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Klein opened the door and Dex moved forward.
“Klein.”
“Uh-uh.” Klein gestured for him to move back. “I don’t want your double-crossing ass in my house.”
“Let me explain.” Dex made eye contact with Anderson. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dexter Reinhardt.”
“Nice to meet you.” Anderson approached with his hand extended, ignoring the evil eye from Klein. “I’m Anderson Abraham.”
“Ah, the reporter.” Dex gripped Anderson’s hand with a sturdy shake. “Klein told me about you.”
Klein stepped in front of Anderson. “How could you take Lancaster’s case?”
“I’m just doing my job. I didn’t do it to hurt anyone.”
“We’re supposed to be friends and you take that case without telling me?”
Dex’s shoulders dropped. “What good would that have done?”
“You could’ve given me a head’s up.”
Dex leaned back, batting his eyes. “Kinda hypocritical don’t you think?”
“What?”
“You judge me for taking the case but too much of a chicken shit to stand up for your fiancée’s niece?”
Klein balled a fist. “You son of a bitch.”
“Klein,” Sonjay said. “Calm down.”
“How can you judge me when all you care about is looking good for Bordeaux so you can further your career?”
Klein grabbed Dex by the shirt.
“Klein!” Anderson grabbed him. “Stop, all right?”
“Wanna hit me because I’m telling the truth?” Dex ripped away from Klein’s hold. “I didn’t come here to fight. Don’t let this come between us.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you took Lancaster’s side.” Klein held the door. “As long as you’re defending the man who put Presley in a coma, we can’t be friends anymore.”
“Fine.” Dex fixed his blazer, walked onto the porch and glanced at Sonjay.
She turned away, Anderson noticing an awkward tension between the two.
“Don’t come around here again, Dex,” Klein ordered. “You’re not welcome anymore.”
****
The next day Anderson scanned the aisles of the small grocery store until his gaze landed upon the medium-brown black woman stacking cans of vegetables on the shelf.
Channing glanced at him, rolled her light-brown eyes, and continued stacking. Even the oversized, black smock and uniform didn’t deter from her mesmerizing looks.
He took measured steps toward her. “Hi, Channing.”
She overlooked him, poking out her glittery, pink lips. “Leave me alone.”
“Please, hear me out.”
“I don’t wanna hear anything you have to say.” She got cans of cream corn out of the box beside her and placed them on the shelf. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll tell my supervisor you’re harassing me.”
“God, you are stubborn aren’t you? Can’t you hear me out?”
“No.” She got more cans from the box. “You reporters are all alike. All you care about is a story but not the people behind it.”
“That’s not true.” He moved aside as a woman passed with her cart. “My little sister Beth was hit by a car when she was eight.”
She held a can in midair and looked at him.
“We were playing out in the yard and her ball rolled into the street.” He gazed at the vegetables on the shelves. “She was in the hospital for a few days then she died.”
She gaped.
He nodded, eyes watering. “It took me years before I could face it because I blamed myself. I kept thinking there was something I could’ve done to change things, but it happened so fast.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” She looked at him with obvious concern. “I blame myself for what happened to Presley too. If I’d taken her to school that day then maybe what happened wouldn’t have.”
“We can’t change the past.” Anderson wiped his eyes, regaining his composure. “I want to help Presley because I didn’t help my sister.”
“That’s commendable but what makes you think blasting Presley’s story will help anything? That’s happened over and over yet has anything changed?”
He got closer to her, inhaling Dark and Lovely. “You use Dark and Lovely?”
“How did you know?”
“My ex-wife used Dark and Lovely.”
“Your ex-wife?” She batted her eyes. “You married a black woman?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Klein said you had an interest in the culture.” She chuckled. “I guess in the women too.”
He closed his eyes and sniffed. “I always liked that smell.” When he opened his eyes, she was staring right at him. “Let me prove you can trust me. Will you reconsider taking part in my story?”
She exhaled. “I—”
“Channing?” A mature white woman with grayish-brown hair and a drooping chin approached them. “You need to get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman eyed Anderson, strutting away.
“Is that your boss?”
“We can talk about this later, okay?” She grabbed a can of peas out the box. “I’m not interested in changing the world.”
“What if Lancaster walks? Could you live with that if you don’t do all you can to stop that?”
Khadija flounced toward them wearing huge, gold hoop earrings bigger than her head. “Well, well, well. What do we have here? It’s my friend from Boston.”
Anderson groaned. “I’ll talk to you later okay, Channing?”
Khadija laughed. “Don’t leave on my account.”
He rolled his eyes and left.