on the floor over here, wedged between the refrigerator and storage-room door. He says it’s the one place he can get away from the chaos.
Trey lowers himself to the floor and helps me sit down with him.
I rest my head in his lap. “I’m sorry I’m a burden.”
“Burden?” Trey says. “Where you get that from?”
From our whole lives. When Jay first got sick, she would disappear into her room for days on end. Trey couldn’t reach into all of the kitchen cabinets, but he always made sure I ate. He’d comb my hair and get me ready for preschool. He was ten. He didn’t have to do any of that. Then when we moved in with Grandma and Granddaddy, he still took care of me, insisting that he read me stories every night and walk me to and from school every day. If I had a nightmare about those gunshots that took Dad, Trey would run into my room and comfort me until I fell asleep.
He gives up so much for me. The least I can do is make it, so he doesn’t have to give up anything else. “You’ve always taken care of me,” I say.
“Li’l Bit, I do that because I want to,” Trey says. “A burden? Never. You’re too much of a gift to me.”
Gift. One word, one syllable. I don’t know if it rhymes with anything because it’s a word I never thought could be used when it comes to me.
Suddenly, it’s as if a cage has been unlocked and all of these tears I’ve had stored up inside fall down my cheeks.
Trey brushes them away. “I wish you’d cry more.”
I smirk. “Dr. Trey is back.”
“I’m serious. Crying doesn’t make you weak, Bri, and even if it did, there’s nothing wrong with that. Admitting that you’re weak is one of the strongest things you can do.”
I turn and look up at him. “That sounds like something Yoda would say.”
“Nah. Yoda would say, ‘Weak, strength is admitting you are.’” He kisses my cheek with a loud, sloppy “Muah!”
I quickly wipe the spot. I know I felt some of his spit. “Ill! Getting your germs all on me.”
“Just for that—” Trey kisses my cheek again, even louder, even sloppier. I squirm to get away, but yeah, I’m laughing, too.
He smiles at me. “I know you think I’ve done a lot for you, Li’l Bit, but you’ve done just as much for me. I think about everything we’ve been through, and if I’d gone through it by myself, I’d probably be where Pooh is right now.”
Damn. Aunt Pooh did say she became a GD because she didn’t have anyone. Now she’s in a jail cell without anyone again. I never realized that Trey could’ve been like her, with a record instead of a diploma. I know there’s so much else that made their lives turn out differently, but he makes it sound like the difference between them was me.
Maybe it’s not on me to save Aunt Pooh. Maybe it’s on Aunt Pooh to save herself for me.
Maybe it was. “She’s not getting out for a long time, huh?” I ask.
“Probably not.”
“What do we do?”
“Live,” he says. “I mean, we’re gonna support her through this, but you gotta remember that she made choices, Bri. She always knew there was a chance this would happen and did it anyway. This is on her. Period.”
The kitchen door opens just barely, and Kayla peeks in. “Trey? Sorry to bother, but Sal needs your help with something up front.”
I take that as my cue to sit up. Trey stands and gives me a hand up, too.
“No more radio interviews, all right?” he says. “Having one DJ on my list is enough.”
“What list?”
“My ass-whooping list. If I see him in the streets, I’m whooping his ass.”
I laugh as he kisses my cheek. Fact is, even when he’s mad at me, even when he’s so disappointed that he yells at me, my brother will always have my back.
Twenty-Nine
Monday morning, I knock on my mom’s bedroom door.
I’ve been up a while. Gotten dressed, had some cereal, and cleaned up my room a little. Jay hasn’t come out of her bedroom yet.
The first two knocks don’t get a response. I try again, and my heart knocks even harder against my chest. It takes two more tries before I hear the small “What is it?”
I slowly crack the door open. There’s no smell. I know, that’s a weird thing to look—well, sniff—for, but I still remember the odor that