Chapter Twelve
The Summer We Thought We Had
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Summer had started to feel real.
There was no bell waiting for Maine to wake up.
No first period.
No teachers.
No cap and gown hanging from the back of his chair.
Just sunlight pushing through the blinds and the quiet hum of Brooklyn outside his window.
Maine opened one eye.
His phone read 10:48 AM.
"Damn."
He rolled over and checked his notifications.
Rome had already sent him three messages.
Wake up.
You alive?
Hoop.
Maine laughed under his breath.
A second later, another message came through.
I got breakfast.
That got him out of bed.
By the time Maine reached the kitchen, Nasir was already there, coffee in hand, dressed like he had somewhere important to be.
"You sleep good?"
"Yeah."
"Graduation treating you well?"
Maine grabbed a bottle of water. "I'm officially unemployed."
Nasir smiled.
"You've been unemployed."
"Now it's official."
"You got summer plans?"
"Hoop. Chill. Figure out college stuff eventually."
"Eventually?"
Maine looked at him.
"I got time."
Nasir nodded slowly.
"You do."
There was something about the way he said it that made Maine pause.
Not enough to ask.
Just enough to notice.
Nasir took another sip of coffee.
"Your mother would've wanted you to enjoy this part."
Maine looked down at the counter.
"Yeah."
Nasir didn't push it.
Neither did Maine.
A knock came from the front door.
Rome's voice followed.
"Yo, Maine!"
Maine opened it.
Rome stood there holding a brown paper bag in one hand and a basketball under his arm.
"You took forever."
"I was sleeping."
"Exactly."
Rome handed him the bag.
"Eat."
Maine looked inside.
"What's this?"
"Breakfast."
"You made breakfast?"
"I bought breakfast."
"That's more believable."
Rome pushed past him.
"Let's go."
The SSU recreation center was already alive.
The rain from earlier in the week had given way to warmer air, and the court was crowded with students, recent graduates, neighborhood guys, and a few older players who seemed to know everybody.
Maine and Rome checked in and found a game forming.
They ended up on the same team without even having to ask.
That was how it usually happened.
Rome pushed the ball.
Maine ran.
First possession, Rome drove right, drew the help defender, and threw a pass without looking.
Maine caught it in stride.
Layup.
"That's what I'm talking about!"
Rome pointed at him.
Maine laughed.
Next possession, Maine brought the ball up.
Rome cut.
Maine hit him without looking.
Bucket.
One of the older players shook his head.
"Du Bois boys got chemistry."
Rome grinned.
"We been doing this."
Maine backed up on defense.
"Talk less."
"Make me."
They played.
Nothing complicated.
No scouts.
No coaches.
No speeches about the future.
Just basketball.
For a few hours, Maine didn't have to be anybody's son, anybody's ex, or somebody trying to figure out what came next.
He could just play.
From the bleachers, Monique watched with her laptop open.
Every now and then she looked up from whatever she was working on.
She smiled when Rome threw Maine another no-look pass.
Maine pointed at her after the play.
"You see that?"
"I saw it."
"Tell him."
Monique shook her head.
"Both of you are annoying."
Rome laughed.
"That's love."
Across Brooklyn, Lia sat on the floor of her bedroom with her laptop open.
She had been searching 311 DeKalb Avenue for almost two hours.
At first, nothing made sense.
The address wasn't some abandoned building.
It wasn't an obvious business.
It wasn't a place that looked like it belonged in a police investigation.
It was residential.
People lived there.
People came and went.
That should've been the end of it.
Except her father's journal had written the address down.
So Lia kept looking.
She searched property records.
Old listings.
Archived pages.
Public databases.
Eventually, she found a reference that made her sit up.
An apartment at the address had once been connected to a narcotics investigation.
Lia stared at the screen.
She read the article twice.
The person arrested wasn't anyone she'd heard of.
A small-time distributor.
Nothing that explained why her father would've written down the address.
Then she found something else.
The apartment hadn't belonged to him.
He'd been renting it.
Lia leaned closer.
The property had passed through a legitimate holding and management structure.
One of the investment entities connected to the property's history was associated with a company called Atlas.
She wrote the name down.
Atlas.
Then stopped.
She searched it.
Development.
Infrastructure.
Housing.
Education.
Community investment.
The company appeared everywhere.
Too many places.
But nothing looked criminal.
Nothing connected directly to her father's case.
Lia opened the journal again.
Her eyes landed on the words she'd already read several times.
Follow the paperwork.
She looked back at the screen.
Maybe that was the point.
Her father hadn't written down 311 DeKalb because the building was important.
He'd written it down because someone connected to it was important.
And if Atlas appeared in the paperwork, then maybe that was the next question.
Not an answer.
A question.
Lia opened her notes app.
Under 311 DeKalb Avenue, she typed:
Narcotics case. Rental. Atlas connection. Find other properties.
She stared at it.
Then added:
Why?
By late afternoon, Nasir was sitting inside a quiet room with Melo and Bishop.
Bishop had three folders spread across the table.
"Same problem," she said.
Melo leaned back.
"Different people?"
"Different people. Different questions."
Nasir looked at her.
"What questions?"
"Juneteenth. Schedule. Location. Security. Speakers."
"Anybody asking directly?"
"Not really."
Bishop tapped one of the folders.
"They're collecting pieces."
Nasir didn't respond immediately.
Melo watched him.
"You think they're building something?"
"I think somebody wants to know what we know."
"And?"
Nasir looked toward the window.
"Then we make sure they don't learn anything they shouldn't."
Bishop nodded.
"I'm still digging."
"Keep digging."
She gathered the folders.
"Anything change about Saturday?"
"No."
Melo raised an eyebrow.
Nasir looked at him.
"Not yet."
That evening, Maine and Rome sat on the front steps with two basketballs beside them.
The neighborhood was warm again.
Kids were outside.
Music drifted from somewhere down the block.
Rome leaned back.
"So what's next?"
Maine shrugged.
"College."
"You excited?"
"Yeah."
"You nervous?"
"A little."
Rome nodded.
"Me too."
Maine looked over.
"You?"
"Hell yeah."
That made Maine laugh.
"You never nervous."
"I never said that."
"You act like it."
Rome looked toward the street.
"Things changing, bro."
Maine followed his eyes.
"Yeah."
Neither of them said much after that.
Inside, Nasir stood near the window.
His phone vibrated.
He looked at it.
Then turned the screen face down.
For once, he didn't answer.
Not because the message wasn't important.
Because his son was sitting outside, laughing with his best friend, talking about a future neither of them had figured out yet.
Nasir watched them for another few seconds.
Then stepped away from the window.
Not tonight.