Benny Lament, right?”
“You said we needed to talk. So talk, Money. And then go to bed before I smack you in the mouth.”
Money shook his head like I was a big damn joke, but he got to the point.
“My mother told me something when we called home today,” he said, his voice low, his gaze hard.
“Okay.”
“She said Bo Johnson called.”
Of all the things I thought he would say, that wasn’t one of them.
“When?” I gasped.
He shrugged, like the when wasn’t the important part. It wasn’t.
“After we left Pittsburgh, I guess. I don’t know. She didn’t say. She said Bo Johnson called. Wanted to know about you. Wanted to know about Esther. He heard his song on the radio. On Barry Gray.”
“Holy shit. He heard it?”
“That’s what Mama said.”
“What else did she say?”
“She told him we were here. Singing. I guess Esther told Arky where we were headed when she called home from jail.”
“He knows we’re here.” It was a statement, not a question. That was one thing I already knew.
“He knows. I thought the dude was dead. He just gonna show up, now that his daughter has a little fame? Now that she’s saying his name on the radio?” Money was angry, and it was not the reaction I expected. I thought Bo Johnson was beloved.
“If I tell her he called, she’s going to be looking over her shoulder, searching every crowd, wondering when he’s going to show up. She doesn’t need that. None of us do. We got enough to deal with.”
“You didn’t tell Alvin?”
“Nah. We all took turns on the phone. Mama told me. That’s all. Esther was listening to Maude Alexander. She didn’t even talk to Mama,” he grumbled. “She should be ashamed of herself. I haven’t told anyone but you.”
I rose and retrieved my coat. I took the folded flyer from the pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to Money. Then I told Money about the encounter at Old City Hall on Saturday.
“I didn’t even look at him. I was looking at the building and everything going on around me,” I explained.
“I don’t like this.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Why didn’t he just talk to you right then? Make himself known?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe it ain’t really him.”
“It was.”
“How do you know?”
“I know his voice.”
I told Money about the eight-year-old kid I’d been, and about Bo Johnson’s late-night visit to my father. So much of the story had been shared. Esther’s brothers knew the broad details and the individual players. Maude Alexander, Bo Johnson, Jack Lament, and even to some extent, Sal Vitale. But I’d never shared my childhood encounter with Bo Johnson with anyone but Esther. Looking back, I wasn’t sure even Pop knew. I hadn’t talked. Not then. And it hadn’t seemed especially relevant until now.
“Son of a bitch.” Money whistled softly. “So what you gonna do?”
“I’m going to see what happens tomorrow.”
“You aren’t going to tell Esther?” he asked.
“Are you?”
He sighed, rubbing his hands over his hair. Then he shook his head, adamant. “No. I’m not going to spin her out like that. Not until I know he’s for real. And even then . . . who the hell does he think he is? Showing up like he has a claim. He walked away.”
“I don’t know if it’s that simple,” I said. It was easy to judge what you didn’t understand.
“He isn’t family,” Money said, his voice growing strident.
“Shh. Quiet, Money.”
He dropped his voice, but he leaned toward me so I would be sure to hear. “And you aren’t family either, Lament. You don’t become family when it feels good or when it’s convenient. Me, Alvin, Lee Otis, and Esther are family. My mama and Arky are family. Not Maude Alexander and her ‘Ave Marias,’ not Bo ‘the Bomb’ Johnson. And not you.”
He was hostile again, just like that, and I was weary. Of him. Of the couch beneath me. Of the indecision and doubt that dogged my every move.
“I’m not family. Okay. Fine,” I said. “Who gives a shit? What does ‘family’ even mean? Does it mean you’ll kill for each other? Bleed for each other? Lie, steal, and maim for each other? Does ‘family’ mean everyone looks alike? That we’re all persecuted the same way? Is that what ‘family’ means, Money? Because I’ve had lots of experience with that kind of family, and I’m not interested. Maybe family is just the people you choose.”
“And you choose us?” he asked, scoffing. “Oh, thank you, Benny Lament, for choosing us,” he said, sarcasm dripping from