Saul hit his boots against each other on the concrete step outside the door, the dried mud breaking off in flat pieces and scattering across the walkway. He pulled the door open and stepped through into the permit office. The heat pressed against his face and the front of his neck where the collar of his hoodie sat open. A line of men ran from the counter back to the row of plastic chairs along the wall, hard hats in hands or tucked under arms, a few of them looking at their phones. Saul walked to the end of the line and pulled his hard hat off, running his hand through his hair where the band had pressed it flat against his scalp.
“Come on, Saul. I got you.”
Francesca’s voice came from behind the counter. She had her chair pulled close to her desk, her hand resting on the mouse. Saul glanced at the men ahead of him in line. One of them looked back over his shoulder but didn’t say anything. Saul stepped out of line and crossed to her desk, the hard hat hanging from his fingers at his side.
“I need a confined space permit for C6225. Brenton said he already started it last night, but they ain’t do it on the night shift.”
Francesca clicked the mouse twice, her eyes on the monitor. She scrolled once, stopped, leaned closer to the screen.
“Loading requires you to do a confined space entry?”
“We’re doing railcars. Gotta get in them to clean out the old shit.”
Francesca started typing. Her nails clicked against the keys in short bursts, her eyes moving between the screen and a form pinned under a binder clip on the corner of the desk. She stopped typing and looked up at him, one hand still resting on the keyboard, the other reaching for the pen in the groove of her keyboard tray.
“You like getting into tight spaces, Saul?”
Saul’s eyebrows pulled together. “What you mean by that?”
Francesca looked at him. The pen rolled once between her fingers, the cap clicking against her thumbnail. “I think what I said was pretty obvious.”
Saul shrugged. “I mean, not at work.”
Francesca laughed. The sound carried past him to the line behind and a couple of the men looked over. She turned back to the monitor and started typing again, her fingers finding their rhythm on the keys. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me. Or that you think I’m ugly. One of the two.”
“You know you’re not ugly.”
“So you don’t like me.”
Saul let out a breath through his nose. “I just don’t think we’re after the same thing.”
Francesca snorted a laugh. She pushed her chair back from the desk, the wheels catching on the plastic mat underneath, and stood. She walked through the doorway behind the counter into the back of the office, and Saul could hear a filing cabinet open and close somewhere past the wall.
Francesca came back through the doorway with a stack of papers held against her chest. She dropped into her chair and rolled forward, the seat dipping under her weight, and slid the stack across the desk toward him.
“Y’all are going to have to get the fire brigade on standby for that.”
“What does getting in a railcar gotta do with the fire brigade?”
Francesca rolled her eyes. “If you fucking pass out in the railcar, who do you think is going get you out of there?” Her hand came up from the desk and she pointed at the top sheet on the stack. “Are the cars at the load rack?”
Saul shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Francesca shook her head. “EHS gonna want you to walk them down to A1000 so you’re away from the units if everything goes wrong.”
Saul nodded. “Okay.”
Francesca leaned back in her chair. Her fingers laced together in her lap, her eyes still on him. “I’m going out to the bars in Maurepas this weekend. You should come.”
“I don’t even know where that is.”
“That’s what GPS is for.”
Saul’s hand came up to the back of his neck. His fingers pressed into the muscle and rubbed once before dropping back to his side. “I’m not trying to cheat.”
“Two coworkers going to have a drink is not cheating. My friends will be there. Bring yours.”
Saul looked at her. The fluorescent light overhead caught the edge of her badge and laid a thin strip of white across the laminate of the desk.
“I’ll think about it.”
Francesca smirked at him. She reached past her monitor to the printer tray, pulled a sheet off the top, and slapped it down on the stack he was already holding.
“You’re gonna want to call the fire brigade and EHS now to do a four eyes with you before they send out the red phone.”
Saul nodded.
“Now get out of my line. You’re holding it up.” She looked past him at the line, her eyes moving down the row of men until she found the one she wanted. She pointed. “C’mon, Dut. I got you over here.”
Saul shook his head. He tucked the stack of papers against his chest with one hand and pushed the door open with the other, the cold hitting his face and the tops of his ears as he stepped out onto the walkway.
~~~
Caine pressed the edge of the knife through the steak, the blade catching against the plate underneath with a faint scrape before it cleared. The cut separated clean, the inside still pink and wet. He pushed half a roasted potato onto the fork above the piece of meat, the tines pinning it flat, and lifted the whole thing to his mouth. He chewed with his jaw working slow, his eyes moving once across the table to Tatum’s plate where the same cut sat barely touched, then past him to the windows that ran the length of the far wall.
Tatum pointed his fork between their plates. “I keep telling you, kid. You know you reached the big time when you can have Kobe Wagyu for lunch and not bat an eyelash.” He gestured again, the fork tracing a line from his plate to Caine’s and back. “And look at us. Kobe fucking Wagyu at 11:45 in the morning.”
Caine snorted a laugh. “I thought this shit would taste better considering that big ass number next to it on the fucking menu.”
“It’s about the experience. The food is just secondary.”
“It’s a fucking restaurant. The food ain’t fucking secondary.”
Tatum laughed. “Fair enough.” He picked up his knife and cut a piece of his own steak, the blade moving through it in one pass. He lifted it to his mouth, chewed, swallowed. His napkin came up off his lap to the corner of his mouth and went back down. He set the knife on the edge of the plate and picked up his water glass, taking a sip before setting it back on the tablecloth.
“You come to a decision yet on whether you’re declaring or coming back for your senior year?”
Caine looked at him across the table. A server passed behind Tatum with a tray balanced on one hand, the plates on it catching the light from the windows as he moved between tables toward the back.
“Are the fucking Browns, Jets and Raiders still the three worst teams?”
Tatum nodded. “Yep. You could always do something to tank your draft stock. Go knock up some Republican in the IE’s daughter and you’ll be going 20-25 easy.”
Caine laughed. “I’ll leave some shit like that to you. I’m done with kids.”
“Even better. After you knocked her up, bring her to get an abortion, make her pay for it, then ‘leak’ the texts online.”
Caine laughed again. He shook his head, his eyes dropping to his plate for a beat before they came back up. He cut another piece of the steak and ate it, chewing slow.
“USC come back with a new deal?”
Tatum nodded and leaned back in his chair, one arm coming to rest along the edge of the table. “They did a couple weeks ago, but I was waiting for them to fix it with your new station in life.”
“My new station in life?”
Tatum set his water glass down. “Future Heisman winner. The difference between bringing back an elite quarterback and an elite quarterback who won the Heisman is pretty big. You’d be a walking legend on campus.”
“If I go to campus next year. I’m pretty close to graduating.”
Tatum’s eyebrows lifted. “I guess I’m not surprised that the curriculum at Georgia Southern wasn’t the most difficult.”
Caine held a hand up. “I fuck with literature.”
Tatum shook his head, his mouth pulling at one corner. “Could’ve at least tried basketweaving.” He picked up his knife and cut another piece of the steak, ate it, and set the knife back on the rim of the plate. “Anyway, they’re talking nine and a quarter for you to come back. Just to come back. Another quarter as a loyalty bonus that you’ll get up front.”
Caine set his fork down on the edge of his plate. “That ain’t bad money.”
“It gets better.” Tatum’s fingers tapped once against the tablecloth. “If you win the Heisman? Ten and a half.”
Caine whistled.
“And if you win the Heisman and the natty? Twelve.”
“That’s a lot of fucking reasons why I should come back.”
“That’s why we gotta keep up the push to get you that Heisman, kid. Sprint through the finish line.”
Caine nodded. He picked up his fork and speared a piece of the steak, holding it up in front of him. The meat turned once in the light from the window, the pink of it darkening at the seared edge. He looked at it for a beat, then looked past it at the restaurant, the dark wood and the white tablecloths and the morning pressing in through all that glass. “And I do like living in LA.”
Tatum laughed. “It’s a big rich town after all.”
~~~
Autumn folded a sweater in half and laid it flat across the bottom of the suitcase, pressing the creases down with her palms before reaching for the next one off the bed.
Nadine came through the doorway with a couple of envelopes in her hand. She held them out toward Autumn, her other hand finding the doorframe as she watched her pack.
