Chapter 2

He didn't sleep much. The country quiet kept pressing in, too still, too open. Every creak in the walls sounded like footsteps. Every gust of wind through the trees sounded like a warning. By the time gray light crept through the curtains, Javier had already made up his mind to ignore the message until he figured out what to do with it.

Rafael was in the kitchen when Javier came out, pouring coffee into two mismatched mugs. The bread from yesterday sat on the counter next to a jar of Nia's butter.

"Morning," Rafael said without turning around.

"How'd you know I was up?"

"Floor creaks in the hallway."

"Of course it does."

Rafael slid a mug across the counter. "You sleep okay?"

"Define okay."

"That good, huh."

Javier wrapped his hands around the warm mug. The coffee was black and strong, nothing like the sugary gas station cups he was used to. He drank it anyway. "Your house makes noises."

"It's a house. They do that."

"Not like this. In California, you hear sirens. People. Cars. Out here, every branch sounds like somebody creeping up on you."

Rafael studied him for a long moment. "You get used to it."

"Everybody keeps saying that."

"Because it's true."

Javier didn't answer. He finished his coffee and set the mug in the sink. The message from California sat in the back of his mind like a stone he couldn't swallow.

Rafael must have seen something on his face because he didn't push. Instead, he handed Javier a list. "I have to run into town for supplies. You want to come or stay?"

"Stay."

"Fair enough. There's eggs in the fridge if you get hungry. And the chickens need feeding if you're bored."

"I'm not feeding chickens."

"Then don't."

Rafael grabbed his keys and headed out. The door clicked shut behind him, and Javier was alone in the quiet again.

He lasted about an hour before the silence got too loud.

The chicken coop sat at the edge of the backyard, a small wooden structure surrounded by wire fencing. A dozen hens scratched at the dirt, clucking and pecking without a care in the world. Javier stood at the fence with a bucket of feed, feeling ridiculous.

"This is stupid," he muttered, tossing a handful of grain over the wire.

The chickens swarmed the spot like he'd thrown money. One of them looked up at him with what seemed like judgment.

"Don't look at me like that. I didn't ask to be here."

The chicken clucked and went back to eating.

Javier spent the rest of the morning wandering the property. There was a garden out back with tomatoes and peppers and something green he couldn't name. A clothesline stretched between two posts, empty now but clearly used. A rusted tractor sat near the treeline, half-swallowed by weeds.

Everything here moved slow. Deliberate. Like nobody was running from anything.

Around noon, a truck pulled into the driveway. Javier tensed before he recognized Rafael's silhouette through the windshield. His brother climbed out with two grocery bags and a look that said he had news.

"Nia invited us for dinner tonight."

Javier blinked. "Why?"

"Because she's nice."

"I insulted her butter."

"She thinks you're funny."

"She said I looked scared of a tree."

"She thinks you're funny," Rafael repeated. "We're going. Seven o'clock."

"I didn't agree to this."

"You didn't not agree to it either."

Javier opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Rafael was already walking inside with the groceries.

The Calloway house sat at the end of a gravel road that seemed to go nowhere. It was a white farmhouse with a wide front porch and a swing that swayed in the breeze. Chickens roamed the yard freely, and a clothesline full of brightly colored shirts and jeans flapped in the late afternoon light.

Micah spotted the truck before they'd even parked. He came running across the yard, barefoot and grinning, with a chicken trailing behind him like a pet.

"Javier! You came!"

"Your mom invited us."

"I know. I asked her to."

Javier looked at Rafael, who shrugged. They walked up to the porch, where Isaiah sat on the steps with a book in his hands. He looked up as they approached, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," Javier said.

"Hey."

"What you reading?"

Isaiah held up the book. The cover showed a spaceship and a planet. "It's about Mars."

"You like space?"

"It's okay."

Micah grabbed Javier's hand. "Come see my room! I got a poster of a dinosaur."

"Micah, let him breathe," Nia's voice came from inside. She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her hair was loose tonight, falling past her shoulders in soft waves. She wore a simple yellow sundress, and Javier noticed the tiny stitches along the hem, done by hand.

"You came," she said, and it wasn't a question.

"Rafael said there'd be food."

"There's food. Come on in."

