At twenty after seven, Brandon gets a text from Hawkins. “Ten minutes,” he calls out. “Finish your eggs.”
Jessup feels like he’s choking them down. Goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His stomach feels loose, like everything might give way.
But what he sees in the mirror looks like a young man who has everything going for him. David John has fixed his tie, and with the suit coat buttoned and his shirt tucked in, he looks presentable. His hair neatly combed, clean-shaven, handsome, wholesome. He could be going to a dance. He thinks about Corson’s father wearing a suit. Going to a funeral.
He barely gets the toilet lid up in time before he pukes. At least he has the presence of mind to hold back his tie.
He washes his face. Brushes his teeth again, swigs some mouthwash.
Stares into the mirror again. Keep it together, Jessup.
In the kitchen, Jewel is grumpy. “This dress is itchy.” Their mom is brushing at her hair with an aggression that makes Jewel’s head keep moving. “Ow!”
Jessup touches his mom’s hand. “I’ll do that if you need to finish getting ready.”
His mom gives him the brush, thankful, hustling back to put on her makeup. “Braids, please,” she calls out as she leaves. She’s wearing a simple, modest black dress that falls just past her knees. It’s one of her favorite dresses; she got it on deep clearance at Target, and she husbands its usage, saving it for special occasions.
“She looks pretty already,” Jewel says. “She doesn’t need makeup.”
“Yeah, well, it makes her feel better, kiddo,” he says. “She wears it like armor.” He’s less rushed than his mother is, brushes carefully, starts braiding. Jewel still squirms, but she isn’t whining. “I think you’re going to look like her when you’re older.”
Jewel is right. Their mom does look pretty. Sometimes Jessup forgets how young their mother is. She’s only thirty-six. Fourteen when she had Ricky, nineteen for Jessup, twenty-five with Jewel. Most of the kids in Jessup’s grade at school have parents in their late forties, early fifties. He’s seen the way the fathers look at his mom when she comes to school events, football games, wrestling matches.
He finishes braiding, doubles up a hair tie. “Hold on,” he says. Takes the blue ribbon on the table, winds it around the end of the braid, ties it in a quiet bow. He’s actually better at doing Jewel’s hair than their mom is. Too many mornings she’s out the door early to go to work. He’s spent more time than he cares to think about watching videos on the internet to learn how to do Jewel’s hair right. “Looks good,” he says. Pulls out his phone, takes a picture of the back of her head to show her. Jewel approves.
Brandon claps his hands. “Okay, it’s time. Let’s go. Mrs. Michaels, after you.”
Obediently, Jessup’s mom heads out the door, towing Jewel and then followed by David John and Jessup. Brandon has the four of them stand on the steps, arranges them like a family portrait, inserts Earl in the back. He looks at his minion, points his finger. “Okay, Carter. Now you should start filming.”
He directs Carter back partway down the driveway so that he’s got a good shot of the front of the trailer, and then runs a couple of one-twos to check for sound. Carter’s got a headset on now, gives a thumbs-up.
The news crews have unloaded, too. Three camera setups, all of them trying to make sure that the others aren’t in the shot. There’s a print reporter, too, with a photographer, but Jessup can’t remember who they are supposed to be, just that Brandon is excited for the attention.
Brandon signs off on everything, stands at the bottom of the steps, and waits.
He’s got it timed perfectly, because it can’t be more than a minute before three Cortaca PD vehicles turn into the driveway. Two cruisers and an SUV. The SUV is the lead car, and when it stops, Chief Harris gets out of the passenger seat. He’s holding some paper: the search warrant, Jessup realizes. The driver is the black cop from the day before, Cunningham. He turns off the car and steps onto the gravel, his hand resting on his pistol. Two cops get out of the first cruiser: a middle-aged woman who looks Latino and whom Jessup has seen around town occasionally, and a young, light-skinned black man. The black cop steps out of the passenger seat holding a shotgun. The woman was driving, and as soon as her boots hit the gravel, she pulls her pistol, leaves it hanging by her side. The two cops in the second car are white. Both of them built like football players gone to seed. Again, the one in the passenger seat is carrying a shotgun, the driver drawing his pistol and keeping it pointed at the ground.
Jessup can see Chief Harris realize too late how this is going to look on camera, the panicked look coming over his face about the same time that Brandon steps forward, raises his hands in a mocking gesture, and says, “Really? Is this necessary? You’re coming here with guns drawn? We’re just trying to go to church.”