Autumn took the envelopes and turned them over, her eyes moving across the return addresses. She set the sweater down. “A couple small scholarships.”
“Every little bit helps even if it’s just going into your pocket or a nest egg for when you graduate.”
Autumn nodded. She set the envelopes on the nightstand and went back to the suitcase, picking up the sweater she’d put down and folding it tighter before fitting it against the edge of the case. A pair of jeans came next, rolled instead of folded, tucked into the gap along the side.
“I thought you weren’t going to Indianapolis until Friday.”
Autumn shook her head. She picked a jacket off the bed and held it up for a beat, looking at it, then folded it lengthwise and laid it on top of the sweaters. “Caine’s going Wednesday morning. He got me a ticket to meet him out there Wednesday afternoon. So, we can have some time there just us before his mama and his kids get there.”
Nadine’s eyebrow lifted. “And when is that?”
“I think he said Thursday sometime. His daughter’s mama has a final this week.”
Nadine nodded. She stepped forward from the doorframe and crossed to the bed. She reached across and took hold of the suitcase zipper tab with two fingers, pulling it around the edge in a single motion, the teeth closing the case shut. She smoothed her hand once across the top of it and patted it twice.
Autumn looked at the closed suitcase. “I wasn’t done packing that one.”
“You’re not paying for the ticket. You don’t have to stuff everything into two bags because you don’t want to pay bag fees.”
“Fair enough. You got a point.” Autumn turned and walked to her closet, the double doors already open, the rack and shelves visible in the light from the window behind her. She pulled a second suitcase off the floor, carried it to the bed, and laid it open beside the first one, the empty interior facing up. She started moving things from the remaining piles into it, her hands working through the clothes, each piece pressed flat and placed edge to edge.
Nadine settled her weight against the edge of the dresser, her arms loose at her sides. She watched Autumn’s hands move through the clothes for a beat before she spoke. “Things between you and Caine are getting pretty serious. A trip to Indianapolis, albeit a less than glamorous one, a week before heading to New York City for most of the week.”
“It’s just free trips, mama.”
“One of those is for something that could be the biggest achievement of his life. I don’t think I have to spell out what that says to anyone from the outside.”
Autumn pressed a blouse flat against the bottom of the second suitcase, her fingers running along the collar to keep it from bunching. She smoothed the fabric once, her palm moving across the front of it. “I do like him a lot.”
“You don’t have to hide that. Sometimes, it’s okay to not be the cold-hearted bitch who can play anyone like a fiddle, baby.”
Autumn shrugged, her hands still in the suitcase. She pulled a dress off its hanger from the pile on the bed and folded it into thirds, pressing the fabric flat. “If I could get a better read on Mireya, I would feel more comfortable about this. I know she’s with a woman. She says she’s not competing with me, whatever that means. She’s just so… off.”
Nadine’s eyes stayed on her daughter for a long beat, her weight still against the dresser, her fingers resting on the edge of it. Her chin dipped a fraction.
“Just remember that when he’s up there on that stage next week, you’re going to be sitting right there with her so you’re equals to him.”
Autumn’s hands stopped in the suitcase. She looked up at her mother. “I’m going to have to convince her to meet you and you’ll see that something’s wrong with that woman.”
Nadine laughed. “You can’t let that get in between your relationship with Caine. Besides, something’s wrong with a lot of people. That’s why I stay in business.”
Autumn shook her head. She reached for the last pair of shoes on the bed and set them sole-to-sole in the corner of the suitcase, her fingers pressing the heels down until they sat flush against the lining. “You’re a trip.”
~~~
E.J. kept his hands at the bottom of the wheel as the car climbed one of the long low inclines on the I-10 bridge, the tires humming against the concrete deck underneath. The Atchafalaya Basin stretched out on both sides of them, the water dark and flat between stands of cypress that rose out of the basin with their trunks stained to the waterline, the bare branches holding what gray light came through the overcast.
Bodie looked up from his phone. “So, basically these niggas looking for some random ass country ass niggas who might or might not have shot at Tyree.”
E.J. nodded. His thumb tapped once against the steering wheel. “Yeah. I ain’t never heard of these niggas they talking about. But it’s always someone new trying to move into the city.”
Bodie set his phone face down on his thigh and looked out through the windshield at the bridge stretching ahead of them, the guardrails running into the distance on both sides. “That’s why I been saying since we left Houston that it don’t even make no sense to take this trip because if it ain’t those niggas then what? We gonna be out here for months chasing ghosts? Man, fuck that. I got shit waiting for me back in the H. You, too.”
An eighteen-wheeler sat in the right lane ahead of them, its trailer swaying as the rig fought the incline, the exhaust stack pushing a dark column that caught the wind off the basin and broke apart above the cab. E.J. checked the side mirror, waited for a gap, and pulled into the left lane. He pressed the accelerator until the car drew even with the trailer wall, close enough that he could see the rust streaking down the corrugated metal from the rivets.. He looked over at Bodie from the driver’s seat for a beat, then shook his head and turned back to the windshield as they cleared the truck and the road opened ahead of them again, the bridge rising toward the next crest.
“On some real shit, I been thinking about leaving Houston. It don’t suit me.”
Bodie snorted a laugh. His head stayed against the headrest, his eyes on the side of E.J.’s face. “You just saying that because your girl been acting weird. You was fine with being in Houston before she caught your ass fucking ol’ girl.”
E.J.’s jaw shifted. “Nah, nigga. I ain’t never want to go out there. I only did because she convinced me.”
“Then unconvince her or yourself and carry your ass back to New Orleans, but it seem like she chilling out there.”
The bridge dropped into another low stretch that ran close over the water, the guardrails on both sides blurring into a single line at speed. Below them the water sat still between the cypress trunks, dark enough that the reflection of the sky on its surface looked like a second layer of cloud pressed flat against the earth.
“That’s because she ain’t gotta see her mama tore up about a kid she fostered going sit down for 20 years behind some child porn shit.”
Bodie’s eyebrow lifted. He turned his head from the windshield to E.J. “She be fucking with chomos?”
E.J. shook his head, his grip tightening on the wheel for a beat before it loosened. “He ain’t really get that shit himself. It was a pig fucking with us. That nigga Ramon got a cellphone from somewhere that had all these juvies on there. I still don’t know where that nigga got that shit from.”
“It’s AI out here if you really want to do some shit like that.”
“Nah, it was on somebody phone. I ain’t really look at it but that shit belonged to someone.”
The road rose again, another incline carrying them up above the treeline where the basin opened into a wide gray sheet that ran to the haze at the far edge. A barge sat motionless in the channel below, its deck stacked with containers.
“So, that nigga Ramon like the brain behind everything and that nigga Tyree the shooter.”
“Basically.”
“What that make you then, nigga?”
E.J.’s eyes stayed on the road. The bridge leveled off at the top of the incline and the concrete deck stretched ahead of them toward the far bank where the cypress gave way to solid ground and the first low rooflines of civilization showed through the tree line. “Just a nigga trying to get to this money.”
~~~
Sena and Mireya came up the sidewalk side by side, the porch light throwing a yellow circle across the front steps and the concrete below them. The cold pressed against Sena’s face and the backs of her hands where they hung at her sides. She could hear voices through the front door, overlapping, layered on top of each other.
She looked Mireya over. The dress sat close against her hips and her chest, the fabric pulling at the curves underneath with every step.
Mireya looked down at herself, then back up at Sena, her eyebrows drawing together. “What’s wrong with this? I’m covered.”
“It’s tight.”
“Everything I own is tight. I did the best I could to be modest. It’s going to be fine, baby.”
Sena took a breath in through her nose and held it for a beat before letting it go. She turned to the door and pulled her keys from her jacket pocket, slid the key into the knob, and turned it. The lock gave and she pushed the door open.
The smell hit them first. Garlic, sesame oil and something sweet underneath, the warmth of the kitchen carrying it through the house and out through the open door into the cold. Voices layered on top of each other from the back of the house, Korean and English running together. Sena stepped inside, Mireya a half step behind her.
“Eomma, appa. It’s me.”
