A few hours later Gia knocked on my door.
Apparently her friend had told her mom what happened on the corner. The mom wanted to thank me. I told Gia to tell her no need.
"She insists," Gia said. "She baked you brownies."
"Brownies?"
"Brownies."
I grabbed my keys. Gia laughed.
* * *
I had dropped Gia off at her friend's place plenty of times. Never once saw the mom.
I knocked. The door opened and it was Seven, Gia's friend, small and bright-eyed, looking up at me.
"Hey, Jordan."
"Hey Seven. I heard there are brownies."
"Come in."
I followed her inside and that is when I saw her mom.
She was in the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel when she turned around, and I had to work to keep my face neutral. Tall, thick, caramel skin, clear and smooth, the kind of woman who looked like she had always looked exactly like this and always would. She smiled when she saw me and it hit different than it should have.
"Hey, Jordan. I wanted to thank you."
"Hey, miss--"
"Savanna," she said.
Seven disappeared down the hallway to her room.
* * *
We talked for about an hour. She asked about the whole thing, how I got there so fast, what happened when I did. I kept it vague on the details and she did not push. Then we were just talking, about Gia, about the neighborhood, about nothing specific. She was easy to be around. Relaxed. She laughed at the right moments and listened when I said something and did not perform either one.
I could tell by the way she looked at me. Not constantly, not obvious. Just every so often, a half second longer than it needed to be. I filed that away and kept talking.
She asked if I smoked. I said sometimes. We went outside.
That was when I saw the Durango in the driveway. Base model, older, but clean. I looked at it for a second.
"You like the car?" she said.
"It is a good car. You have any issues with it?"
"Sometimes when I am driving I hear this grinding noise. Not always, just sometimes."
"Is it unlocked?"
She clicked the fob. I popped the hood and checked the oil. The dipstick came out dry. Not low. Dry. I laughed a little and showed it to her.
"You need oil."
"Oh. I will get some tomorrow."
I looked at her. She was not going to get some tomorrow. I had been around enough to know what tomorrow meant when someone said it like that.
"Let us go to the store now," I said. "Takes ten minutes."
* * *
She got in my passenger seat and I started the car.
"Ooh," she said. "Nice car."
"Thank you."
She asked about it the whole drive over. How long I had it, what I did to it, what that sound was when I accelerated. I answered everything. She actually listened to the answers, not just waiting for me to stop talking.
At the store I grabbed full synthetic, a new filter, a drain pan. She reached for her wallet when we got to the register. I put my hand over hers and stopped her and paid cash. I did not make a thing of it. Just set the bills on the counter and picked up the bag.
She looked at me the whole walk back to the car.
Jordan is not evil. I want to be clear about that. He is not out here trying to manipulate anybody. He just understands that doing something for someone, doing it well and without making them feel small about needing it, puts you somewhere in their head. He has always known that. He was born knowing it, I think. Whether that makes him generous or calculated, honestly, both things can be true at the same time.
"Thank you," she said when we got back. "You really did not have to."
"I was not doing anything."
She smiled. Then she said, "I am making burgers and fries if you want to eat before you go."
"Yeah. After I change the oil."
She went back inside and I got to work. Drained it, swapped the filter, poured in the new oil, checked the level. Twenty minutes, maybe less. I wiped my hands and knocked on the front door.
"Done," I said when she answered.
She looked past me at the car, then back at me. "Day one and I am already cooking for you."
I smiled. "I was going to say the same thing."
She laughed and let me in.
* * *
We ate at the kitchen table. Seven sat across from me, asking questions about the Scat Pack, about cars in general, about whether I could teach her to drive. Savanna kept refilling my plate without asking. The food was good. Burgers thick, fries seasoned right, everything hot.
It felt like a home. The kind that runs on routine and effort and somebody who actually gives a damn about the people in it.
When I stood up to leave Savanna walked me to the door.
"Come by whenever," she said. "Seriously."
"I might take you up on that. Probably more than you expect."
She looked at me with that look again. "That is fine with me."
I gave her my number. She typed it in right there, did not say she would add it later. I walked to the Scat Pack and pulled off.
Here is something I noticed about Jordan early on, before I even had the language for it. He has never in his life been indifferent to a woman. Not in a disrespectful way. More like he just cannot help paying attention. He notices everything. How someone moves, how they talk, what they are not saying. He collects people. He always has. I think it started because he had to. Growing up in this house, in this family, watching Mom hold everything together, watching me fall apart and come back together, watching Gia figure out who she was, he learned to read women the way some kids learn to read weather. You pay attention or you get caught off guard. Somewhere along the way paying attention became something else. Something that got him into a lot of rooms and a lot of situations he probably could have avoided. I do not think he would change it.
END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN