In the Night of the Heat Read Free

Chela hadn’t come around to liking April yet and wasn’t sorry to miss Thursday dinner.
    For now, separate corners worked best.
    Dad mumbled grace too low to hear, the only time he spoke at length without self-consciousness. We couldn’t quite make out the words, but the gratitude in his voice needed no translation. “Amen,” he finished.
    April’s face lit up. “Oh, Ten, don’t forget—the Tau fund-raiser is tomorrow night.”
    I searched my memory and came up dry.
    â€œThe scholarship fund, remember? You signed up for the celebrity booth. People come up and take pictures with you. The committee chair loves Homeland , and she was so excited when I said you’d come. Give me the dates for your episodes, and she’ll have all our sorors TiVo you.”
    I’d forgotten all about the fund-raiser. When April’s workweek ended, her community work began. Her exhausting schedule was one of the reasons we saw so little of each other.
    â€œSo you’re tied up tomorrow night?” I said.
    â€œBut if you’re there with me…” she said playfully, and grinned. Her dimples wrestled the disappointment right out of me.
    â€œOkay.” It was hard to say no to April, another growing problem.
    I felt Dad beaming silently across the table. He must have thought he’d arrived in Heaven early. If police captains had the same powers as ship captains, he would have married me to April on the spot. Dad had just heard me commit my Friday night to a scholarship fund-raiser hosted by one of the country’s most prestigious black fraternities, Tau Alpha Gamma. Dad was a Tau, too, but I had refused to pledge during my year in college, mainly because I knew how badlyhe wanted me to. Dad never left the house except to see his doctor, so I knew better than to invite him.
    â€œThanks, Ten.” April draped an arm over me when she kissed my cheek, which gave me hope that she might come upstairs after dinner. “Guess who else committed today? T.D. Jackson.” Her voice soured. “He must be on a goodwill tour before his trial. You know it must be for a good cause if I can stand to be in the same room with him. I’ll have to meditate first.”
    T.D. Jackson. Fallen football and action star, accused of murdering his ex-wife and her fiancé. Despite a mountan of physical and circumstantial evidence, he’d been acquitted in the criminal trial six months before. No surprise there. The rich and famous rarely go to prison. Justice would have another crack at him, though: The civil trial would begin in a week.
    Twenty years before that, T.D. Jackson lived in my dormitory suite for about three months while I was at Southern California State. He was a star from the moment he set foot on campus. What I remember most was the parade of girls to and from his door. Once, I ran into him in the bathroom as he flushed a condom away at six in the morning. The lazy sneer on his face said: Most of you losers aren’t even out of bed yet, and I’ve already been laid.
    T.D. Jackson made April crazy. The thought that he had gotten away with abusing and finally killing an upstanding sister seemed to keep her awake at night, as if his very existence set back the progress of civilization. Her teeth were already grinding.
    â€œInnocent until proven guilty,” I reminded her.
    Dad and April both made comments, but they kept them under their breath. The guilt or innocence of T.D. Jackson and what his case did or didn’t say about the roles of race and gender in the criminal justice system had already brought too much arguing to dinner.
    But I was glad I would run into T.D. again. I didn’t expect him to remember me, but I looked forward to shaking his hand and staring into his eyes. Wondered what I would see there. If I was right, T.D.’s eyes would probably broadcast the same thing April had just told me herself: Sometimes guilty people go free. Shit