In the Night of the Heat Read Free Page A

happens.
    Deal with it.

TWO
    THE DOOR TO MY OLD BEDROOM was open—Chela’s room now—so April and I stood in the doorway like fretful parents, spying on her in her absence.
    Chela had left her TV on when she went to school, so Missy Elliot was busting sly, angular moves to an empty room. Three dirty cereal bowls at the foot of my California King marked Chela’s breakfast spot. The floor was buried in the clothes I’d bought her, most of them dyed in brooding shades. A vague rankness suggested a fast-food bag concealed somewhere in the mess. I was happy about the stack of thick, shiny schoolbooks on Chela’s desk, until I wondered why they had been left behind. She SAYS she’s at a chess club meeting, but how do you KNOW?
    I pulled the door closed to shut down my doubts. Chela was right: I had to learn trust.
    â€œWe can’t all be neat-freaks,” April said, trying to sound positive.
    â€œI’m just glad to get her away from the TV. And her computer.”
    Especially the computer. The therapist had told me that Chela’s sexual history might poison her current behavior, and she was right.I’d had to cancel one of Chela’s internet accounts eight months before, when I uncovered letters and photos she sent to some bastard she’d met online, three times her age if he was a day.
    She’s not my daughter, or my blood, period. But what Chela and I had been through makes family out of strangers. She was the little sister I’d never had. You don’t want to see your little sister in pictures like that. Or read her saying things like that, regardless of how she’d made a living before we met. I wish I could wipe the whole thing out of my memory banks. That was over, but it had been a hard patch. I hadn’t even told April, and I had promised not to keep secrets.
    â€œIt doesn’t look right, Ten,” April said. “You’re a single guy. A sixteen-year-old girl living in your house…”
    Officially, Chela was off the books. I had consulted a lawyer who said I might be able to qualify as a foster parent if I passed the rigorous screening, but as a bachelor, my chances of adopting Chela ranged from slim to none. Not to mention that April thought Chela had a crush on me. No part of it was an ideal situation. I knew that.
    April was fishing for an argument, but I had other plans. I took April’s hand and led her toward my new bedroom, the smaller room at the end of the hall.
    â€œLynda Jewell called Len,” I said. “She set up a meeting with me tomorrow.”
    April’s eyes grew bright. “Lynda Jewell ?”
    If I’d known the news would change her face so much, I would have said it sooner.
    I moved closer to April. A slight pivot of her hip, and her delicious ass swung out of reach just when I was ready to rest my hands there. She sat on the chair across from the bed, a bad sign. Despite the grin on her face, April’s legs were crossed.
    â€œThis is big, Ten. Lenox Avenue ’s in preproduction. My book club loved it, and if she wants you for Troy, it’s the chance of a lifetime.” Since April’s roommate was a producer, April followed Variety like an agent herself. L.A. is truly an industry town. “I just wonder why. What made her call you?”
    If I hadn’t been so baffled myself, her wrinkled nose might have offended me.
    â€œThe commercials,” I said. “Oscar material.”
    April dismissed my sarcasm with a wave of her hand. “I told you Progress would do things for you. Didn’t I say to give it up to God? If your meeting’s tomorrow, you should prep. I’ll break the book down for you.”
    I could see how the next few hours were going to play out, and not a minute involved me unhooking April’s bra. Why weren’t we bouncing on my mattress, with her congratulating me from my lap? I should have asked her right then and there: What’s going on?