Split Black /#Wattys 2021

EPILOGUE: Two Months Later

Crisp fall sunshine spilled between the high-rises downtown and a soft breeze blew at a balmy seventy-two degrees. John and Mike had time for a decent lunch for a change, and both of them wanted sushi.

They rattled over the cobblestone streets in the Bottom to the new restaurant on Virginia Street. Called "Off the Hookah," it was a booming nightclub by night and a sushi restaurant by day, where people sat outdoors on the Canal Walk and smoked hookah pipes.

They picked a table at the edge of the Kanawha Canal. John took off his blazer, tossed it onto a chair, and watched as it slid off the smooth metal onto the patio. Mike picked it up by the wrong end, and five envelopes fell out of the pocket.

"What, you got a whole forest in here?"

"Just the mail."

"Still afraid to open the mail, huh? She still sending you those poison pen letters?"

"Look at this one," said John, pointing to the mailing address. "Now she's disguising her handwriting."

Mike took the envelope and inspected it. "Kind of defeats the purpose when it ends up stamped 'Hampton City Jail' anyway. Trial's next week?"

"Yeah. I already wrote the judge asking for court-ordered counseling. I think he'd have to be crazy not to do it."

"You gonna go?"

"Yeah. I don't want her lying to me later on about what transpired."

Mike dropped the envelope and shook his head. "Jesus, Johnny. Why would she lie about court? I mean, for pity's sake. I know she got herself in trouble, but not to visit for all this time? I could never treat my mother like that no matter what she did. I mean, shit, Johnny, all she did was write a guy a letter and a check. What's so bad about that?"

John closed his eyes a second. Every so often the animal wail of his mother's voice bouncing off the prison walls forced its way into his consciousness, in the middle of a crime scene, whatever he was doing. It was too much to explain.

                                                                                         ***

He stopped by the row house after lunch to pick up the coffee he'd forgotten for the squad coffee bar. Fresh roasted Sumatra from the Black Hand Coffee Company.

He walked in and froze. Someone was here. He heard a thump from the bedroom; he drew his sidearm and flattened himself against the wall.

Lizzie came around the corner with a cardboard box in her hands. She looked fantastic, painted-on jeans and all made up. Her curls were long enough to rubber-band into a small pony at the back of her head. "Johnny," she said.

John holstered his weapon. "Jesus, you scared me. I could have shot you."

"I didn't expect you to be home."

"What are you doing here?"

"One of the leads sprained his ankle, and most of my scenes are with him, so I got a few days off." She indicated her box with her eyes. "I was really missing some of my stuff. Special clothes ... some music I like."

John nodded. "How's it going for you out there?"

She gave him a little smile. "Really good. The movie is wearing me out, but it's so much fun! I got an acting coach who's really helped me out. Her son has ADHD, and it turns out that's what I have, too."

"ADHD?" John narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah. Apparently, I've had it all my life. All that trouble I had—when I finally broke down and told my coach I couldn't learn my script, she got me to her son's doctor right away. He said I had all the symptoms and clinical depression on top of it, because I was so down about not being able to do anything like a normal person. And he put me on Adderall."