz picked me up from school very soon, but first I have to tell you about the day they broke up. That was a scary morning, believe me.
I woke up that day even before my alarm clock went off, because Mom was yelling. I’d heard her mad before, but never that mad.
“You brought it into the apartment? Where I live with my son?”
Liz answered something, but it was little more than a mumble and I couldn’t hear.
“Do you think that matters to me?” Mom shouted. “On the cop shows that’s what they call serious weight! I could go to jail as an accessory!”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Liz said. Louder now. “There was never any chance of—”
“That doesn’t matter!” Mom yelled. “It was here! It still is here! On the fucking table beside the fucking sugar bowl! You brought drugs into my house! Serious weight!”
“Would you stop saying that? This isn’t an episode of Law and Order.” Now Liz was also getting loud. Getting mad. I stood with one ear pressed against my bedroom door, barefoot and dressed in my pajamas, my heart starting to pound. This wasn’t a discussion or even an argument. This was more. Worse. “If you hadn’t been going through my pockets—”
“Searching your stuff, is that what you think? I was trying to do you a favor! I was going to take your extra uniform coat to the cleaners along with my wool skirt. How long has it been there?”
“Only a little while. The guy it belongs to is out of town. He’s going to be back tomor—”
“How long?”
Liz’s reply was again too low for me to hear.
“Then why bring it here? I don’t understand that. Why not put it in the gun safe at your place?”
“I don’t…” She stopped.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t actually have a gun safe. And there have been break-ins in my building. Besides, I was going to be here. We were going to spend the week together. I thought it would save me a trip.”
“Save you a trip?”
To this Liz made no reply.
“No gun safe in your apartment. How many other things have you been lying to me about?” Mom didn’t sound mad anymore. At least not right then. She sounded hurt. Like she wanted to cry. I felt like going out and telling Liz to leave my mother alone, even if my mother had started it by finding whatever she’d found—the serious weight. But I just stood there, listening. Trembling, too.
Liz mumbled some more.
“Is this why you’re in trouble at the Department? Are you using as well as…I don’t know couriering the stuff? Distributing the stuff?”
“I’m not using and I’m not distributing!”
“Well, you’re passing it on!” Mom’s voice was rising again. “That sounds like distributing to me.” Then she went back to what was really troubling her. Well, not the only thing, but the one that was troubling her the most. “You brought it into my apartment. Where my son is. You lock your gun in your car, I always insisted on that, but now I find two pounds of cocaine in your spare jacket.” She actually laughed, but not the way people do when something is funny. “Your spare police jacket!”
“It’s not two pounds.” Sounding sulky.
“I grew up weighing meat in my father’s market,” Mom said. “I know two pounds when I’ve got it in my hand.”
“I’ll get it out,” she said. “Right now.”
“You do that, Liz. Posthaste. And you can come back to get your things. By appointment. When I’m here and Jamie’s not. Otherwise never.”
“You don’t mean that,” Liz said, but even through the door I could tell she didn’t believe what she was saying.