Chapter 8
Curtis arrived in Chicago three weeks later.
He didn't come with a suitcase.
That mattered.
He didn't assume anything.
He texted me from the station.
Here.
I stared at the message for almost a minute.
Then replied.
Coffee shop across from Union Station. 20 min.
When I walked in, he was sitting in the back with a paper cup between his hands.
He looked different.
Not physically, exactly.
Still Curtis.
Same broad shoulders.
Same stubborn jaw.
But the swagger was gone.
He stood.
“What's up?”
I sat.
“You tell me.”
He nodded.
Fair.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Curtis said, “I got the transfer.”
“Mom told me.”
“I start January.”
“Good.”
“I found a room.”
“Good.”
“South Side. Guy from work has a cousin renting one.”
“Okay.”
I waited.
Curtis rubbed his palms together.
“I need to say something.”
I almost made a joke.
I didn't.
“Go ahead.”
He looked at me.
“I was jealous of you.”
That was not what I'd expected.
“Why?”
He laughed once.
“See? That's exactly why.”
“What?”
“You really don't know.”
“No.”
He leaned back.
“Everybody trusted you.”
“That wasn't always a good thing.”
“I know that now.”
I said nothing.
Curtis continued.
“After Dad died, Mom was a mess.”
“We all were.”
“You got responsible.”
“I was twelve.”
“Not right away. But by high school.”
I remembered.
Packing Nia's lunches once she was born.
Checking bills.
Working weekends.
Learning how to stretch groceries.
“I thought you liked it,” Curtis said.
“Liked what?”
“Being the good son.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“You never complained.”
“Because when I complained, everybody got upset.”
His eyes dropped.
“I got upset.”
“Sometimes.”
“I used to call you soft.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I made fun of how responsible you were, people wouldn't notice how irresponsible I was.”
That sentence sat between us.
I took a drink of coffee.
Curtis continued.
“When I quit my job, I didn't mean to stay unemployed.”
“What happened?”
“My supervisor wrote me up.”
“I know.”
“I got embarrassed.”
“So you quit.”
“Yeah.”
“And lied.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked out the window.
“Because you were working.”
I frowned.
“Mom was working. You were working. Everybody had something to point to.”
“So you told Mom you got laid off.”
“I thought I'd find something else fast.”
“But you didn't.”
“No.”
“What about the resale stuff?”
Curtis shook his head.
“Some guy at the gym showed me how much he was making flipping phones.”
“Actually making?”
“Turns out half of it was fake.”
“Of course.”
“I borrowed money. Bought inventory. Some sold. Some didn't. Then I borrowed more to cover what I owed.”
“And used the credit cards.”
“Yes.”
“And Mom's rent.”
“Yes.”
“And Nia.”
His face tightened.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“I don't know if I can forgive that yet.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“You hurt a kid.”
“I know.”
“She trusted you.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
The old Curtis would've defended himself.
This one sat there and took it.
Finally I asked, “Why Chicago?”
“Because I need distance.”
“From what?”
“Everything.”
I laughed softly.
“I said the same thing.”
“I know.”
“You trying to copy me now?”
For the first time, he smiled.
“Maybe.”
We both laughed.
It didn't erase anything.
But it opened a door.
Curtis moved to Chicago in January.
I did not become his caretaker.
That was the most important part.
He found his own room.
Paid his own deposit.
Took buses.
Worked nights.
Went to probation appointments.
Attended financial counseling.
Some weeks we didn't see each other at all.
And somehow, our relationship improved.
Distance created boundaries.
Boundaries created choice.
When we spent time together, it was because we wanted to.
Not because somebody needed a bill paid.
One freezing Saturday, Curtis came to my apartment carrying groceries.
Andre nearly dropped his phone.
“Who are you and what have you done with Malik's brother?”
Curtis laughed.
“Shut up.”
He put chicken, vegetables, bread, and cereal on the counter.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You bought groceries.”
“So?”
“I'm documenting this historic event.”
He threw a loaf of bread at me.
Andre laughed so hard he had to sit down.
That night we cooked.
Curtis burned the chicken.
We ate it anyway.
Then his phone rang.
His expression changed.
Mom.
He answered.
“What happened?”
I sat straighter.
Then Curtis put the call on speaker.
Mom was crying.
My heart stopped.
“Mom?”
“It's Nia.”
I stood.
“What about her?”
“She got into a fight.”
Curtis and I looked at each other.
