loves you more than he loves his own life,” her mother said with feeling.
Cheyenne sucked her teeth, wishing her mother would just turn off her light and get out of her damn doorway.
“Well, Kelsi, if you’re going with me, be up,” she heard her mother say, her voice filled with defeat.
The door clicked closed. Cheyenne finally relaxed. Then she heard Kelsi rustling with her blanket on the other bed in the small bedroom. Kelsi was rocking. Cheyenne could tell from the sound the mattress made. Kelsi rocked when she was mad.
“You know what, Cheyenne? I wasn’t going to say nothing to you, but you are a fucking spoiled brat,” Kelsi gritted.
Cheyenne could tell that Kelsi’s teeth were clenched as she spoke. Cheyenne knew Kelsi so well. Cheyenne popped her eyes open in response to her friend’s words.
“No, correction. I was a spoiled brat. Now I live in the projects with the roaches and rats and crackheads just like everybody else,” Cheyenne snapped back. She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but it was too late. The words had already left her lips.
Kelsi jumped up and turned on the light. Her eyes were hooded over, and her face had folded into a snarl. Cheyenne saw the hurt etched on Kelsi’s forehead like a mask. Kelsi moved on her legs like a boxer ready to pounce.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Like everybody else like who? Like me? Oh, you won’t go visit your father because he got arrested, and you, Princess Cheyenne, was reduced to living the projects like Kelsi, the poor bitch, daughter of a crackhead who lives with roaches and rats? You are fucking disgusting, Cheyenne! Your father was so good to you when he was out on these fucking streets! You lived in a real house and now you have to live in the projects? So what? You don’t have enough clothes to throw away or give to the poor, destitute daughter of a crackhead? Oh, woe is fucking me, Cheyenne! Why don’t you remember all the things he did do for you while he was here? How he loved you like no man ever will! How he gave you everything and risked his freedom to do that! How he loved your mother and showed you how a real man is supposed to love you! Why don’t you fucking love him and appreciate him like I do and thank God he is your father, instead of wishing everyday he was your father like I do? You fucking disgust me! I’m going home!” Kelsi ranted and pointed in Cheyenne’s face with every word like she wanted to slap the shit out of her.
Cheyenne’s eyes stretched as wide as dinner plates, and her mouth hung open. She couldn’t even respond to what Kelsi had said.
Kelsi slammed the bedroom door and left. Cheyenne’s shoulders slumped, and her chest felt like a two-ton elephant was sitting on it. The tears came hot and fast. Cheyenne couldn’t have stopped them even if she wanted to.
That night was the first time Kelsi and Cheyenne had had a real disagreement in all the years they’d been friends. That night was also the first time Cheyenne realized how much Kelsi really loved her father.
* * *
It was over three hours after Cheyenne returned home from medical school to deal with her mother’s murder when Kelsi finally showed up. Cheyenne was lying on the couch with a cold compress over her eyes when Kelsi came in. Kelsi rushed over to Cheyenne.
“Oh, Chey... I’m so sorry,” Kelsi cried out, bending down and hugging Cheyenne. “I’m so, so sorry,” Kelsi repeated.
Cheyenne’s floodgate of tears started up again. “Why? Why? She didn’t deserve this! She was a good person,” Cheyenne sobbed. “She would never hurt anyone. Everyone loved her! I loved her!”
“I know. I know. She didn’t deserve it. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Kelsi cried as she held onto her best friend. “She didn’t deserve it at all.”
* * *
The day after Cheyenne arrived in Brooklyn, the detectives showed up at the house. There were two of them—one white and one black. Cheyenne didn’t really trust the police; she didn’t care if they were white, black, blue, or green. In her assessment, the police were responsible for every single negative thing she’d ever gone through in her life.
Detective Brice Simpson introduced himself first, leaving the fat, white detective behind him like an assistant. Detective Simpson was the detective who stood out to Cheyenne as soon as he introduced himself. Oddly enough, and for a fleeting moment, Cheyenne thought the detective was strikingly handsome with a well-groomed mustache and goatee. His hair was cut low with waves that were perfect. He seemed like any other guy from her neighborhood. He even wore jeans with a nice V-neck sweater instead of a suit and trench coat like most detectives she knew about.
Detective Simpson walked into the apartment with a commanding presence, but Cheyenne still sensed his sympathy for her family’s loss. He did all the talking. After the introductions, the white detective with Detective Simpson mostly took notes.
“Let me first say again, I’m deeply sorry for your loss,” Detective Simpson said, looking from Cheyenne to her father to Kelsi and back to Cheyenne.
He spoke with a sincerity Cheyenne didn’t expect. “Cops are dicks” had been her philosophy so long she didn’t know how to think now in the presence of one so relatable.
“Your mother was shot in cold blood. There was nothing taken from her. We found all her jewelry, wallet, everything intact, except her ID was missing. When we see things like this, we think it’s personal,” Detective Simpson said, staring directly at Cheyenne, who quickly darted her eyes over to her father.
A sob bubbled up from Cheyenne’s throat, and she threw her hand over her mouth. Her father shifted on the couch, where they all sat huddled together. Detective Simpson gave Cheyenne a minute before he continued. She dug the balls of her hands into her eyes to clear away the tears and focused on his face again. She was shaking visibly. Her head pounded.
“Is there anyone you could think of that would have something personal against your mother . . . your wife?” Detective Simpson asked, looking from Cheyenne to her father and back again. He spoke like he knew more than he was letting on in Cheyenne’s opinion.
Cheyenne wasted no time. She shook her head vigorously back and forth as the tears started up again. She felt like someone had a hand around her throat. She couldn’t speak, but her body language said enough.
“Man, my wife was as gentle as they came. Nobody would want to hurt her,” her father answered on their family’s behalf. “This is a shock to us all.”
Detective Simpson gave her father a look. The detective shook his head like he wanted to understand the man sitting in front of him, who wasn’t shedding a tear although his wife had just been brutally murdered and his daughter was sobbing into his chest.
“What’s been going on at home? Any drama? Any conflicts?” Detective Simpson asked, lacing his fingers together in front of him.
“Nah, man. Everything here was peachy. We are a close family, and my wife was everything to me. To all of us,” Big K quickly answered.
Kelsi stood up and moved to the love seat directly across from Detective Simpson. He looked over at her. She lowered her eyes and started swinging her legs in and out. Cheyenne noticed. She knew her friend so well.
“Well, my fath—he, um, just recently came home from being in prison,” Cheyenne piped up.
Detective Simpson turned
