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wouldn’t be there for him or that he had become so dependent on Leon lately.
    I remembered when Roman could not stand the idea of the good-hearted officer sitting at my mother’s Sunday dinner table with us.
    I remembered when I could not stand the idea of Leon period.
    A lot had changed over the past couple of years. But I’d been holding my ground, and Leon respected that.
    â€œRoman, I was coming.” I reached up to wrap my arms around his now-towering frame. “You know I would not let you go all the way to Arizona without a proper sendoff.”
    â€œMa, it was not like that. I know you’re working hard. I was trying to help you so you wouldn’t have to worry about me. I’m being responsible.” He tried to shrug off my hug, but it was a weak attempt. He played it cool enough to let me know he didn’t need my hug, but he still wanted one.
    At the end of the day, my son would always be my baby.
    Responsible. The word echoed in me and I could not help but feel pride at who he was growing to be, video games, potato chips, bare feet, and all.
    â€œYour luggage,” I remembered. “And where’s Leon?”
    â€œHe went to pick up Skee-Gee and Tridell. They were catching the bus here and Officer Sanderson thought it would be better time-wise to pick them up from the bus stop. He should be back here any second.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t go with him to pick them up?”
    â€œI had to say bye to you first, Ma.”
    I wanted to smile at his words, but something else was nagging me. “Tridell is going on this mission trip?” My eyebrow rose. I meant no harm, but Tridell Jenkins was not someone I would think would volunteer his spring break for such a work-intensive cause.
    When Randy Howard, the youth minister at our church, first brought up the idea of the teens and young adults spending spring break volunteering on a Native American reservation near Flagstaff, Arizona, my son was the first to raise his hand in support.
    I’d like to think that Roman had gotten his caring heart and wanderlust from me and his father. RiChard St. James had spent Roman’s entire life trotting the globe, trying to rectify wrongs and social injustices in his own renegade way.
    I loved and hated him for it.
    I’d initially dropped out of college to follow RiChard, but the journey got too confusing. It took me almost a decade to get back on a tolerable path.
    My nephew Skee-Gee was being forced to go on the trip to Arizona by his mother, my little sister, Yvette, who, before the church had raised enough money to cover all the expenses, was ready to sign over her entire state check for him to be gone for a week. Maybe forced was too strong a word. The mentoring Officer Sanderson had been providing for both Roman and Skee-Gee over the past two years seemed to be having a small, subtle effect on my nephew. I’d actually gotten a birthday card from him in January.
    But Tridell Jenkins was another story. The nineteen-year-old nephew of our pastor was the type of young man who kept his fingernails squared and clean, his wardrobe seasonally coordinated and his eyeglasses designer. He seemed too pretty to want to roll up his sleeves and sweat in the desert to help renovate houses on the reservation.
    â€œHe said it would look good on his resume,” Roman answered.
    â€œMmmm.” I shrugged. “Okay, that makes sense.”
    I started to ask him another question but a loud knock at the door made me forget what else I wanted to know.
    â€œSienna.”
    Wildflowers blowing in a spring breeze. That’s what my heart felt like when I opened the door and saw Leon Sanderson standing there in full uniform. The way he said my name . . . Jesus, have mercy.
    His eyes lingered on mine for a second before he stepped into the foyer and gave his full attention to my son. “So you are bringing that bag, too, young soldier?” he quizzed at the sight of Roman