Leon read it twice. The second time, he had to put his free hand flat against the wall beside Ezekiel Booker’s photograph to keep the room where it belonged. Then he folded the yellow sheet back into its thirds along the soft creases she had made, and put it into the envelope, and held it.
“He’s the only man I ever knew who came all the way back,” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean, Tasha? What did she think she knew?”
His daughter looked at him and did not answer, and in the not-answering he felt a cold begin somewhere in the middle of his chest.
“Why,” he said, slowly, “did you send that baby running down Pennsylvania Avenue by himself with this hanging round his neck?”
“I told you. I didn’t want Jayden home alone with Andre if Andre walked out of that place. He almost didn’t go, Daddy. He went back and forth all weekend. Saturday night he begged me for the key back. Begged. Said he’d go to meetings, he’d call Curtis every day, he’d fix it, just don’t take it to your father, please, Tasha, not your father.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want the key in the house. I didn’t want it in my purse, where he knew to look. I didn’t know what was going to happen today. I put it on Jayden because Andre would never take something off his son. I know that about him. Whatever else, I know that.” She pressed her lips together. “And I told Jayden if Dad came home early, he should go to Grandpa’s. Don’t go inside. Don’t knock. Just come to you.”