“What?”
“At school.”
Nia?
The child who apologized to furniture when she bumped into it?
“What happened?”
Mom exhaled.
“Some girl was making fun of her.”
“For what?”
Silence.
“Mom?”
“For Curtis.”
Curtis went still.
“What did she say?” he asked.
Mom hesitated.
“Apparently the girl's mother knows someone in the neighborhood. She heard about the case.”
My stomach sank.
“She told Nia her brother was a criminal.”
Curtis closed his eyes.
Mom continued.
“Nia told her to stop. The girl kept going.”
“And?”
“Nia pushed her.”
Curtis sat down.
“I did this.”
“No,” Mom said immediately.
“She got into a fight because of me.”
“She made her own choice to push that girl.”
“Because of me.”
I watched him.
Old Curtis would've been angry at the girl.
New Curtis blamed himself.
Maybe too much.
“What does Nia say?” I asked.
“She refuses to apologize.”
I almost smiled.
“That sounds like her.”
“This isn't funny.”
“I know.”
“She got suspended for tomorrow.”
“For one push?”
“The other girl fell into a desk.”
Curtis rubbed his face.
“I'll call her.”
Mom went quiet.
“I don't know if that's a good idea.”
“Why?”
“She thinks she was defending you.”
He swallowed.
“I need to tell her not to.”
We video-called Nia.
She appeared with crossed arms.
No remorse anywhere on her face.
Curtis tried not to smile.
“So I heard you got suspended.”
“She deserved it.”
“Nia.”
“She called you a thief.”
“I was.”
Her face changed.
“Don't say that.”
“But it's true.”
“You fixed it.”
“I'm fixing it.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Curtis leaned closer.
“You never have to fight somebody because of what I did.”
“She said you're bad.”
“I did bad things.”
“You're not bad.”
His eyes filled.
“That means a lot.”
Nia's chin trembled.
“I hate when people talk about you.”
“I know.”
“She said Malik left because our family is trash.”
I felt something inside me crack.
Curtis's face hardened.
But he controlled it.
“What did you say?”
“I said Malik left because he got a good job.”
“That's true,” I said.
“And then she said Mom couldn't pay bills.”
Mom looked away.
Nia's voice shook.
“So I pushed her.”
I softened.
“Hey.”
She looked at me.
“You don't have to defend us from facts.”
She frowned.
“Some things were true. We had money problems.”
“But she was being mean.”
“Yes.”
“Then why can't I push her?”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Mom glared at the screen.
I stopped.
“Because you can stand up for yourself without hurting somebody.”
Nia crossed her arms harder.
“What should I say?”
Curtis answered.
“Say my brother made mistakes, and he's dealing with them.”
She looked at him.
“And if they keep talking?”
“Walk away.”
“That's boring.”
“It is.”
I smiled.
“Being mature is mostly boring.”
Mom laughed.
By the end of the call, Nia agreed to apologize for pushing.
Not for being angry.
That was fair.
A week later, Curtis did something I never expected.
He volunteered to speak to a youth group through his probation program.
Teenagers at risk of getting into fraud, theft, and street-level schemes.
He asked me to come.
“Why?”
“In case I freeze.”
“You won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you never shut up.”
He laughed.
I went anyway.
Curtis stood in front of twenty teenagers and told them everything.
The debt.
The lies.
The stolen identity.
The threats.
Losing his car.
Losing his home.
Watching his mother cry.
He didn't make himself a victim.
That mattered.
At the end, one kid asked, “What's the biggest thing you lost?”
Curtis thought.
“My little sister trusting me.”
My chest tightened.
Another kid asked, “You got it back?”
Curtis looked at me.
“I'm working on it.”
Afterward, we walked to the train.
“That was good,” I said.
“You sound shocked.”
“I am.”
He shoved me lightly.
Then his phone buzzed.
He looked.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Probation officer.”
“Bad?”
“I don't know.”
He answered.
Listened.
Then stopped walking.
“What happened?” I whispered.
Curtis held up a finger.
His face slowly went pale.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Then, “When?”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
He hung up.
“What?”
Curtis looked at me.
“The guys I testified against.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about them?”
“The case is moving forward.”
“That's good.”
“No.”
His voice shook.
“One of them got released pending trial.”
My chest went cold.
“Which one?”
“The one who sent the message about Nia's school.”
I stared at him.
May you like
Curtis continued.
“And he's missing.”