Minji came through the kitchen into the living room, wiping her hands on the front of her apron. A smile sat on her face as she looked at Sena. Her eyes moved past her daughter to Mireya and the smile shifted, the corners holding but the rest of her expression catching up a beat late, a flash of confusion crossing her face before she blinked it away. She looked back at Sena.
“Eomma. This is Mi-rey-a. Mi-rey-a. My girlfriend.”
Minji’s mouth opened a fraction. The smile dropped again, held off her face for a full second, and then she shook her head once and turned to Mireya. Her eyes moved from Mireya’s face down the front of the dress and back up.
“You should’ve told me she was so pretty.”
Mireya stepped forward, her hand extended. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Yoon. I’m sorry that my schedule is so wild. I hope I didn’t offend y’all.”
Minji took her hand. The grip was brief, her fingers pressing once before releasing. She looked Mireya over again, her chin lifting a fraction, then stepped back and gestured toward the kitchen.
“Come, the food is already on the table.”
The three of them walked into the dining room. The table was set, dishes crowding the center in a loose ring, steam rising from the pots, the overhead light catching the glaze on the banchan and the red of the kimchi between the plates. Sung sat at one end with Tae beside him, the two of them in the middle of something in Korean, Sung’s chopsticks pointing once at the air above his rice bowl as he spoke. June sat across from them with Sophie to his right and Vicky on Tae’s other side, the three of them in their own conversation, Sophie’s hand resting on June’s forearm.
Minji cleared her throat. The conversations stopped. Faces turned.
Minji put her hands on Sena’s shoulders. She gestured toward Mireya with one hand, the motion starting smooth before it stalled, her fingers hovering in the air between them for a beat. Her hand pulled back to Sena’s shoulder.
“This is Mireya. Sena’s girlfriend.”
June’s eyes went wide. Sophie’s hand came off his forearm and hit his knee under the table, the impact sharp enough that June’s hand shot up to cover his mouth. Vicky’s chopsticks paused above her bowl.
“It’s nice to meet y’all,” Mireya said.
Sung’s eyes moved from Mireya to Sena. Sena looked away, her gaze finding the window behind her father where the dark pressed flat against the glass. Tae said something to Sung in Korean, the words low and even. Sung’s eyes cut to him. Tae held his hand up and said something else, the second line shorter than the first.
“Sit, sit. Before the food gets cold.” Minji moved to her chair at the end and settled into it, her hands finding their place beside her bowl.
Sena pulled out a chair and sat. Mireya took the one beside her, the legs scraping against the floor as she pulled it in. The silence at the table held for another beat, the steam rising from the pots and the overhead light pressing down on all of them.
Sophie leaned forward, her eyes finding Mireya across the table. “So, you’re in school to be a nurse like Sena?”
Mireya nodded. “I always wanted to be a nurse.”
“Really? I don’t think I could do it. Seeing all the pain and suffering. I’d fall apart.”
Mireya nodded again. “I had a great nurse when I had my first daughter and I always wanted to be like her.”
Sophie’s hand reached under the table and found June’s knee. June’s jaw shifted once. Sung and Tae’s Korean conversation paused for a second, the air between them going still, before Tae picked it back up in a lower register.
Minji turned to Sophie. “How was your last appointment?”
Sophie put her hand on her stomach, her fingers spreading across the fabric of her shirt. “It went well.”
Sena leaned over toward Mireya, close enough that her words stayed between them. “Three bombs is a little much at once.”
Mireya looked over at her and shrugged.
Sena let out a breath through her nose. Her eyes moved around the table. Minji, Sophie, June and Vicky talked. Tae and Sung had their heads bent toward each other, the Korean running in a low steady line between them. Minji’s eyes stayed on Sophie. June looked at his bowl. Vicky’s chopsticks found their measured rhythm again.
Mireya reached across and took Sena’s hand. Her fingers laced through Sena’s and pressed once. She leaned over and nodded toward the dishes in the center of the table. “You gotta tell me what this is, baby.”
Sena looked at her. Then she nodded and reached forward with her free hand, pulling a plate from the stack at the edge of the table for Mireya.
You acting like she said she was a stripper in front of them.
