Today's Reading
"I didn't know Mamie had a niece." Why hadn't he known that?
"She didn't until..." Zoey Chavez waved one hand.
Until what?
He was starting to have that spider-crawling-up-his-back feeling. The one he got when a security gig was about to turn sour.
Where was Mamie?
John-Parker cleared his throat. "Forgive the intrusion, but I grew up in this house, and I've waited a long time to see Mamie again. Do you mind if come inside for a few minutes? Maybe have a look around the old place for memories' sake while you find her address for me?"
"I don't know you."
"But you recognized my name. Mamie spoke of me, didn't she?"
"Yes, but—"
Had Mamie said something negative about him?
A stab of betrayal found its mark. Mamie had always believed in him. Hadn't she?
"Did Mamie tell you what a punk I was? Is that it? I'm not that guy anymore."
"Mr. Wisdom."
"John. John-Parker."
She tilted her head. Thick brown hair flared out to one side, revealing large, gold, earring hoops. "We'll both be happier in the long run if you go back to wherever you've lived since you left Rosemary Ridge. Waxing nostalgic is a waste of time."
They'd both be happier? What did she mean by that?
Something was wrong. He knew it as well as he knew what Mamie had done for him all those years ago.
He blocked the first terrible thought that pinged into his head.
Don't go there.
Mamie was fine. She'd moved away. Nothing to get twisted about.
In his business, he'd learned persistence. He wasn't leaving without that address.
"I won't stay long. Only long enough to look around a bit and get Mamie's new address."
Zoey gave a heavy sigh and then stepped back, holding the peeling wooden door open so he could enter.
John-Parker ducked beneath the doorframe, a habit from years of ducking ceiling fans and low doorways. A man six feet two inches didn't always fit.
As he stepped inside the living room, he was swamped with nostalgia. The battered old sectional looked the same, but it couldn't be. Could it? Dirty white stuffing spilled from the arms and cushions.
A tired bouquet of fake flowers languished in the center of a scarred wooden coffee table.
John-Parker had played a thousand games at that table. Mostly chess. Mamie had taught all her boys to play, insisting chess was good for the brain.
One time, a new kid had kicked the table and scattered the pieces. Rio had pounded the punk until Mamie had flown into the room to break them apart.
Mamie's things were here. This house still echoed her presence.
But where was Miss Mamie?
"I only have a minute," the niece said. "So, if you want to look around real quick..."
Right. Look around. Then go away.
He got the message.
She glanced toward the stairway. "I need to run upstairs."
"To call the police and ask if I'm a criminal?"
She blinked. Her mouth opened in a silent shock. "Are you?"
"No." Not now anyway. "I'm a security specialist."
He withdrew a business card from his shirt pocket and offered it to her.
She took the elegantly engraved card with her thumb and index finger as if his hands were dirty, read it, and slid it into the side pocket of her long floral skirt. Unimpressed. Okay. Fine. He wasn't all that impressed with her either. She obviously considered him a street rat.
...
