Page 39 of Never Alone
I didn't tell myself I was watching the rearview the whole drive. I just was.
The apartment was the most dignified place we'd lived in since I'd walked out of Nicholas's house. It was a unit Mrs. Thompson owned in the same building she lived in. She was in 4B. We were in 2A, one floor down on the side that got the morning light. Her tenants had given notice the week after the fire, and she'd decided not to look for new ones.
Stay there. Take it.
I'd told her I couldn't afford the rent.
Don't think about that.She'd waved her hand the way she did when she'd already decided something.We've been getting more loyal customers because of you. Think of it as a raise.
I hadn't known what to say. I'd thanked her. She'd waved that off, too.
It was a real apartment. Two bedrooms. A kitchen with enough counter space to actually cook. A living room window that looked out onto the parking lot, a parking lot I'd come to like, because it was ours. Noah had his own room with a door that closed. I had my own bed. We had a kitchen table where we ate dinner like people who had a kitchen table where they ate dinner.
I turned onto our street.
The news van was parked at the curb in front of the building.
It was a local station—one of the smaller ones. The kind that ran the morning weather and the high school football scores. A man with a camera on his shoulder was standing on the sidewalk near the parking lot entrance. A woman with a microphone was beside him, her hair in the kind of low ponytail you wore when you were going to be on camera.
I slowed the car.
Maybe they're here for something else.I thought it before I'd thought of anything else.Not everything has to be about me. There are other people in this building. Maybe one of them—maybe somebody in 3C—maybe Mrs. Thompson. Maybe somebody died. Maybe somebody got an award.
They're here for something else.
I pulled into the parking lot. Parked in my spot.
The woman with the microphone turned.
She'd been waiting for me.
"Mom?"
"It's okay, baby. Stay in your seat for a second."
I sat with my hands on the wheel.
I was thinking about how to do this. I was thinking about what to say to a woman with a microphone who was already walking across the parking lot toward me. I was thinking aboutNoah in the back seat with his backpack and his after-school cracker bag and his face that had not done anything wrong.
I got out and went around to the back door. Opened it for Noah. He climbed out, his backpack already over one shoulder. He took my hand the way he had in airports, in lobbies, in any room where a stranger was looking at him. He put himself a half-step behind me without being told to.
"Ms. Marin?"
I started walking toward the building.
"Tessa? Could we have a moment? I'm Lacey Maddox with WCBC. We just want to ask you a few questions about?—"
"No."
"It'll only take?—"
"No."
I kept walking. Noah was close to my leg. The cameraman was moving sideways to keep us framed. The woman, Lacey, was matching my pace.
"The video has had over twenty million views—viewers want to know?—"
"No comment. Please."