The inside of the house smelled like cornbread and something sweet. The living room was small but full of color—crocheted blankets on the couch, framed photos on the wall, a vase of wildflowers on the coffee table. Everything felt lived in. Warm.

Nia led them to the kitchen, where a spread of food covered the table: fried chicken, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, cornbread, and a pitcher of sweet tea. Javier stopped in the doorway.

"You made all this?"

"I had help." Nia nodded toward Isaiah, who had followed them inside. "He snapped the green beans."

"I snapped most of them," Isaiah said.

"You did good."

They sat down to eat. Micah chattered through the whole meal, asking Javier about California, about his tattoos, about whether he'd ever seen a real gangster. Nia redirected him every time, but she was smiling. Rafael talked about his job at the hardware store and asked Nia about her nail clients. Isaiah ate quietly, watching Javier like he was still deciding what to make of him.

After dinner, Nia brought out a peach cobbler she'd made that morning. Javier took a bite and forgot to complain.

"Good?" Nia asked.

"It's fine."

"Fine?"

"I mean it's good. Really good."

She laughed. "High praise from the California critic."

"Don't call me that."

"Then stop earning it."

Micah tugged at Javier's sleeve. "Will you push me on the swing?"

"Micah, let him finish his cobbler," Nia said.

"It's okay." Javier set down his fork. "I'm done."

He followed Micah outside to the tire swing hanging from an old oak tree. The boy climbed on, and Javier pushed him, sending him swinging out over the yard. Micah laughed, loud and free, and for a moment Javier forgot about the message on his phone.

Isaiah came out and sat on the porch steps, watching. He didn't say anything, but he didn't look away either.

"You want a turn?" Javier asked.

Isaiah shook his head.

"Your brother's having fun."

"He likes everybody."

"You don't."

Isaiah didn't answer. He picked at a loose thread on his shorts. "My daddy left when I was little. Micah don't remember him. I do."

Javier stopped pushing the swing. The chains creaked as Micah slowed.

"I ain't trying to replace nobody," Javier said.

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

Isaiah looked up at him, and for a second, he looked older than his years. "You gonna leave too?"

Javier didn't have an answer. He thought about the message on his phone. About California. About the two-week timeline he kept repeating like a prayer.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I'm still figuring that out."

Isaiah nodded, like that was the answer he'd expected. He went back inside without another word.

Nia appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Your son's got good instincts."

"He's been through a lot."

"I can tell."

She stepped onto the porch and leaned against the railing. The sunset painted the sky orange and pink, stretching across the treeline like fire. "You don't have to have all the answers tonight, Javier."

"I don't have any of them."

"That's okay too."

He looked at her. Her face was soft in the fading light, her eyes steady. She wasn't trying to fix him. She was just there, present, waiting for nothing.

"Thank you for dinner," he said.

"You're welcome."

"And for not asking about the message I got last night."

She raised an eyebrow. "What message?"

"Exactly."

They stood there as the sky darkened. Micah had gotten off the swing and was chasing fireflies in the yard. Rafael came out and said it was time to go.

On the drive back, Javier watched the road disappear into darkness behind them. When they got to Rafael's house, he checked his phone. A second message waited.

Pick up when I call. This ain't a suggestion.

Javier deleted both messages. Then he turned off his phone and set it in the drawer beside the bed.

The phone rang anyway.

It was a landline. An old rotary phone on the nightstand that Javier had assumed was decorative. It rang again, shrill and insistent.

Rafael appeared in the doorway. "Who's calling at this hour?"

"I don't know."

"You want me to get it?"

"No."

Javier picked up the receiver. He didn't say hello.

A voice he recognized came through the line. "Mendoza. You been ignoring me."

Javier's grip tightened. "How'd you get this number?"

"I got reach, man. You know that. We need to talk about Angel. And about what you saw. In person."

"I'm not coming back to California."

"Then I'll come to you."

The line went dead.

Javier stood there, the receiver pressed to his ear, listening to nothing. Rafael watched him from the doorway, his face unreadable.

"Javi."

"I know."

"What do you need?"

Javier hung up the phone. The country night pressed against the windows, dark and waiting. Somewhere in the yard, a branch cracked.

"I need to figure out how to keep this place from getting burned down because of me."